The Underworld Crown: Mumbai's Criminal Empire

Chapter 2: The Big Score

The pre-dawn air hung heavy with anticipation as Vicky crouched in the shadows of a dilapidated warehouse near Mumbai's bustling port. His heart raced, not from fear, but from the intoxicating cocktail of adrenaline and ambition coursing through his veins. It had been two weeks since that fateful night in Salim's electronics shop, two weeks of furious planning and preparation for what Rajan had dubbed "the score of a lifetime."

Vicky's eyes darted to his left, where Rajan stood rigid, his face an impassive mask. To his right, a nervous Salim fidgeted incessantly, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead despite the cool morning air.

"Calm down, yaar," Vicky whispered, nudging Salim. "You look like you're about to piss yourself."

Salim shot him a glare. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one with a family to support, a reputation to maintain."

Vicky snorted. "Reputation? As what, an overpriced calculator salesman?"

"Enough," Rajan hissed, his voice barely audible. "They're here."

A battered truck rumbled into view, its headlights cutting through the pre-dawn gloom. It came to a stop just meters from their hiding spot, and two men hopped out of the cab. Vicky recognized one as Rajan's contact at the customs office, a weaselly-looking fellow named Prakash. The other was a burly dockworker, his massive arms covered in faded tattoos.

"Show time," Rajan murmured, stepping out of the shadows. Vicky and Salim followed, trying to project an air of confidence they didn't entirely feel.

Prakash's eyes darted nervously as they approached. "Rajan bhai, we need to make this quick. The shift change is in twenty minutes."

Rajan nodded, all business. "Let's see the goods first."

The dockworker grunted and yanked open the truck's rear doors. Inside, stacked neatly, were dozens of boxes emblazoned with the Casio logo. Vicky let out a low whistle. This was no small-time operation - there had to be thousands of calculators in there, worth a small fortune on the black market.

Salim stepped forward, producing a small prybar from his jacket. With trembling hands, he opened one of the boxes and extracted a calculator. He examined it closely, then nodded to Rajan. "They're genuine. Top of the line."

Rajan's lips curled into a satisfied smile. He turned to Prakash. "Excellent work. Now, about our arrangement-"

A sudden screech of tires cut him off. Vicky's head snapped around to see three police jeeps barreling towards them, sirens wailing.

"Damn it!" Rajan roared. "It's a setup!"

Chaos erupted. Prakash and the dockworker bolted, disappearing into the maze of warehouses. Salim stood frozen, the calculator still clutched in his hands, his face a mask of terror.

Vicky's mind raced. They were cornered, with no clear escape route. But then his eyes fell on the truck, its engine still idling.

"Get in!" he shouted, shoving Salim towards the vehicle. "Now!"

Rajan needed no encouragement. He vaulted into the passenger seat as Vicky scrambled behind the wheel. Salim barely made it into the back before Vicky stomped on the accelerator, the truck lurching forward with a groan of protesting metal.

"Are you insane?" Salim shrieked from the back. "We can't outrun the police in this thing!"

"Watch me," Vicky growled, his eyes locked on the narrow gap between two warehouses. It would be a tight fit, but it was their only chance.

The truck plowed through, side mirrors snapping off with a crunch of metal on concrete. Behind them, one of the police jeeps attempted to follow but became wedged in the narrow passage.