Chapter 7 - The South Chicago Sweep
By 9:00 AM the following morning, the sun broke through the storm clouds over Chicago.
The South Chicago shipping docks—a vast industrial labyrinth of rusty steel shipping containers, heavy cranes, and offshore warehouses—were usually bustling with Marcus Voss’s illegal freight operations.
Today, however, the docks were completely dead.
A convoy of ten black Suburbans pulled through the main security gate of Pier 42, crushing the chain-link fence under their heavy tires.
Dominic Vale stepped out of the lead vehicle, dressed in a tailored black overcoat, flanked by thirty of his senior regional captains. Behind them sat two marked vehicles from the Waterfront Commission and the United States Coast Guard.
Marcus Voss stood on the metal catwalk of his central warehouse, surrounded by his four remaining bodyguards. Marcus was fifty-five, bloated, wearing a leather jacket, his face twisted in desperate rage.
"You can't touch me here, Vale!" Marcus shouted down from the catwalk, waving a stack of legal port permits. "This pier is registered under an international shipping license! Federal officers need a maritime warrant!"
Director Sterling of the Coast Guard stepped out from behind Dominic, holding a glowing digital tablet.
"We have the warrant, Voss," Sterling called up. "Your brother Arthur spilled everything to the grand jury three hours ago to avoid a life sentence. He gave us the serial numbers for all twelve contraband containers sitting on your slip."
Marcus's jaw dropped. "Arthur... that coward!"
Dominic took two steps forward, looking up at Marcus on the catwalk.
"It's over, Marcus," Dominic said, his deep voice carrying over the sound of the ocean waves. "Your weapons are seized. Your accounts are frozen. Your men have already surrendered."
Marcus looked around frantically. His four bodyguards exchanged glances, quietly laid their weapons down on the metal walkway, and raised their hands.
"Traitorous bastards!" Marcus screamed, pulling a small revolver from his coat pocket and pointing it directly at Dominic.
Before Marcus could even pull the hammer back, a sharp crack echoed from the top of a nearby shipping container.
A high-powered beanbag round hit Marcus directly in the chest, knocking the wind out of him and blasting him backward over the catwalk railing. He crashed ten feet down onto a stack of soft hemp cargo nets, gasping for air, his revolver clattering harmlessly into the ocean water below.
Coast Guard officers swarmed over him instantly, slapping steel handcuffs onto his wrists.
Dominic walked over to the edge of the slip, looking down at the defeated Marcus Voss.
"Take him away," Dominic told the officers. "Clean up the docks. The Vale Logistics Group takes over operations here starting at noon."
May you like
Vincent walked up beside Dominic, handing him a secure phone. "City hall just confirmed, Boss. The Mayor approved the new port lease. The entire Chicago waterfront is clean."
Dominic took a deep breath of the crisp, salty air. "Let's go home, Vincent. I promised Ellie we'd build that model lighthouse today."
