Black Water at the Port

This was not smuggling. This was a cleanup. He moved closer, and then the far end of the warehouse lit up with white floodlights. A dozen men with batons and short guns poured out from behind the racks. At their head stood Ron Verner himself. He was short, expensive-looking, and completely free of gangster style. He looked more like a man who had built a life around dinner tables and contracts than alley fights. "You really came," Ron said, almost regretful. "I thought you'd be smarter." "Smarter people don't kidnap witnesses," Ethan said. "Smarter people also don't believe they can win." Ron lifted a hand, indicating the room. "You think you're fighting a gang? No. You're touching the way this city keeps its balance. South Side needs food.