A Night in the Shadows
Through five dilapidated houses, the group finally stopped. Charlie Lee's sharp gaze fell on the broken house with half-collapsed walls, where Lawrence hung suspended by a rope.
"Charlie," Lawrence rasped, his voice torn and weary. His once-dignified suit now hung in tattered strips, and his face bore the marks of a brutal beating. Yet, he didn't look as bad as he might have under the circumstances.
"Hey, man, looks like we got here just in time," Charlie said with a sly smile.
"Shut up." Feinong growled and, without warning, slammed the butt of his gun against Charlie's neck. His face twisted in rage as he barked, "Make him hand it over, you stupid pig!"
Charlie's body barely swayed from the blow. Raising his head slowly, his eyes narrowed and gleamed coldly. "I hate being held at gunpoint," he growled.
Feinong flinched instinctively, moving to press the gun against Charlie's head, but Charlie moved faster. Leaning forward with a precision honed through years of practice, Charlie's right leg shot up in a perfect arc. A powerful backward sweep kick connected with Feinong's chin, sending him soaring backward.
Crash!
Feinong's body blasted through the rotting wooden wall, creating a new hole in the structure. He tumbled to the ground and rolled, finally colliding headfirst with the opposite building. His limp form collapsed, unconscious.
Beside him, Xiao Hei fumbled with his gun, but Charlie had no patience for hesitation. He delivered a swift punch to Xiao Hei's forehead, sending the man sprawling with his eyes rolled back.
Charlie wasted no time. With a single leap, he grabbed the rope suspending Lawrence and yanked hard. The wooden beam holding the rope snapped with a groan, and Lawrence tumbled to the ground in a heap.
"How do you feel, man?" Charlie asked as he knelt to untie the remaining rope.
"Like hell," Lawrence croaked, his face twisted in pain. "Feels like every bone in my body's broken."
Charlie smirked. "I have to hand it to you—you've got guts."
Lawrence forced a bitter laugh. "I had a bit too much to drink, that's all."
"You're telling me this is all thanks to Chicago nightlife? Hope it was worth it," Charlie teased as he draped Lawrence's arm over his shoulder and helped him stand. Though Charlie could've carried him with ease, the idea of cradling another man in his arms filled him with resistance.
Lawrence's only response was a pained grimace, the night's ordeal leaving him with little room for retorts.
"What the hell did they want from you, anyway?" Charlie asked, curiosity lacing his voice.
"FK, I have no idea," Lawrence groaned as a fresh jolt of pain shot through his battered face.
A faint sound, like the shuffle of feet on debris, caught Charlie's ear. Emerging from the shadows, a group of armed men with machine guns appeared, led by Wang Dagou. Lawrence stiffened, but Charlie waved him off.
"They're with me," Charlie reassured him with a grin.
Charlie pointed at Feinong's unconscious form. "Take him. We're leaving."
A bodyguard scooped up Lawrence and carried him while others began their retreat. As they passed through each house, the guards pointed their weapons at every visible shadow, maintaining tight vigilance.
Bang!
A gunshot rang out, shattering the tense silence. A Chinese bodyguard dropped to the ground, clutching his side.
"Fire!" Charlie bellowed, and the room erupted with the sharp staccato of gunfire.
Charlie darted forward, grabbing the injured man by the arm and practically carrying him as they moved faster. The rest of the team closed ranks, returning fire and covering the retreat.
The bodyguards stationed outside heard the commotion. Four stayed behind to guard the vehicles, while the rest surged in, guns blazing.
"Stay down!" Wang Dagou roared, his massive frame a blur of controlled fury as he scanned for threats. "Show yourself, and you'll regret it!"
Charlie didn't slow. Half-dragging the injured man, he reached the vehicles and loaded him in.
"Go! Move!" Charlie barked.
The cars sped through the night, their passengers firing into the darkness to discourage pursuit. When the gunfire finally faded into the distance, the oppressive quiet of the night returned.
The convoy stopped near a clinic in District 22. Charlie burst through the door with the wounded man in his arms.
"Mike! Get over here!"
A man in a white coat rushed out, his face serious. "Boss, bring him this way!"
The clinic was a makeshift infirmary with minimal equipment, but Mike worked with precision. "He needs surgery immediately. Everyone out!" Mike commanded, ushering Charlie and the others away.
Outside, Charlie paced, his anger simmering. He glanced at his men's limp form, bound and dumped unceremoniously on the ground, and his temper flared.
"Lao Huang, get Grant on the phone. I want answers."
Soon, Grant arrived, visibly winded. "Charlie, what's going on? Why are your men patrolling with guns out?"
"One of my men was shot," Charlie said grimly. "I want every corner of the south-side slums locked down by morning. We're finding the shooter."
Grant hesitated but quickly nodded. "We can use the pretense of a drug search. People are already on edge. It'll be believable."
Charlie turned to his men. "Wang Dagou, George, Andre, take a hundred men each and comb through every inch of those streets. I want results."
As they dispersed, Mike emerged from the operating room with an update. "The surgery was successful, but the bullet damaged his right kidney. He'll live, but no more high-intensity work for him."
Relief washed over Charlie. "As long as he's alive. He can focus on his family now."
Charlie handed the remaining tasks to Wang Dagou and returned to his room. Exhaustion settled over him, but rest eluded him. Pulling out pen and paper, he sketched a detailed blueprint for a new kitchen.
"Jesse," he called to his secretary. "Take this to Ben. Have it built in District 22 as soon as possible."
Jesse, distracted, took a moment to respond. Charlie frowned, walking over and swatting her lightly on the back. "Focus!"
Blushing furiously, she grabbed the plans and darted out of the room.
As Charlie settled back in, the phone rang. He answered with a tired, "Hello?"
"Charlie, my friend!" came Aria's exuberant voice. "It's done! New York is ours. Luciano is finished!"
Charlie smirked. "I told you, I'm just a businessman. New York is all yours."
On the other end, Aria cursed and laughed, her mood buoyant.
"Good luck, Aria," Charlie murmured, hanging up. His thoughts drifted to the chaos of the night, and he sighed. Morning would bring more battles, but for now, he allowed himself a moment of peace.