Chapter 20 - THE DOCK WAREHOUSE
Mark decided not to ignore the clue, driving down to the Chicago industrial docks late that Tuesday evening.
The rain was beginning to drizzle down, coating the dark asphalt in a glossy, reflective sheen of water.
He parked his SUV near Pier 42, stepping out into the cold night air with his hands tucked into his coat pockets.
The abandoned warehouse stood before him like a dark monolith, its corrugated metal siding rattling in the wind.
A small side door hung slightly ajar, leaking a faint sliver of yellow light out onto the concrete pavement.
Mark drew his legal concealed firearm, flicking off the safety with a soft, practiced click of his thumb.
He pushed the metal door open slowly, stepping over the threshold into the damp, echoing interior space.
Rows of empty shipping crates stretched into the gloom, casting long, distorted shadows across the concrete floor.
Suddenly, a metallic clink echoed from the upper catwalk overlooking the central loading bay of the warehouse.
May you like
Mark raised his weapon upward, his eyes scanning the rusted iron stairs leading into the darkness above.
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