The vehicle finally began to slow, pulling off the highway and into a wide, open lot. Max watched through the tinted window as the SUV rolled toward what appeared to be an abandoned ice rink venue.
There was a single, long building surrounded by a cracked, weed-split car park. Above it, a faded sign clung to rusted poles, once proudly displaying a swirling ice skate, now barely legible under the streaks of time and weather. The letters were chipped and crooked, and a massive billboard stood nearby with a simple, clear message: CLOSED.
If someone were just driving by, they'd easily assume the place had been out of business for years.
But of course, like most things with gangs and shady dealings, the truth was hidden in plain sight.
