Chapter 11
Back at the MegaMart, the fluorescent lights hummed with a sterile indifference. Most of the shoppers had cleared out for the evening, leaving the expansive aisles echoing with the faint murmur of soft rock playing over the overhead speakers. Arthur Stromtron sat alone on an overturned plastic crate in the back stockroom, his hands trembling as he stared at the burner phone Agent Sterling’s colleague had given him earlier.
The screen glowed with a silent text message: Leave the building immediately. Perimeter compromised.
Arthur swallowed hard, standing up on shaky legs. He unbuttoned his blue store vest, letting it drop to the concrete floor alongside his nametag. He was done playing hero. He was done being a pawn in a game played by men in tailored suits and corrupt precinct captains. All he wanted was to go home, lock his deadbolts, and pretend none of this had ever happened.
As he pushed open the heavy double doors leading from the stockroom into aisle fourteen, he froze.
Standing near the display of baking supplies was a tall man in a dark trench coat, his face partially obscured by the shadow of the metal shelving. It wasn't Greg Vance, and it wasn't a federal agent. It was one of Lieutenant Miller’s private enforcers—a heavy-set man with cold, dead eyes and a scarred knuckle visible beneath his rolled-up sleeve.
"Working late, Arthur?" the man asked smoothly, taking a slow step down the aisle, blocking the only clear exit toward the front registers.
Arthur’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He took a slow step backward, his boots scraping against the polished linoleum. "I'm off the clock. The store is closed."
"I know it's closed, Arthur," the enforcer said, his hand sliding slowly toward the inside pocket of his coat. "And that's why we're having this little chat. You see, your friend the detective made a lot of noise tonight. She arrested Lieutenant Miller. Which means our little logistics loop is in jeopardy."
"I don't know anything about a logistics loop!" Arthur stammered, his voice cracking with genuine terror. "I'm just a stock clerk! I don't know what was in that packet!"
"You held it. You handed it to her," the enforcer replied coldly, closing the distance between them with terrifying speed. "In the eyes of the people paying my salary, that makes you a co-conspirator. And loose ends need to be tied up very neatly."
Arthur looked around frantically for an escape route, but the high shelves of flour and sugar boxed him in like a maze. His fingers brushed against a heavy metal stock-picker rod leaning against the endcap.
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"Stay back," Arthur warned, his voice shaking as he gripped the cold metal bar.
The enforcer laughed softly, drawing a suppressed automatic pistol from his coat. "Put the stick down, Arthur. You're out of your depth."
