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The industrial fans turned slowly overhead while the noise of power tools, conversations in Spanish, and sealing plastic filled the factory.
Seven or eight armed gang members moved through the place, watching the workers. One had a shotgun hanging across his chest; another smoked while leaning against a stack of shipping boxes, observing the area with tired eyes.
Ethan remained still in the darkness beside the entrance, calmly watching every corner. His eyes automatically tracked the positions of the armed men, the escape routes, and the available cover.
And then he immediately understood something.
If shooting started inside that factory, the place would turn into hell in less than ten seconds.
The team deployed in a straight line, raising their weapons and quickly surrounding the area.
—Chicago Police.
Hank roared:
—Everybody, don't move!
The people in front of them flinched at the sudden shout; the female workers looked up, and the Saints members also turned around quickly.
Several of them were clearly carrying pistols.
—Drop your weapons.
The moment Antonio saw the pistols, every alarm in his head went off, and he shouted sternly:
—Get down.
—Don't move, don't do anything stupid.
—Chicago Police, let me see your hands.
Seven dark muzzles were aimed at them, accompanied by shouts, and all the female workers crouched down.
The Saints members also raised their hands.
However, there are always stubborn ones. A black shadow flashed through the crowd; a man with short hair and a black jacket suddenly ran backward.
—Bang, bang, bang.
Several bullets were fired rapidly, kicking up columns of dust about two meters in front of the man.
The man in the black jacket froze in place; a thin layer of sweat ran down his forehead as he stared at the small holes that had appeared instantly in the ground.
After the shots, the workers' cries rose and fell.
The Latino gang members quickly lost all instinct to fight. Anyone who dared to move at that moment was looking for death.
Ethan quickly moved behind the man in the black jacket and slapped the back of his neck.
—Don't move, didn't you hear me? You know now I have to fill out a damn report because you fired me.
—Ugh!
The sharp blow to his stomach stole the air from the man in the black jacket, forcing him to bend over while clutching his abdomen with one hand and his head with the other.
Ethan didn't give him time to react.
He swept his legs out from behind with a brutal kick, and the man crashed heavily onto the concrete floor.
Before he could recover, Ethan was already on top of him. He twisted both arms behind his back, pulled a pair of handcuffs from his vest, and secured them with a quick metallic click.
Then he began searching him with fast, precise movements, patting down his waist, pockets, and ankles for weapons.
If he were the only one running, he had to have a serious problem.
The Glock pistol tucked into his waistband was tossed aside, and a large package of drugs, tightly wrapped in plastic, was pulled from his pocket.
Ethan weighed it in his hand; it must have been five or six pounds. No wonder he had run so fast.
—Sergeant.
He called out to Hank, throwing him the package in his hand.
Hank caught it, looked at it, and tossed it aside indifferently.
This was useful, but it wasn't their main target.
Ethan reached into the other pocket and pulled out a pair of forceps, stained with blood.
—Oh!
Ethan raised the forceps with satisfaction.
—If I'm not mistaken, we came to the right place.
When the others saw what he was holding, excitement appeared on their faces.
After such a long search, they had finally found the main culprit.
—Where's Calavera?
He turned the man in the black jacket over and asked sternly.
—Here.
Before the man could speak, Erin's shout came from nearby.
Ethan quickly stood and walked over.
The corner of the factory was covered in dust. Numerous messy footprints led them to a small nearby room.
Erin stood in the doorway, looking inside with a complicated expression.
A man in dirty clothes was curled up in a corner of the room; his face remained calm as he looked at the few officers who appeared at the door.
—Calavera.
Hank followed as well and sneered when he saw the man's hand, missing its pinky finger.
—Come on, tough guy.
Ethan stepped inside, patting his fists.
—I hope you don't make my job harder.
The expected resistance never came; Calavera seemed prepared for something like this.
Under Ethan's control, he obediently allowed Erin to cuff him.
Even so, Ethan had a bad feeling. This guy gave off the impression of being too straightforward, the kind of person who didn't care about anything.
After pulling Calavera out of the narrow, foul-smelling room, Ethan finally had time to inspect the operation the Saints had set up.
It looked like they had killed two birds with one stone. This would make the bosses happy. The pressure from Gang Intelligence would also be reduced considerably.
Erin was calling dispatch; with the number of people there, four or five transport vehicles wouldn't be enough, so a lot of people were going to work overtime that night.
Nearby, Burgess re-holstered her rifle with a strange sense of relief. This time, she hadn't had a chance to fire her weapon either.
Back at the precinct, Ethan and Antonio dragged Calavera into the garage. The others had stayed behind to wait for forensic accountants and supervise the collection of evidence.
—If I were you, I wouldn't be smiling.
Hank opened the iron cage, and Antonio shoved the man, who had been smiling the entire time, hard into the cage.
—Pierce and the Disciples already know you killed Russell —Ethan said coldly— You got anything to say before this gets worse?
Calavera let out a low laugh.
He had just been shoved against the metal mesh of the holding area, but he still lifted his head with an arrogant smile.
—I have no idea what you're talking about.
He spat blood to the side and settled against the bars as if he were enjoying the situation.
—Although I admit this is getting interesting.
He slowly looked around.
—People are going to learn their lesson after this. If you don't want to end up dead, don't step into Saints territory.
Hank then appeared from the hallway and approached without hurry.
—Yeah? —he asked in a deep voice.— How about we take you straight into Disciples territory right now?
Without warning, he grabbed him by the jacket and violently slammed him against the metal cage.
—I'll hang a "Free" sign around your neck and drop you out of the car right in front of them.
The mesh rattled from the impact.
—Let's see how long that smile lasts after that.
Calavera let out a hoarse laugh despite the pain and wiped the blood from his nose with his forearm.
—Sounds good to me —he replied with a crooked smile—. But hurry up. I've got a date with your mother tonight.
Then he tilted his head slightly.
—And if you can… buy me a soda on the way. I'm thirsty.
Hank, however, lost what little patience he had left.
—Bam!
He drove a brutal kick into Calavera's abdomen, slamming him back into the iron mesh.
Calavera's body folded from the impact, and something metallic fell from inside his sleeve.
Antonio cursed under his breath and also rushed forward. This was for Olinsky; he didn't care at all. Hank wouldn't dare go too far in that place.
—You're going to sign a statement admitting you killed Russell Thompson —Hank said in a low, dangerous voice— And when the trial comes, you're going to repeat the exact same thing in front of the jury. Understood?
Calavera spat blood onto the floor and let out a hoarse laugh.
—Fuck you.
Hank approached slowly, never taking his eyes off him.
Then he dug his fingers between the gang member's ribs, finding a sensitive spot between muscle and bone, and squeezed brutally before suddenly pulling upward.
Calavera's body arched violently.
—AAAH!
The scream echoed inside the metal cage.
Hank didn't loosen his grip.
He shoved him against the mesh and twisted his fingers harder.
—If you don't cooperate —he murmured close to his face—, I'm going to make your life impossible. You won't sleep peacefully another day in your life, do you understand me?
Calavera struggled to breathe, the veins in his neck fully bulging from the tension.
But still he smiled.
A sick smile.
—Come on… You son of a bitch…
He spat blood again and lifted his gaze defiantly.
—You need to try harder. It almost feels good.
Ethan watched the scene from the side, his brow slightly furrowed.
—Fuck you —Hank growled.
His expression hardened completely.
The mesh screeched.
Calavera let out another muffled roar as his entire body trembled from the pain.
The veins in his neck looked ready to burst.
And still… he kept laughing.
—Is that all? —he gasped between laughs.— I thought Hank Voight was more dangerous.
Atwater watched the scene in silence, clearly uncomfortable.
Antonio simply shook his head.
—This guy is crazy.
Ethan clicked his tongue softly while watching Calavera endure something that would have broken most people in seconds.
Honestly, someone capable of taking that kind of pain without collapsing had absurd resilience.
Being in a gang was almost a waste for someone like that.
—Stop. If this keeps going, there'll be serious problems.
Antonio quickly grabbed Hank and forcibly pulled him out of the iron cage.
Calavera's deranged laughter echoed through the garage.
Ethan stopped in front of the iron cage, staring at the man inside with a slight frown.
—What else can you do with someone like that? —he muttered, puzzled.— Not even a shot to the crotch intimidates him.
After Antonio left, Ethan shook his head and looked at Hank.
—Why didn't you listen to me and just make him disappear?
—This one's different —Hank sighed.— In this situation, all we can count on is Olinsky being there.
Everything they had done before was to keep Lexi from having to make a choice.
But there were no options left.
Either she became a witness and accepted the risk.
Or she looked the other way… and carried that for the rest of her life.
Ethan shrugged and shut the cage door.
Upstairs, in the sergeant's office, Ethan leaned against the desk while dropping cigarette ash into an empty coffee cup. In front of him, Calavera's file lay open on the table.
Fifteen arrests, but no convictions.
Ethan let out a small, dry laugh as he turned another page.
—What a guy…
The record seemed endless: weapons, narcotics, assaults, missing suspects, witness intimidation. And yet, the guy always found a way back onto the street.
—Hank… Ethan.
Olinsky appeared in the doorway.
His face looked exhausted. Through the glass, his wife could be seen waiting outside with Lexi.
Ethan lifted the file and handed it to him.
—You might want to look at this.
Olinsky slowly took it and began reading.
His expression hardened almost immediately.
Because he understood perfectly what it meant.
As a cop, he knew Lexi had to testify. It was the only way to keep someone like Calavera locked up.
But as a father… that was different.
Because testifying meant putting a target on his daughter's back. And everyone in Intelligence knew what gangs did to witnesses.
Soft knocks sounded at the door.
Platt entered with a brown folder under her arm.
The moment they saw her come in, Ethan and Hank stood, watching her in silence.
—The brass asked me to give this to Lexi's parents —Platt said while showing them the documents— I can say I couldn't locate them… that might buy us some time.
The office fell silent for a few seconds.
—No need.
Olinsky spoke before anyone else could.
He stepped forward, took the subpoena from Platt's hands, and stared at it in silence.
Then he let out a long sigh.
Without saying another word, he threw Calavera's file straight into the trash can.
Ethan put out his cigarette and left the office.