The night held a crisp edge as Max steered the sedan into the dimly lit alleyway behind Joey "Knuckles" Malone's bar. Known haunts had a way of bringing old ghosts to the surface, and Joey's was no different—its cracked facade a testament to whispered deals and broken promises.
Elena fidgeted beside him, her eyes scanning the rearview mirror. "You think Joey will help us?" Her voice betrayed a hint of doubt, seasoned with a tough layer of hope.
"He owes me more than he'd like to admit," Max replied, his voice a low growl as he killed the engine. The silence that followed seemed to hang in the air, heavy with potential.
They made their way to the back door, a steel number that had weathered many a clandestine exit. Max rapped sharply, a coded knock from days best left unmentioned. The door swung open, revealing a burly figure outlined against the dim interior light. Joey Malone's face was a road map of hard years, his eyes sharp beneath thick brows.
"Dalton, didn't think I'd be seeing you on my doorstep again." Joey's tone was gruff, edged with a wariness that years in the underworld bred.
"We need information, Joey. It's about the mayoral race," Max said, his statement slicing through the pleasantries like a knife.
Joey glanced at Elena, then back at Max, his decision making visible in the clench of his jaw. "Alright, come in. But we're not talking where the walls have ears."
Inside, the bar smelled of stale beer and old smoke, each table shadowed under the dim overhead lights. They settled in a booth tucked in the back corner, a spot with views of all entrances—old habits.
Joey leaned in, lowering his voice. "What do you need to know?"
Elena laid out the gist of their findings from the dossier, watching Joey's reactions closely. His eyes darkened at the mention of certain names, a telltale sign of deeper connections.
"Look, Max, Elena," Joey started, his voice a husky whisper, "this city's a powder keg. Dolan's just the pretty face on a beast that's got its claws in deep. You pull him out, and you might not like what comes out with him."
"We're prepared for that," Max said, his tone steely. "We need to know who's pulling the strings behind him."
Joey rubbed his chin, his eyes narrowing. "I can get you names, maybe even some proof. But it's dangerous. Not just for me, but for you too. You sure you want to chase this storm?"
"We're sure," Elena affirmed, her gaze steady and unwavering.
Joey nodded, a silent accord passing between them. "Alright. Give me a few days. I've got some feelers I can put out, some old debts to call in."
As they stood to leave, Joey's hand clasped Max's shoulder. "Be careful, Max. This city doesn't like heroes. It chews them up and spits them out."
The night air bit at their skin as they stepped outside, the city's pulse a muted thrum under the cloak of darkness. As they drove back towards the brighter streets, Elena's profile was set, her determination a clear flame in the murky twilight of their quest.
Max knew the risks, the potential fallout, but as the city lights streaked past, he felt a resolve hardening within him. They were diving deep into the neon shadows, where the line between ally and enemy blurred, but where truth still waited to be unearthed.