Chapter 4 - The Night of Red Hooks
The rain over the Brooklyn waterfront was cold, heavy, and smelled of salt and rusted iron.
At Pier 42 in Red Hook, vast rows of shipping containers stood like giant steel tombs beneath the flickering halogen floodlights. The dark waters of the East River churned against the wooden pilings below, throwing cold spray over the concrete deck.
Inside a massive, abandoned brick warehouse at the edge of the pier, Julian Vance stood on a raised steel gantry platform, smoking a thin clove cigarette, looking down at his twenty armed operatives who were securing crates of illegal weapons and high-value contraband seized from Dominic’s primary distribution hub.
Vance adjusted his cashmere coat, checking his gold wristwatch.
"Where is he?" Vance sneered, turning to his chief lieutenant, a large, scarred man named Keller. "Valentine should have received the report twenty minutes ago. Is he cowering in his fortress in Mill Basin?"
"Our scouts say there’s no movement at his estate, Mr. Vance," Keller replied, holding a tactical radio. "He’s likely organizing his legal teams to file emergency injunctions."
Vance laughed—a sharp, arrogant sound that echoed off the high corrugated steel roof. "Injunctions! The great Dominic Valentine, reduced to hiring lawyers while I take his empire piece by piece! He lost his spine the night his wife died, and he lost his mind when that waitress took a bullet for his bratty kids!"
Before Keller could respond, every single light inside the warehouse violently died.
CLACK!
Total, pitch-black darkness swallowed the space.
The hum of the heavy diesel generators outside cut out instantly, replaced by the eerie, howling sound of the wind whipping through the broken windows.
"What the hell?" Vance barked, drawing his nickel-plated revolver from his coat pocket. "Keller! Get the backup power on!"
"Sir! The main power line was severed from the outside—"
PFFT! PFFT!
Two quiet, suppressed gunshots echoed from the eastern loading doors.
Two of Vance’s guards stationed near the entrance collapsed onto the concrete floor without making a sound.
"CONTACT!" Keller screamed, raising his tactical flashlight and shining it down the main aisle between the stacked crates.
The beam of light cut through the rising fog, illuminating a tall, broad figure walking slowly through the center of the warehouse.
Dominic Valentine walked alone down the main aisle. He carried no flashlight, no tactical shield, and no helmet. He held a heavy, black suppressed pistol in his right hand, his grey eyes shining in the dark like a predator hunting in familiar territory.
Behind him, emerging from the shadows between every shipping container, came thirty dark figures armed with high-caliber submachine guns—Dominic’s elite inner guard, moving with lethal, terrifying synchronization.
Vance’s face drained of all color as he stared down from the gantry platform.
"Valentine..." Vance gasped, his arrogant demeanor instantly evaporating into pure, unadulterated panic. "How... how did you get past the street lookouts?"
"Your lookouts are at the bottom of the East River, Julian," Dominic’s baritone echoed through the vast warehouse, calm, cold, and carrying an absolute, terrifying weight.
"Kill him! KILL HIM!" Vance shrieked, backing away toward the rear fire exit.
The warehouse erupted into a blinding, apocalyptic firefight.
Muzzle flashes strobed through the darkness like frantic lightning strikes. The concussive roar of automatic weapons tore through the steel walls, shattering glass, ricocheting off heavy iron girders, and punching through wooden crates.
Dominic didn't dive for cover. He advanced with a calm, mechanical precision, firing two rounds into every target that stepped into his field of vision.
Pfft! Pfft! A shooter on the left container fell forward over the railing.
Pfft! Pfft! Keller took two rounds to the chest as he tried to aim his carbine, dropping instantly onto the concrete.
Within three minutes, the firefight was over.
Vance’s twenty men lay dead or dying across the concrete floor. The air was thick with white smoke, cordite, and the metallic tang of blood.
Julian Vance stumbled through the rear fire exit, scrambling across the wet, slippery wooden planks of the outdoor pier, his luxury leather shoes skidding over the rain-slicked decking. He was weeping, his expensive coat ruined, clutching his nickel-plated revolver in a trembling, useless grip.
He reached the edge of the pier, finding himself cornered against the vast, dark expanse of the churning river.
Heavy, slow footsteps tapped against the wooden planks behind him.
Vance turned around, pressing his back against a heavy wooden mooring post, raising his revolver with two shaking hands.
"Stay back!" Vance screamed, his voice cracking hysterically. "Stay back, Dominic! I have political connections! The governor... the police commissioner... they’re on my payroll! If you touch me, they will tear your family apart!"
Dominic stepped out of the shadows, stopping ten feet away. He lowered his weapon, holding it casually at his side, looking at Vance with dark, dead eyes.
"You tried to murder my six-year-old children in a diner, Julian," Dominic said softly, his voice barely louder than the sound of the waves crashing against the pilings below. "You sent men to execute a girl who earns twelve dollars an hour."
"She was nobody!" Vance sobbed. "She was just a stupid waitress!"
"Her name is Lily Chen," Dominic said, taking one slow, deliberate step forward. "And twelve years ago, you murdered her father, Detective Thomas Chen, because he was an honest man who refused to take your filthy money."
Vance’s eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing horror. "Chen... Thomas Chen..."
"You thought you buried that debt twelve years ago, Julian," Dominic whispered, his baritone vibrating through the cold rain. "You thought the world forgot."
Dominic raised his pistol, aiming it directly between Vance’s eyes.
"Detective Thomas Chen sends his regards," Dominic said.
PFFT.
A single suppressed round punched cleanly through Vance’s forehead.
Julian Vance’s eyes rolled back into his head, and his body tipped backward over the wooden railing, plunging into the dark, freezing waters of the East River, swallowed instantly by the black tide below.
Dominic stood at the edge of the pier, looking down into the water for a long, silent moment as the cold rain washed the gunpowder residue from his hands.
He turned around, pulled out his secure satellite phone, and pressed speed dial.
Back at the Mill Basin estate, the bedside phone chimed twice before I picked it up with my left hand.
"Dominic?" I asked, my breath catching in my throat.
Over the static-filled line, I heard the distant sound of rain and the ocean.
May you like
"It’s over, Lily," Dominic’s voice came through, clear, calm, and filled with an absolute, profound peace. "Your father’s memory is clean. And my children are safe."
I sank back against my pillows, tears of overwhelming relief streaming down my face, closing my eyes as the heavy weight of twelve years finally lifted from my heart.
