Chapter 157 - Unleash the dogs. Part 2

I'm leaving you two new chapters 🎄✨

Merry Christmas! 🎅🎁

Wishing you happy holidays, full of peace, health, and great reading 🎄📖🎉

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After a while, they were moving in convoy, spread across three cars, heading toward an old industrial zone. The streetlights were scarce, casting a weak, flickering light that barely managed to cut through the shadows. The silence inside the vehicles grew heavier by the minute.

Distant barking broke the stillness, making the atmosphere even more oppressive.

Then, two dark figures emerged from a dim corner, silhouetted against the glow of the streetlamps. They remained motionless, as if they had been waiting for that exact moment. On the other side, up on the rooftops, two more silhouettes watched from a distance, hidden among the shadows.

—All right… Team One in position. We have visual. No targets in sight. Proceed.

Olinsky's voice came through the channel, steady and controlled.

Team One consisted of Olinsky and Rusek, providing overwatch. Teams Two and Three were split between Erin and Ethan on one flank, and Antonio with Hank on the other.

Ethan slowed his pace as he heard the transmission in his earpiece. The metallic echo of the radio confirmed the operation was underway. He exchanged a quick look with Erin, and both moved forward, pressed against the wall, slipping quietly through the shadows.

The building loomed ahead of them, dark and silent.

Suddenly, a dull, muffled thud came from inside the factory, as if something heavy had hit the floor.

Ethan stopped short and raised his fist.

—Did you hear that? —he murmured.

In the earpiece, silence followed instantly.

—Sounds like machinery —Erin murmured over the channel.

Ethan tilted his head, listening as the noise repeated from inside.

—Looks like we were right —he replied quietly.

Ethan raised his fist again to signal Erin to stop, then crouched and pressed the walkie-talkie.

—No rear access. We'll have to go in from the front. —he whispered—

—Copy —Hank replied, his voice crackling with interference—. Continue the diversion. Check the side doors.

Ethan and Erin exchanged a quick look, one of those that needed no words. They rose and kept moving down the deserted street. Ethan kept his eyes forward, alert for any lookout who might appear.

Erin placed a firm hand on his shoulder—a warning signal. Every so often she glanced up at the light poles, the façades, the blind spots. No one knew whether the perimeter was covered by surveillance cameras.

—I found a van —Antonio announced over the earpiece—. The target should be inside the factory. There's luggage… looks like they're ready to run.

—Olinsky? —Hank's rough voice cut in over the channel, thick with impatience—. Status?

Ethan rounded the corner cautiously. A few meters ahead, he spotted Hank and Antonio crouched behind the van, pressed against the massive metal door of the factory. The peeling paint and dark streaks of rust gave the place an abandoned look… but the low hum coming from inside said otherwise.

They exchanged a hand signal and regrouped without a word.

On the factory rooftop, Olinsky and Rusek stayed crouched beside a ventilation grate, the night wind tugging at their clothes.

At Hank's insistence, Olinsky pressed the intercom.

—Just give me a couple more seconds. —he said quietly—

Rusek carefully lowered the flexible endoscope through the grate, never taking his eyes off the image flickering on the small screen. He adjusted the angle millimeter by millimeter, holding his breath.

A few seconds passed, stretching into eternity.

Then the image stabilized.

—Got it —he murmured.

He licked his lips and turned the screen so the others could see.

The interior of the factory unfolded before them. Several old printing presses were running nonstop, devouring white sheets of paper and spitting out counterfeit bills in a hypnotic rhythm. The process was clean, precise, almost elegant.

In one corner, stacks of U.S. dollars—already printed and cut—were piled into a column over half a meter high.

—Visual confirmation, Sergeant —Rusek reported softly—. We've found the counterfeiting operation.

Olinsky leaned closer to the screen, frowning as he studied the images.

By the main door, Ethan pressed his communicator.

—Number of subjects?

The radar couldn't pick them up because of the distance and the walls.

—Four —Rusek replied after a few seconds—. At least the ones we can see.

—Armed? —Hank asked immediately.

Olinsky took a moment before answering.

—We can't confirm it. Visibility's bad. Assume they are.

There was a brief silence.

—Copy —Hank said—. Pull back.

Hank released the walkie-talkie. A minute later, light footsteps could be heard. With the entire team now together, Rusek quickly described the interior layout and the approximate positions of the people inside.

—All right —he said in a low, firm voice—. We've seen enough.

He paused for a fraction of a second.

—It's time to unleash the dogs. Ethan, you're up front.

Everyone fixed their eyes on him as they gripped their weapons. Ethan just smiled. It was brief, almost imperceptible… and yet unsettling enough for more than one of them to notice.

A little macabre, some thought.

But at that moment, what else could be said?

Ethan lowered his weapon slightly and took the safety off his R-15. With a firm, trained motion, he racked the charging handle, chambering a round.

—Click.

The dry sound echoed through the silence like a warning.

The team spread out on both sides of the entrance, backs against the wall, weapons raised. From the other side of the door came the constant hum of metal machinery working nonstop.

Hank stepped forward.

He slid the pry bar into the lock.

—Clank.

He braced one foot against the iron door and pushed with both hands.

The metal groaned.

—Creeeek… chiiirrkk.

A second of resistance.

—CRACK!

The lock gave way all at once.

Before the door could rebound, Antonio and Rusek grabbed it and shoved hard.

The iron door flew open. A blast of hot air, thick with ink, oil, and burnt paper, hit them in the face.

—Chicago Police! —Ethan shouted—. Hands up! Don't move!

Inside, the printing presses kept running for one more second.

Until someone screamed.

And chaos exploded. Antonio, Erin, Hank, and Olinsky rushed inside.

—Police!

When Ward's men realized who their unwanted visitors were, they didn't surrender easily. They grabbed their weapons immediately and aimed at the main door. The next instant, gunfire cracked and burst.

Bang, bang, bang!

Erin squeezed the trigger without hesitation and charged forward. She didn't realize she was already in the sights of a distant weapon.

—Watch out!

Ethan reacted on pure instinct.

He lunged toward Erin, wrapped both arms around her, and yanked her out of the spot just as something exploded behind them. They rolled across the floor several times, slamming into the rough concrete.

The machinery behind them showered sparks as metal crashed against metal. The roar shook the air.

The impact was brutal.

Erin felt the world tilt violently. A sharp blow shot through her head and everything went blurry, sounds distant and muffled, as if she were underwater.

Darkness.

When she came to, the hum of the presses was still pounding in her ears.

Ethan had already dragged her into a narrow corner between the machines. He kept her pinned to the ground, shielding her with his body, one firm hand on her shoulder to keep her from jumping up too fast.

—Hey… hey… look at me —he said softly, urgently—. Are you okay?

His eyes scanned her face, her neck, her arms, searching for blood.

—Are you hurt? Does anything hurt?

Erin blinked several times, trying to focus, her heart still hammering in her chest from the adrenaline.

—Yeah… I'm okay. Thank you…

The words had barely left her lips when another burst of gunfire shook the factory.

—BANG! BANG! BANG!

Bullets whistled over their heads, ricocheting off metal.

Ethan let out a short, breathy laugh through his teeth—one without humor, pure adrenaline. He gave her cheek a quick pinch, almost tender.

—Stay down.

Without waiting for an answer, he sprang to his feet.

The team agents used the massive printing presses near the entrance as cover, leaning out just enough to fire deeper into the factory.

Ethan's radar flickered with intermittent lights. Movement detected. He took his rifle, moved around the area with quick, precise steps, and after a short burst of gunfire, disappeared from Erin's line of sight.

—BANG! BANG!

Erin clenched her teeth. She touched her cheek where she could still feel the pinch, took a deep breath, and pushed herself up. She raised her Glock steadily.

The crossfire fully erupted.

Bullets sliced through the air like invisible blades.

Ethan moved swiftly between the machines. The thunder of the presses remained constant, indifferent to the chaos.

Not far away, beside one of them, a man wearing a ballistic vest raised an AK-47.

—RATATATÁ!

The muzzle spat fire. The recoil violently jerked his arm.

Ethan stopped, aimed in seconds, and pulled the trigger.

—BANG!

The impact was devastating.

A cloud of blood exploded instantly, splattering the counterfeit bills that were still pouring out of the press without pause. Bright red stains spread like open flowers across the freshly printed paper.

His body wavered for a second before collapsing with a dull thud.

The rest of the counterfeiters flinched. The rhythm of the gunfire slowed.

—Now! —Hank roared.

Antonio and Hank advanced in turns, covering each other.

Bullets struck another man who tried to flee toward the back. He fell onto his back, dragging a pile of bills with him.

—Drop the weapons! On the ground!

The shouts echoed through the warehouse.

The two remaining men realized it was over. They dropped their weapons and threw themselves face down.

Ethan rushed forward and kicked a pistol away. The man in front of him was Caucasian, with graying hair. He wore only an ink-stained apron. He had a strong, almost intimidating build… but he didn't dare move.

Ethan knelt on top of him and pressed his neck hard against the floor.

—Let me go! I can't breathe! —the man shouted, his face flushed red.

—Easy —Ethan replied calmly—. You're not going to die… yet.

He pulled out the cuffs and snapped them shut with a sharp sound.

—CLACK.

Then he eased the pressure.

The man had barely caught his breath when Ethan grabbed him by the hair again, forcing his face up.

He recognized him instantly.

—Green Ward.

Ethan lifted him a little higher so everyone could see him. Ward kept his lips pressed tight, his glare fierce. Now that he was caught, his expression was even darker.

Whether he talked or not, his fate was already sealed.

Antonio finished cuffing the last suspect. After securing the area, the team regrouped in the center of the industrial hall.

—Wow…!

Rusek quickened his pace when he saw the massive pile of counterfeit bills. He patted one of the bundles in disbelief.

—I wish this were real.

He flopped down on them with exaggerated theatrics, grabbed a handful, and posed as if he were in a photo shoot.

—Lindsay, hurry up —he said, grinning—. Take some pictures of me. I want to post them on Facebook.

The distant hum of the presses still echoed, but the operation was over.

—They're just fake bills. What's there to photograph?

Erin shook her head, pulled her phone from the pocket of her ballistic vest, and snapped a photo.

—Real money is way more interesting.

—You think I don't want that?

Rusek remembered he'd missed out last time and added sarcastically:

—It's fine. Nobody knows it's fake.

Ethan ignored the clown and keyed his radio.

—Central, this is badge 99527. Shots fired, two suspects down, scene secure. We need an ambulance. Address: warehouse 1356, south of 13th Street. Plainclothes officers on site.

The dispatcher replied immediately:

—Copy that. Units are en route.

—Antonio —Hank motioned to him—, call the precinct too. Let them handle what comes next.

—Got it.

Antonio shook his head.

—We do all the dirty work and the precinct gets the credit.

—Don't complain —Hank said, scanning the room—. The credit is ours; no one can take that away. But Intelligence doesn't need to be in the spotlight.

Cases like that inevitably drew media attention. Hank had set a clear rule: no one on the team gave interviews.

Unlike other units that chased headlines even for the smallest case, Intelligence operated under a strict policy of anonymity. The nature of their work demanded discretion; many times they had to operate undercover, and too much exposure could jeopardize future operations. That was why media credit almost always went to other departments.

—You know —Hank added, giving Antonio a firm pat on the shoulder—, the last thing we need right now is media attention.

Antonio nodded without hesitation.

—Don't worry. I get it.

With Green Ward's arrest, the case was officially closed.

Patrol officers quickly removed the two bodies and the suspects, careful not to disturb the scene. Even the bundles of counterfeit bills were placed back in their original positions.

Within minutes, department-friendly media would arrive to document the operation. The 21st Precinct would once again make headlines, reinforcing the image that they didn't sit idle or waste taxpayers' money.

Back at the precinct, once the paperwork was finished, Ethan suddenly remembered there was still someone locked in the garage. He crumpled a sheet of paper and tossed it down the hallway to Erin, who was leaning against the wall at the far end.

—Hey, Lind, didn't you forget something?

—Shit.

Erin remembered Nadia too and grabbed her coat in a hurry.

—I'll see you later… —she blurted softly as she passed him, giving him a quick wink.

She ran down the stairs while putting on her coat. After tidying his desk, Ethan got ready to leave. At that moment, Hank stepped out of his office and motioned for him and Antonio to come in.

They exchanged confused looks and went inside.

—Commander Perry just spoke to me a little while ago, and he's furious.

Hank hesitated before continuing.

—We got another complaint about Halstead today. He's been harassing Lonnie Rodiger and his family again. I need you to go talk to him… —he paused, choosing his words carefully— make him see reason before he ruins his career.

Antonio nodded, thinking something had gone wrong.

—Is it still about that issue?

—Yes.

Hank rubbed his head.

—You two go talk to him. Get through to him before he gets himself into more trouble.

—Alright, I understand.

Halstead had been recommended to Intelligence by Antonio, and they were friends, so he wouldn't refuse.

—Then let's go.

Ethan tapped the table lightly.

—If he's got the energy to cause trouble, drinking won't be a problem.

—Mm.

Antonio's expression hardened; a situation like that wouldn't be pleasant for anyone.

There wasn't much they could do beyond sitting down with him, having a few drinks, and talking—trying to get him to stop obsessing over the issue before it spiraled out of control.

As they left the sergeant's office, Antonio made a call right away. After confirming that Halstead was home, they grabbed their things and called it a night.

Ethan stopped by his apartment first to change, then got into his personal car and drove to the address Antonio had sent him. Twenty minutes later, he arrived at an ordinary-looking apartment building.

Just as he was parking, Antonio showed up as well.

They got out of their cars at the same time: one was carrying a bottle of whiskey; the other, two dozen beers. They looked at each other and smiled, accomplices.

Talking man to man almost always meant drinking and making inappropriate comments, right?

And, being honest, it was going to be hard for Halstead to let his guard down without a little alcohol involved.

—Let's go —Antonio said, weighing the beer in his hand—

As they climbed the stairs toward the apartment door, Antonio reached out without hesitation and knocked.

—I'm coming —a voice answered from inside.

Halstead opened the door and froze when he saw Ethan and Antonio.

—What? Aren't you going to welcome us? —Ethan asked with a smile.

—Of course, come in.

Halstead quickly stepped aside and let them in.

The apartment wasn't big; it only had one bedroom. Near the entrance there was a small kitchen, and farther in, the living room. The television was on, and two muscular men were fighting inside an octagon.

There was a beer bottle on the small table in front of the couch.

Ethan and Antonio sat down, and Halstead went to the kitchen and came back with a dozen beers and several glasses.

—How are things at the precinct? —Halstead asked, handing him a beer—. Erin told me you were investigating a counterfeiting case.

—Thanks.

Ethan opened the beer.

—We caught the bastard today, so we wanted to celebrate with you.

Antonio, impatient, drank half the bottle in one go and spoke with intent:

—If you hadn't been chasing Lonnie Rodiger, I think you would've recovered a lot faster.

After that, Halstead understood why they were there.

Ethan also fell silent, observing the layout of the apartment. The furniture was simple. Beneath the TV there were several photographs: mostly family portraits and a few from his time in the army.

On the screen, the fighter in black shorts threw a brutal punch, knocking his opponent down.

Halstead took a sip of his beer and finally spoke:

—Does everyone know?

—No, just us. The sergeant wanted us to come talk to you. Commander Perry is really pissed… you got yourself into serious trouble this time.

Ethan set the empty bottle aside and opened the whiskey.

Halstead pressed his lips together as he watched Ethan pour it; the strong aroma filled the air.

He took a glass, downed it in one swallow, and exhaled slowly.

—I haven't done anything wrong.

He scratched his face and asked seriously:

—Were you close to his family? What was the relationship like?

Ethan refilled the glasses, and the three of them clinked them together.

—Ben was the younger brother of my high school girlfriend —Halstead said, his expression growing complex—. His parents, Danny and Gale, came to my graduation. We were like family.—

Halstead drank the whiskey in one gulp, his eyes heavy with anguish.

—When it happened, my partner and I were the first ones there.

His voice cracked.

—I saw a shoe. —I walked closer and pushed the reeds aside.— Ben was lying in the mud… in the mud.

He swallowed hard.

—He was only eight years old. I still remember the horror.

His words became tangled and his eyes reddened. Ethan poured him another drink and drank with him. Even the hardest heart couldn't withstand seeing something like that happen to someone close.

—I remember it was Lonnie's father who gave him an alibi, right? —Antonio said.

Halstead shook his head.

—And they didn't find any direct evidence against Lonnie either.

—It's not that there wasn't evidence —Halstead cut in, waving his hands—. A week before the murder, the police caught Lonnie masturbating in front of Ben's elementary school.

Antonio stiffened.

—His computer was full of pedophilic videos. —And there were private photos of Ben, taken inside his own house.

Antonio thought of Diego; if something like that had happened to him, he didn't know what he would've done. Ethan drank in silence. None of that was direct proof; it only showed motive.

—We all knew it was Lonnie —Halstead said through clenched teeth—. But none of it mattered. If your father hires a great lawyer… and gives his son an alibi… with money and a good attorney, everything disappears.

He tapped the table softly.

—It was Ben's birthday a couple of days ago, so I went to his parents' house. But this time I couldn't look Danny and Gale in the eyes. I know they don't blame me, but I blame myself for not finding enough evidence to punish his murderer.

—You have to be careful —Antonio said, pressing a hand on his shoulder—. You're in a very dangerous position. I don't want you to do something you'll regret. If you get fired, then you won't be able to do anything for Ben. Do you hear me?

Halstead nodded silently.

—I'm just going to force Lonnie to remember what he did. If Ben couldn't live his life, then he shouldn't either —Halstead said, clenching his teeth—. Besides, I know that if he did it once, sooner or later he'll do it again, and I'll be there to arrest him.

—I get it —Antonio replied—, but take it slow. Don't lose your badge.

—I know.

Halstead clenched his fist, then relaxed it.

Some things didn't need further explanation. But involving the brass had already made it clear that Lonnie's family was being pushed to the limit.

After a bit of persuasion, his depression improved considerably. With something still weighing on his mind, Halstead got drunk quickly.

Ethan and Antonio carried him to the bed and left without delay.

—Do you want to go have another drink?

—No.

Antonio swung his keys, his expression complicated.

—Right now I just want to go home and spend time with my kids.

—Yeah, well, say hi to your wife for me.

Ethan bumped fists with him, watching as Antonio's car sped away.

Going home alone was the only option. Ethan stayed there a moment longer, finished a cigarette, and then drove aimlessly.

From everything that had happened, he knew Halstead wanted the pedophile brought to justice; only then could the victim's family leave the past behind.

Everyone has their own principles, and there was nothing more to say about that. But years had passed, and reopening the case wouldn't be easy. Luring the pedophile into committing another crime was also an option. However, that could harm innocent people, and to prevent that, he would have to push relentlessly, which could easily get him into trouble.

He got into his car and drove toward Lindsay's apartment. He usually went there just to pass the time; she was somewhat territorial and liked her space, but that wasn't a problem for him.

The apartment door closed with a soft click behind Ethan.

The living room light was dim. Erin was sitting on the couch, a glass in her hand, shoulders slumped, her gaze lost somewhere on the floor. An open bottle sat on the coffee table. There was no need to ask how she was.

Ethan set his keys down, walked over without saying anything, and sat beside her. Erin let out a slow breath and, as if she had been waiting for that gesture, rested her head against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, firm but without squeezing.

—I feel stupid —she murmured—. I really thought Nadia was going to accept help.

Ethan didn't respond right away. He stroked her arm, letting her talk.

—I offered her money, a place to stay, help to detox… even leaving all that behind. —She let out a bitter laugh—. She told me to go to hell. Just like before.

Ethan sighed slowly.

—You're not wrong for trying —he finally said—. She just… wasn't ready. And when she is, she'll come back.

Erin lifted her head slightly to look at him.

—You really think so?

—Yes, and even if it's annoying, if you truly want to help her, you have to be there when she comes back. Help her when she actually asks for it. —he replied calmly—

She stayed quiet for a few seconds, processing it, then snorted softly.

—Since when are you so wise?

Ethan smiled to one side.

—It's just my instinct.

She let out a low laugh and leaned back against him. The tension in the room eased a little.

—By the way, when Justin left the precinct today, he looked kind of upset —Ethan said, changing the subject—

—Oh yeah, my dramas never end —Erin replied—. We've always gotten along well. Really. But… —she hesitated— he thinks that someday I'm going to see him as something more. He never accepted that, to me, he's like a brother.

—And you? —Ethan asked carefully—. You don't feel anything?

Erin raised an eyebrow and looked straight at him.

—Are you jealous?

Ethan let out a small laugh, conceding.

—Just a little.

She studied him for a few seconds, as if measuring the sincerity in his voice. Then she set the glass on the table, cupped his face with both hands, and kissed him. It wasn't a rushed kiss, but a slow one, heavy with accumulated exhaustion.

Ethan responded immediately, pulling her closer against him. The world seemed to shrink to the couch, the shared silence, and that moment both of them had been avoiding naming, but not feeling.

For now, that was enough.