A/N: very important chapter (and slightly complex). Good luck!
— Chapter 85 —
Lowest of the Low
=||=||=
E L L I O T
As promised, it wasn't long before Han and I arrived at our destination—a deserted laneway behind Jesse's convenience store.
"What are we doing here?" I asked irritably.
Han ignored me as he pulled his helmet off, leaving it to hang off one of the handles of his Ducati. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and sauntered in silence in the direction of the garage, the same place where the store had its deliveries dropped off. Beside it was a locked door that I'd never paid attention to.
As Han twisted his key and opened it, I started to wish that I had. The room inside was dark. The perfect setup for a trap.
"What is that?" I asked, referring to the pitch-black void he'd just unlocked.
"A basement underneath the shop," he replied monotonously. "My office, technically. I'm the only one with keys to the door." Ushering me forward, he said, "Now hurry. We don't have much time."
Staring at the basement door, then back at him, I tried not to scoff at his orders.
"You first," I demanded.
Han dug his teeth together and rolled his eyes.
"Shut the door behind you," he said to me as he went ahead into the basement.
Following after him, I descended down the creaky steps, making sure to close the door before I did. Warning alarms blared in my mind as I tried to adjust to the darkness. Han must've noticed my trepidation. Before long, he flicked a light switch on the wall somewhere, and the entire basement was soon illuminated with neon white lamps.
The sight in front of us made me freeze in place on the stairs.
Black oil drums. Huge ones. A dozen of them, at least, lined up in three perfect rows at the center of the cement room. Chemical warning stickers were slapped to each drum. Aside from a few thin shelves, the odd filing cabinet or two, and a mess of toolboxes in the corner, the rest of the space was completely empty. Nothing like the office I'd pictured in my head.
"What is all this?" I stuttered.
"Blitz."
"I don't understand."
Han bumped his knuckles against one of the barrels. "Each of these oil drums is full of blitz powder, shipped to Boston six months ago under Midas' watch."
"This is all of it?"
Shock wasn't strong enough of a word. I was paralyzed. This entire room was full of Blitz—just sitting here, waiting to be discovered. If Noah was here in my place, or James, they'd definitely kill Han right now and burn this place to the ground.
"Half," Han answered me flatly. "Sage and her dealers have the rest of it."
"Why do you have all this?" I asked in a panicked rush. "I mean, why is it here?" Has it been here the whole time?
"That," he admitted, "is a long story."
A frown crossed my face.
"So that's it?" I snapped. "You brought me here just to show me this? I thought you said that you were going to tell me the truth."
"I was getting to that."
My arms crossed. "Clock's ticking."
"Midas first found me eight months ago," he began, leaning against one of the drums. "Before I was ever involved in the drug trade, before I was ever a killer. He found me when I was still a naive teenager afraid of the shadows."
"What did he want with you?"
"He needed a scapegoat. Someone to be his cover."
"I don't follow."
"Do you remember the old shipping docks, next to the abandoned tracks where Sage holds her races?" He carried on speaking when I nodded in response. "Those shipping docks never technically shut down. Some places in Boston still get their shipments delivered to those docks by boat—like my grandmother's convenience store, for instance."
I moved off the stairs. Accepting that Han didn't plan on hurting me—for now—I walked quietly around the barrels to get a better look.
"Unlike rest of the shipping ports in Boston," he continued, "where border security laws are tight and police enforcement is even tighter, the old docks are... lax. The people there can be bought. They can be paid to turn a blind eye to a dodgy shipping manifest." He sighed. "Essentially, customs laws are too strict for these oil drums to be unloaded off a ship without being noticed by police, so Midas realized that he needed to get his Blitz delivered somewhere else—somewhere no officer would ever dare to look."
"Like an abandoned rail yard," I realized.
"Precisely."
Standing up straight, I said, "So the races—and the money—they're a cover for the shipments. Fine. I still don't get what that has to do with you."
"Think about it." He gestured to the room. "Midas has the oil drums now, and a place for them to be dropped off, but he doesn't have anywhere to store them, or an alibi for police if they ever went sniffing around." His muscles tensed. "That's where I came in."
Avoiding my eyes, he explained, "I was the perfect alibi. A stupid foreigner, a loner with a terrible understanding of English, too busy working at his grandmother's convenience store. I had easy access to the old docks, a truck to take deliveries in, and a safe place to store those deliveries. After all, nobody would ever suspect their friendly-neighborhood corner shop of being a front for drug smuggling. Especially not a place owned by a harmless old lady."
My frown set deeper. "Does Jesse know about any of this?"
"No. She is not able to work as much as she used to, so I manage the place now. My grandmother doesn't handle anything outside of the register."
My stomach sank. She has no idea what's been under her feet this entire time.
"As I was saying," Han said, picking up where he left off. "When Midas first found me, he blackmailed me into becoming a part of his horrible game. I wanted nothing to do with it, of course, but then... then he killed my best friend, and said he would do the same thing to my grandmother if I didn't do everything he asked. I don't have anyone else. I don't have any friends, and my parents cannot help me. My grandmother is the only person I care about, and she is the only person I have left."
