The war didn't slow down with daylight.
If anything, morning made it uglier.
Smoke still hung over parts of the Eastside where cars burned through the night. Police tape fluttered across two corners. News vans parked outside liquor stores. And in the middle of all that noise, in the shadow of a boarded apartment building, Andre Gatewood stood alone.
He wore a black coat over a white shirt, sharp enough for a funeral, comfortable enough for war. His breath steamed in the cold morning air as he stared out over the city like he was trying to see the future instead of the chaos he caused.
A lieutenant approached cautiously.
"Boss… updates."
Andre didn't turn. "Give them."
"Cartel hit four of our corners," the lieutenant said. "Two stash pads burned. One of our vans gone. Nobody made it out."
Andre closed his eyes. Not in grief. In calculation.
"And Southside?" Andre asked.
"They been moving quiet," the lieutenant said. "Too quiet. Some people whisper they got new soldiers. And Big Head he's been walking like he got nine lives."
Andre finally turned to him.
"And Lo?"
The lieutenant lowered his voice.
"We got eyes on her apartment. She been staying with her aunt two blocks off the Southside line. Goes in and out fast. No security. No one with her."
Andre hummed low in his throat.
"Good. Don't touch her yet. Don't spook her. Just watch. Patterns matter more than panic."
The lieutenant nodded, relieved Andre didn't lash out.
But Andre wasn't finished.
"Find me her job. Her routine. The places she cries and the places she pretends she ain't crying. Every step she takes… I want to take one behind her."
"Yes, sir."
Andre stepped closer until he was inches away.
"And don't fail me," Andre said, voice soft but lethal. "You see what happened to the last men who did."
He didn't have to describe the alley.
Everyone had seen the video.
Everyone knew Andre had lost something important that night.
Not power.
Not territory.
Control.
Andre paused, staring again at the wild skyline.
"This city is slipping," he murmured. "So we tighten our grip."
He didn't raise his voice.
He didn't have to.
War was already answering him.
Big Head didn't sleep.
Not even for an hour.
He sat in the cleaners office with the door slightly cracked, watching dust float in the stale morning light. His gun rested on the desk beside him. Beside that lay a half-eaten pack of crackers and a burner phone that kept buzzing every ten minutes.
Jack walked in, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"You good?" he asked.
Big Head nodded once. "Yeah. You?"
Jack pulled up a chair backward and straddled it. "I slept but… you ever wake up feeling like the city got smaller overnight?"
Big Head cracked a small smile. "The city ain't smaller. We just bigger."
Jack didn't argue.
"Where Murk and Psycho at?" Big Head asked.
Jack gestured to the back. "Loading product into the drop house. Rob making rounds—checking if Tee's corner survived the night."
Big Head's jaw tightened.
"You nervous about giving that boy work?" Jack asked.
"He got heart," Big Head said. "But heart don't mean shit if he ain't smart."
Jack shrugged. "We weren't smart when Miss Lo pulled us in."
"That's why we still breathing," Big Head said quietly. "She taught us how."
A long pause.
Then Jack asked the question sitting heavy on all of them.
"You think Andre coming for Lo?"
Big Head's eyes hardened.
"I know he is."
Jack cursed under his breath. "We need to move her."
"Not yet," Big Head said. "That makes it obvious. When Andre sees people get protected, that's when he strikes hardest."
"So what we do?"
Big Head tapped the table slowly.
"Make Andre think Lo don't matter."
Jack nodded slowly. "Misdirection."
"Exactly."
Another buzz hit the burner phone.
Big Head checked the screen.
Another corpse found.
Another stash hit.
Another Eastside soldier gone.
The war was swirling tighter, like a drain pulling the city into a single black hole.
Jack leaned forward. "This… this ain't like before."
Big Head exhaled. "Before was survival. Now? Now we building something."
"And you ready if Andre hits first?"
"I been ready since Dre died," Big Head said. "Since the day Andre forgot who Miss Lo was."
Jack didn't say anything else.
He didn't have to.
The door creaked open.
Psycho leaned in, shirt off, sweat on his forehead, duffel strap over one shoulder.
"We got company."
Big Head stood immediately. "Whose car?"
"Unmarked," Psycho said. "Two black sedans. Parked outside the cleaners. Look like cops."
Jack cursed. "Normal cops or…?"
Psycho shook his head.
"No lights. No hurry. They waiting."
Big Head tucked his gun into his waistband.
"Get Murk. Get Rob. Nobody panics."
Psycho cracked his knuckles. "Hell yeah."
"No," Big Head snapped. "This ain't a fight."
Jack blinked. "Then what is it?"
Big Head answered without emotion.
"A message."
THE COPS ARRIVE
When the boys stepped outside, the morning air bit like winter teeth.
Two black sedans sat crooked near the curb. Unmarked. Windows tinted. Engines running low. A third car pulled up behind them, squeezing the street.
Three officers stood outside.
No uniforms.
No badges showing.
No friendliness.
Detective Harris wasn't among them.
These weren't the good ones.
The one in front—short, wide shoulders, shaved head—spit onto the pavement as the Southside boys approached.
"You Big Head?" the officer asked.
"Who asking?" Big Head said.
The officer smirked.
"That attitude ain't cute, son."
Psycho stepped forward but Big Head raised a hand.
"What you want?" Big Head said calmly.
The officer's smirk faded.
"You."
Before they could react, the officers rushed them with surgical precision.
Murk swung first.
Psycho lunged.
Jack turned.
But the cops weren't amateurs.
They jammed batons into ribs, slammed bodies into pavement, zip-tied wrists fast enough to make a paramedic jealous.
Big Head didn't struggle.
He knew struggling made them hit harder.
Within twenty seconds, the boys were forced into the back of the black sedans.
Rob panted. "We going downtown?"
The officer in front snorted. "Downtown? You think we wasting our desks on you?"
The sedan pulled off.
No sirens.
No radio chatter.
No explanation.
Just tension.
Thick enough to choke on.
Big Head stared at the back of the cop's head.
This wasn't protocol.
This was personal.
They drove for twenty minutes until the city turned from buildings to broken asphalt and empty lots.
The cars rolled into an abandoned industrial park where rust ate every metal beam. A warehouse sat crooked on its foundation, door half open like a mouth waiting to swallow something.
The boys were dragged inside.
The warehouse was dark except for one bulb hanging from a frayed wire. Dust floated through the light like dead snow.
And tied to a chair in the center
A man they recognized.
Andre's soldier.
The same one who had vanished two days ago.
The same one who always hung around Torian when Andre needed someone desperate enough to do anything.
But now he was beat bloody one eye swollen shut, lip split, ribs bruised purple.
He looked up at Big Head and the boys, terrified.
"Fellas… I swear… I wasn't gon' do it," he choked. "Andre told me to. He said if I give your names to the cops, he'd clear my debt. I swear I ain't say shit yet"
A cop stepped forward and cracked him across the mouth with a pistol.
"Shut up," the bald cop barked.
Psycho snarled. "He was tryin' to snitch on us?"
The bald cop looked at him.
"No. He was TRYING to," the cop corrected. "Andre sent him to us last night. Told him to give us everything he knows about Southside. Thought he could start a case on you boys. Thought he could weaponize us."
Murk's eyes darkened. "Andre playin' police games now?"
"Exactly," the cop said. "Andre wanted US to clean you off the map. For free."
Jack muttered, half disgusted: "Damn."
The cop grabbed the snitch by the hair and yanked his head up so he faced Big Head.
"This little rat walked into our office crying about how he got 'info on the Southside.' Told us Andre promised him money, protection, a new place to live."
The snitch cried harder. "I ain't wanna—he made me he said he'd kill my sister"
The cop didn't let him finish.
He pressed the gun to the man's forehead.
"You snitch for Andre… you die for Andre."
"NO WAIT" the snitch screamed.
The gunshot echoed like thunder trapped inside a metal drum.
The body slumped sideways, still tied to the chair, head hanging unnaturally.
Blood dripped into the dust.
Psycho's jaw clenched. Rob looked sick. Jack whispered, "Fuck…"
Murk stared at the corpse.
"Andre sending people to build cases on us?" Murk said quietly. "That's a new level of bitch."
The bald cop pointed the gun at the floor and spoke calmly:
"He thought he could use us. We don't work for him. We don't clean his mess."
He wiped the gun on the dead man's shirt.
Then he turned to the Southside boys, eyes cold:
"And that's why you're here. Because whether you like it or not, the streets are shifting. Andre is slipping. He's scared. And scared men make stupid alliances."
The tall detective stepped forward.
"You don't want to end up on the wrong side of this city," he said. "You pay us 50k a month, and we make sure NO ONE flips on you. Not Andre's people. Not yours. Not cops. Nobody."
Big Head didn't blink.
"And if we don't?"
The bald cop pointed the gun at Psycho's head.
"Then you go in the ground just like him. One. By. One."
Big Head stepped between them.
"We listening," he said. "Not agreeing."
The cop smiled thinly.
"You got thirty days."
He gestured toward the warehouse door.
"Take them home," he told the officers.
"But leave the body," he added, glancing at the snitch. "Andre needs to find him. Sends the right message."
As the boys were marched out, Big Head looked back once.
At the blood.
At the corpse.
At the bullet hole smoking softly.
This wasn't protection.
This was the city showing its teeth.
And Andre wasn't the only predator hunting now.
The ride back
No one spoke in the car.
Psycho stared straight ahead, jaw tight.
Jack tapped his knee, the rhythm uneven.
Rob breathed slow, trying not to panic.
Murk looked out the window at the city rolling by police cruisers, burned-out buildings, silent storefronts.
Big Head didn't look anywhere.
He thought.
When they finally got dropped near the cleaners, the bald cop leaned out the window.
"You boys got potential," he said. "Don't waste it."
The sedan pulled off.
Silence.
Then Psycho exhaled shakily.
"We gotta kill those motherfuckers," he said.
"Not yet," Big Head said. "They cops. And they tied to somebody bigger."
Jack rubbed his face. "So now we paying cops AND building soldiers AND ducking the cartel AND dealing with Andre?"
Rob shook his head. "City closing in."
Murk holstered his gun.
"Good," he said. "Let it close."
They looked at him.
Murk's voice turned low.
"Pressure makes diamonds."
Big Head stepped forward.
"No," he said. "Pressure makes killers."
He turned toward the cleaners.
"Inside," he ordered. "We regroup."
They filed back into the cleaners without a word.
The bell over the door clinked soft and out of place, like it did not understand what kind of men were walking under it now. The front room smelled like starch and old soap. The machines sat quiet. Sunlight tried to push through the boarded windows and failed.
Big Head locked the door.
"Phones," he said.
They dropped them on the counter one by one. Personal. Burners. All of it. Murk swept them into a plastic bag and tied it off tight.
"No light," Big Head added.
Rob hit the switches. The room fell into a gray dim. Only a thin stripe of sun bled in from the back hallway.
They went to the office.
No one sat.
No one wanted to.
Psycho paced like a caged dog, shoulders tense, jaw flexing. Murk leaned against the file cabinet, arms crossed, eyes cold. Jack stayed near the door, like he needed to be the first one to hear footsteps. Rob stood by the desk, fingers drumming once, twice, then stopping when he realized how shaky they were.
Big Head stayed in the center of the room.
He was the only one who looked still, but his mind was moving faster than any of them.
Rob broke first.
"Fifty K a month?" he said, voice tight. "That is six hundred K a year. Just to keep some badge-wearing snakes from deciding we a snack?"
Psycho spat on the floor.
"Fuck that," he said. "We kill them. Simple. Take them out, take their cars, bury them with that snitch. Cops go missing all the time."
"No," Murk replied. "Not cops like that."
Psycho turned on him. "You scared now?"
Murk met his eyes without moving.
"I am alive," he said. "Alive means I think. Those boys in that warehouse are not regular patrol. They connected. You saw how that bald one walked. That is a man who knows nobody checks his work."
Jack nodded slowly. "He shot a man in the head, then used his body as a towel. That tells me he done this before. Nobody called him about it. Nobody flinched."
Psycho clenched his fists. "So we just let them talk to us like that? Put a price tag on our lives?"
Big Head lifted his hand.
The room went quiet.
"We do not panic," he said. "Panic is what they want. Panic make you pay fast. Or make you die sloppy."
Rob stared at him. "So what we doing? We not paying, we not killing them. What is left?"
Big Head spoke slow, like he was laying bricks.
"We act like we might pay," he said. "For now. That buys time. Time to find out who they really are. Who they answer to. Who they owe money to. Nobody moves like that without somebody above them holding a leash."
Jack frowned. "You think somebody own them?"
"Everybody belongs to somebody," Big Head said. "Cops. Andre. Even cartel soldiers. Only ghosts do not answer to nobody."
Psycho smirked faintly. "You turning us into ghosts then?"
Big Head shook his head.
"I am turning us into something they cannot see clearly," he said. "They want a straight line. We give them smoke and mirrors."
Murk rubbed his chin.
"You heard what he said though," Murk reminded them. "Andre sent that man in to snitch. Andre was ready to hand us to the cops just so they build a case. That means he is past mad. He is scared. He playing dirty even by his standards."
Jack exhaled. "So now we got Andre trying to feed us to the police. Cartel burning his blocks. Dirty cops trying to tax us. Regular cops building files. Anything else?"
"Yeah," Rob muttered. "Northside watching all of it."
Psycho laughed without humor.
"City feel small as a jail cell right now," he said.
Big Head agreed.
He just did not say it.
Instead he walked behind the desk, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out a folded piece of cardboard. He dropped it on the desk.
On one side, Jack had scribbled their new structure. Corners. Names. Percentages. On the other side, Big Head had drawn rough boxes where power sat in the city.
"Look," Big Head said.
They gathered.
He pointed to one square.
"Andre," he said.
He pointed to another.
"Cartel. Mateo's people."
Another square.
"Police. That includes Harris and Lopez and those warehouse demons."
He drew a small line along the bottom connecting all three.
"Street rumors," he said. "News. Civilians. All that noise flows between these three. Right now, they all bleeding each other. We right here."
He tapped the empty space under the line.
"People think we under everything," Big Head said. "Like we trapped in this gap. They wrong."
He flipped the cardboard upside down.
Their names stared back at them.
Big Head. Psycho. Murk. Jack. Rob.
Below that, scribbled smaller: Tee. Two hustlers from the other block. A handful of other names waiting to prove themselves.
"This is the top," Big Head said. "They just do not know it yet. So before we decide what to do about cops, we handle one thing."
"What thing?" Rob asked.
Big Head met his eyes.
"We make sure they cannot touch our heart," he said.
Murk understood first.
"You mean Lo," he said.
Psycho stiffened.
"I already know Andre coming for her," Big Head said. "Men like him only understand leverage. He cannot reach Miss Lo because she gone. So he reaches for the closest thing that feels like her. Her daughter. He will not stop at bullets. He will go for feelings. For memories. For anything that make us hesitate."
Jack nodded slowly.
"You been expecting this," he said.
"Since the day she came back to the block," Big Head answered. "Andre thinks he playing chess. All he did is step onto Miss Lo's side of the board."
Psycho leaned on the desk.
"So what we do?" he asked. "Move her? Grab her and tell her she staying in some hideout until this all over?"
Big Head shook his head.
"That will only prove she matters," he said. "Andre watching. If he sees us snatch Lo off the street, he will know she is our weak spot. He will send more men. Spend more money. We do not feed his focus. We blur it."
Rob frowned. "Blur it how?"
Big Head thought for a moment.
"First, we tighten Southside," he said. "No strange cars. No new faces hanging too close. Tee and the others get told to keep their ears open. If anybody even says Lo's name wrong on a corner, I want to know."
Jack added, "We can run her routes without touching her. Follow from distance. Watch for tails. If Andre already moving, he will not be shy about it."
Psycho brightened a little.
"I can do that," he said. "Shadow detail. I will follow so quiet even her shadow do not see me."
Murk snorted softly. "You are the loudest one we got."
"I can be quiet when I want," Psycho said.
Big Head studied him.
"You and Rob rotate," he decided. "One on Lo. One on our corners. Switch every twelve hours. Nobody makes contact with her unless there is immediate danger. We only show our hand if Andre moves first."
Rob nodded, already mapping streets in his head.
"And the cops?" Jack asked.
Big Head picked up a pen.
"We give them a story," he said.
"What kind of story?" Murk said.
"The kind that makes them greedier," Big Head said. "We let word leak through small channels that we moving weight heavier than they think. That we talk to someone higher than Mateo. They will not want to kill off a new money hose right away. They will try to keep us breathing long enough to squeeze more out of us."
Psycho chuckled. "We flirt with the wolves."
"We keep them hungry but patient," Big Head corrected. "Enough heat to scare Andre but not enough to burn us yet. In that time, we stack money. Build soldiers. Find something on those cops that lets us choose if they live or die."
Murk's gaze sharpened.
"You want dirt on them," he said.
"I want options," Big Head said.
Rob rubbed his face again.
"And if we cannot find any?" he asked.
Big Head did not hesitate.
"Then we make some," he said.
The room went quiet.
Not because they were shocked.
Because they believed him.
A knock hit the back door.
Four heads turned at once.
Hands slid toward guns.
Big Head raised a hand.
"Wait," he said.
The knock came again. Two soft taps, then three quick ones. A pattern they knew.
"Tee," Murk said.
Big Head nodded. "Let him in."
Murk moved out, checked the back hall, then returned with Tee close behind.
The younger boy looked wired. Eyes wide. Breath quick.
He took in the room. The tension. The serious faces.
"What is it?" Big Head asked.
Tee swallowed.
"I was on the swings block," he said. "A car pulled up. Eastside tags. Andre's people."
"Which ones?" Jack asked.
Tee shook his head. "I ain't know them. But they were asking questions."
"What kind of questions?" Murk said.
Tee licked his lips.
"They asked where Miss Lo used to live," he said. "They asked who still come by to see the building. They asked who the woman is that look like her but younger. Said they heard she been in the neighborhood. One of them said Andre want to talk to her about an old debt."
Psycho stepped closer.
"He say her name?" Psycho asked.
Tee nodded slowly.
"He said Lo," Tee replied. "The way we say it. Like he knew exactly who she was."
Big Head's chest went tight for a second.
Not surprise.
Confirmation.
"What you tell them?" Big Head asked.
Tee straightened.
"I told them I do not know what they talking about," he said. "Said Miss Lo dead and gone and nobody else been around. They looked at me like they ain't believe it. Drove off slow. One of them said, 'We will find her.'"
Rob cursed.
Jack's hand curled into a fist.
Big Head just nodded once.
"You did good," Big Head said.
Tee exhaled, shoulders dropping a little.
"Anytime you hear Andre's name or Lo's name together," Big Head added, "you leave. You call us. You do not try to listen too long. People who listen too long end up dead."
Tee nodded fast.
"I got you," he said.
Big Head reached into the drawer and pulled out a folded stack. Not much, but more than Tee usually saw at once. He handed it over.
"For your ears," Big Head said.
Tee took it like it might bite him.
"I will not fail you," Tee said.
"Do not fail yourself," Big Head answered.
Tee left through the back. Murk locked the door again.
Psycho spoke first.
"So that is it," he said. "Andre is aiming at her. No more guessing."
Big Head nodded.
"This is what we expected," he said. "Now we move like it is real."
Jack asked, "What you want us to do different?"
Big Head looked around at the faces that had followed him from kids stealing candy to men planning wars.
"We were building Southside," he said. "Now we fortify it."
"How?" Rob asked.
Big Head pointed toward the front of the cleaners.
"Every corner we got, every runner we feed, every hustler we put on, they all get one more rule," he said. "If Andre's people step on Southside looking for Lo, they do not answer questions. They do not start fights. They call us. We hit from the shadows. We make Andre feel like he stepping into a maze he do not understand."
Psycho grinned. "I like mazes."
Murk nodded slowly.
"And Lo herself?" he asked.
Big Head was quiet for a moment.
He remembered her laugh from when they were kids. The way she used to sit on Miss Lo's steps and pretend she was not watching him leave for dumb missions. The way her eyes had looked the other night when she learned pieces of what he was doing now.
He could not lock her in a room.
She would hate him for it.
He could not leave her unprotected.
He would hate himself for that.
"We give her a shadow she does not see," Big Head said finally. "Psycho. Rob. You rotate like we said. Take different routes. Different distances. If Andre's boys move on her, you stop it before they start. No evidence. No bodies left where cops can see right away. Fast in. Fast out."
Psycho nodded. "On it."
Rob added, "I know her aunt's building. I know the bus stops she uses. The market she hit. We can map her whole day."
"Do it," Big Head said. "But remember. We do not let her feel caged. Miss Lo raised us to give people choices. Not traps."
Murk raised an eyebrow.
"You going to tell her any of this?" he asked.
Big Head thought about calling.
He could hear the conversation in his head already.
Lo would be angry. She would say she did not need his protection. She would say he brought this on himself. She would not be entirely wrong.
"Not yet," he decided. "Words make people panic. Panic make them change their routine. Right now routine is the only thing we can track. We keep her world as normal as possible while we make the city around her abnormal."
Jack let out a low breath.
"You sound like Miss Lo," he said.
Big Head almost smiled.
"She the only reason I am not dead already," he said. "Might as well listen to her even from the grave."
The room fell silent again.
They all felt it.
The city closing its fist.
Police cracking down on traffic stops, pulling people out of cars, asking about Andre and cartel and any new names on the street. News talking about a "spike in gang activity." Old ladies closing their blinds earlier. Kids staying inside instead of playing on sidewalks.
It was like the whole place had decided to hold its breath.
Big Head broke the stillness.
"Jack," he said. "You go through everything we got on Andre's people. Every cousin. Every side chick. Every flunky. Circle anyone who look tired or underpaid. Those the ones who flip first when pressure hit."
Jack nodded. "On it."
"Murk," Big Head continued. "Find out which cops been responding to Andre's scenes. Not the dirty ones we met. The regular ones. If Harris and Lopez keep showing up where bodies fall, that means they sniffing around the same tree we climbing. Might be useful. Might be a problem."
Murk nodded.
"Psycho. Rob," Big Head said. "Start Lo coverage tonight. Do it quiet. Then spread word to our corners. New rule set. No extra stories."
They all moved at once.
The office emptied until it was just Big Head and the hum of the old fridge in the corner.
He sat down finally.
For the first time since the SUV in the alley, he let himself feel tired.
Only for a second.
His mind played out different futures.
One where Lo got taken and the city burned down behind her.
One where Andre succeeded in turning cops and corners against Southside.
One where the cartel got bored and decided Southside was easier to crush than Andre.
Then he saw another path.
One where the Southside boys were no longer reaction.
They were impact.
He stood.
Sleep could wait.
Plans could not.
ACROSS THE CITY
That afternoon, Detective Harris stood over another body.
This one slumped in a folding chair in the middle of a warehouse. One of the uniforms had followed up on an anonymous tip about "gunshots by the old factory." By the time they got there, the shooters were long gone.
Harris looked at the dead man's face.
He recognized him from Eastside files. Andre's little errand boy. Pickups, drop offs, the kind of man sent to run messages when you did not want to be seen sending messages.
Lopez took photos.
"Same kind of wound," she said. "Close range. Single shot to the head. Execution."
Harris studied the angles.
"Chair in the middle of the room," he murmured. "Gunpowder on his forehead. Whoever did this wanted him to see it coming."
Lopez pointed to the floor.
"No shells," she said. "Whoever did this policed their brass. Maybe even used a revolver."
Harris nodded, but his mind stuck on something else.
The chair legs dragged lines in the dust. There were boot prints near them. Big ones. Heavy. But no signs of a struggle.
"He was already broken when he got here," Harris said. "Probably thought this was some kind of deal. Or interrogation. Not an ending."
Lopez flipped through her notes.
"Word on the street is Andre has been losing people left and right," she said. "Cartel hitting his spots. Southside pushing up. Cops everywhere. He could be cleaning house. Or somebody cleaning it for him."
Harris looked up at the shadows hanging in the rafters.
"This does not feel like cartel," he said. "They leave messages. This feels like somebody sending a message only certain ears are meant to hear."
Lopez tilted her head.
"Like who?" she asked.
Harris thought about the names he had been hearing in whispers.
Big Head.
Psycho.
Murk.
Jack.
Rob.
And somewhere between all of them, a woman who shared a dead queen's name.
Miss Lo.
"We keep listening," Harris said finally. "This city is about to tell us a story. We just have to catch it before it finishes."
He walked out of the warehouse, leaving the body to the coroner and the dust.
Outside, the sky looked gray even though the sun was out.
It felt like the whole city was stuck between storms.
BACK ON THE SOUTHSIDE
Night dropped early.
Streetlights flickered on, some working, some struggling, some dead. Sirens wailed in the distance like a chorus nobody wanted to join.
Lo stepped out of her aunt's building with a grocery bag in one hand and her keys in the other. She wore a simple jacket, head down, trying to pretend the world was normal.
She did not see the car parked half a block back, dark engine off.
Andre's men watched her through tinted glass.
"There she go," the driver said. "Looks like the pictures boss got. Same eyes."
The passenger recorded a short video.
"Do we grab her?" he asked.
The man in the back shook his head.
"Not yet," he said. "Orders is to watch. See who she talks to. See who protects her. Andre wants to know how much she is really worth before he spends on her."
They watched as Lo walked down the block, crossed the street, hit the corner store, laughed briefly with the old man behind the counter, then headed back.
What they did not see at first was the shadow on the other side of the street.
Psycho, hoodie up, hands in his pockets, walking like he had nowhere to be. He kept his distance. Never looked straight at Lo. But every reflection in every storefront told him where she was.
Rob sat in a car farther back, pretending to scroll his phone, eyes on rearview and side mirror both.
He saw Andre's sedan.
He did not react.
He just memorized the plates.
Psycho yawned as Lo went back into the building.
The door closed behind her.
Light went on upstairs.
Rob spoke into the smallest mic they could afford, tucked near his collar.
"Target home," he said. "Two eyes still out front. Eastside tags. They holding pattern."
Big Head's voice crackled back through his earpiece from the cleaners.
"Do not spook them," Big Head said. "Let them think she alone. Let Andre think we busy fighting fire while he playing kidnap games."
Psycho smirked faintly.
"And when he makes his move?" he asked.
Big Head's answer came back low and final.
"Then we show him," he said, "that Southside was never his playground."
Psycho adjusted his hood and kept walking.
The city's fist was closing.
But the Southside was learning how to punch back.