Deep Undercover

It was just a warehouse. It almost looked like it was falling down, and there was barely a single pane of glass left intact in the rotting window frames.

This was it?

Five years of investigation and deep, deep undercover work had led them to this moment, and neither Agent Lewis Hicks nor Agent Gabby Jones betrayed the slightest surprise as their contact unlocked the fragile looking door and led them into the derelict building.

But when, after establishing their credentials and even their own gang, doing bad things, peddling stolen goods and even a little **** over the last few years, they had been summoned to meet Arnold Butcher, the legendary, mysterious boss of the city’s underworld, both undercover FBI agents had expected something a touch more impressive than this old shack.

“Mister Butcher… lives here?” Hicks frowned, scratching his unshaven neck.

“Oh sure, he likes the ambience,” snickered their guide. Dean Ellis was a creepy little dude, but he was one of the few people who actually answered directly to Butcher. He had no idea they were Feds, he had apparently simply been instructed to bring Hicks (in his guise of Rob Garrett) and Jones (under the name Brandi Royal) to see Butcher due to their surging power and influence in the city.

That had been the plan all along.

“That weren’t the front door,” Ellis grinned, “This is the front door.” He put his shoulder to a large crate and slid it noisily across the floor. A rusted iron trapdoor, that was more what they were expecting. Ellis grabbed half a shattered brick from the floor and used it to bang a deafening rhythm on the iron hatch. After a moment there was a sound as the hatch was unlocked, and Ellis put his back into hauling it open. Hicks helped him.