A pincer attack from the front and rear.
That was the opening move.
This was also the first time Ryden had ever organized a large-scale group operation.
He didn't know how gang wars were usually fought.
There was no internet to consult.
So he relied entirely on himself.
He borrowed what sounded professional and mixed it with the Soviet Army's offensive doctrine.
Air strikes first. Artillery next.
Turn the enemy position into ash two or three times over.
Only then did the infantry move in.
Tonight's plan was simple.
Block the front entrance.
Seal the back door.
Tonight happened to be the Dasco Gang's gathering day.
The latest batch of heroin had brought in a massive haul.
They were celebrating.
And Ryden had been waiting for this moment.
Waiting for the core members to gather in one place.
So he could wipe them out in one strike.
After that, he would eat the rest slowly.
Reputation mattered.
By climbing through the Spades Gang, he could build both influence and capital.
After graduation, he would need money to establish his own laboratory.
A scientist without a lab wasn't a real scientist.
Even Ms. Jennifer had her own lab.
"Damn it! Who the hell are these people?! How did they get in here?!"
Moses, the boss of the Dasco Gang, stared out from his third-floor office, furious.
Downstairs, his men were pinned behind cover.
The attackers were shooting while shouting "Hail Hydra."
They didn't look like normal gangsters.
"Boss, we don't know either!" a subordinate reported, sweating. "They're just suppressing us. They're not pushing in!"
Bang!
The office door flew open as another man rushed in.
"Boss! Bad news! It's the Spades Gang! Those trash bastards have blocked the back entrance too! They're sealing us in!"
Smack!
Moses slammed his fist into the solid desk, leaving a clear dent.
The glamorous secretary behind him trembled.
"Pass the word!" Moses roared. "Everyone grab your weapons and fight back! The Spades Gang is nothing! Tell them-once we break out, we wipe them all out!"
Whoosh.
Several dark objects suddenly flew in from the first floor.
They shattered the windows and rolled across the carpet, trailing smoke.
The moment the core leaders recognized them, their blood ran cold.
These weren't toys.
Military-grade grenades.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
The explosions overlapped.
The core executives who hadn't even had time to dive were instantly killed.
Shockwaves tore through the room.
Bodies were shredded.
Sofas split apart.
Furniture collapsed.
"Cough-cough!"
Only Moses survived.
He had dived under the desk at the first instant.
Even so, his chest felt like it had been crushed.
The explosion stunned the bodyguards in the hallway.
They rushed in.
"Boss! Boss! Are you okay?! What do we do?!"
They dragged Moses out of the wreckage, fighting down nausea.
The office was filled with blood, smoke, and severed limbs.
It looked like a battlefield.
"Cough... cough... call the police!" Moses wheezed. "Call them! Now! Get me out of here!"
He had no choice.
The Dasco Gang's boss was calling the cops.
The irony was brutal.
The third-largest gang in Brooklyn was begging the police for rescue.
Just days ago, they'd been in a shootout with the police over drug smuggling.
That incident had embarrassed the Brooklyn Precinct Captain.
It had also humiliated the New York Headquarters Police Commissioner.
Now this.
Whether the captain could keep his job was anyone's guess.
Inside the precinct, a Black man wearing glasses pushed open the door to Captain Dellman's office.
"Come in."
"Captain Dellman," he said calmly. "I'm Cajak from the Spades Gang. Tonight, we're handling the Dasco Gang for you. Consider it helping you recover the face and credit you lost last time."
He slid a bulging envelope onto the desk.
"All you need to do is arrest the losers afterward. Don't worry-we've never met. Even if we fail, nothing touches you. Just wait."
Gulp.
Dellman stared at the envelope.
At least three thousand dollars.
In 1938, that was a fortune.
Even if he lost his position, he could live comfortably.
"Very well," Dellman said slowly. "We haven't met. I don't know who you are. Please leave."
Cajak smiled as he turned away.
"Fat pig," he muttered.
Elsewhere in the station, Sera leaned back in her chair.
Her long legs, wrapped in tight police trousers, rested casually on the desk.
She sipped coffee and ate donuts, clearly enjoying herself.
The desk beside her belonged to Aunt Laura.
Tonight, it was empty.
Laura was home with her daughter.
Ring.
Ring.
The phone rang.
The duty officer answered.
"Brooklyn Precinct. How can I help you?"
Boom!
An explosion echoed through the receiver.
A frantic voice screamed, "Is this the police?! Help us! We're at the Icaro Bar on 49th Street! We're under attack! Get here now! Ah-help!"
The officer jolted upright and grabbed another phone.
He dialed the captain's office.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The line was cut.
"Captain, we've received an emergency call-there's a gang war on 49th Street! Civilians are injured, we-"
Beep.
Before he could finish, pale, slender hands pressed the receiver down.
He looked up.
A sharp, beautiful face.
Captain Sera.
"Captain?" the officer asked.
"No need to report," Sera said flatly. "We've already been notified. It's just a drill."
She stood.
"Everyone. Situation detected on 19th Street. All patrol units, deploy immediately and follow me."
She didn't explain.
She didn't need to.
Nineteenth Street was nowhere near Forty-Ninth.
And Nineteenth Street was a wealthy district with top-tier security.
Nothing ever happened there.
This was a sightseeing tour.
By the time they finished and returned, two hours would have passed.
Enough time.
They'd show up afterward.
Make arrests.
Clean up.
And call it a night.
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