The Vanishing Virtuoso

Chapter 3: Ships in the Dock

The docks were a place of constant motion, where the pulse of commerce beat steadily against the backdrop of creaking ships and shouting workers. But Grange wasn't there for the cargo; she was there for information, the kind that lurked in the shadows and whispered in the wind.

She found Old Davies where she always did, perched on an overturned crate near the water's edge, a bottle clutched in his weathered hands. The old man had seen more than most could imagine, his life a tapestry of tales woven from the docks' underbelly.

"Davies," Grange greeted him, her tone softer than usual.
"Agent Grange," he slurred, squinting up at her. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I need your help," she said, taking a seat beside him.
Davies chuckled, a raspy sound that spoke of years of smoke and drink. "My help? What's the FBI want with an old drunk like me?"

Grange sighed. "It's about Julian Carver. He's missing, and I have reason to believe the Digger Gang is involved."
Old Davies' expression sobered at the mention of the gang. "The Diggers? They're bad news, Grange. Bad news."
"I know," she replied. "But you know this place better than anyone. Have you heard anything?"

Davies took a long swig from his bottle before answering. "Word is they've been holed up in an old gang house—abandoned for years but still standing. It's where they used to run their operations before they hit it big."

Grange leaned forward, her interest piqued. "Where is this house?"
Davies hesitated, his loyalty to the docks' code of silence warring with his respect for Grange. Finally, he relented. "East end of the docks, past the shipping containers. Can't miss it."
Grange stood up, placing a gentle hand on Davies' shoulder. "Thank you," she said sincerely.

"Don't thank me yet," Davies warned. "That place is a ghost ship—haunted by memories best left forgotten."
With a nod of acknowledgment, Grange walked away from the docks and towards her next lead. The abandoned gang house could be the breakthrough they needed—or it could be another dead end in a case full of them.

The old gang house loomed before Grange, its windows like dark, unblinking eyes. The building was a relic, its walls etched with the scars of a thousand stories. Grange approached cautiously, her hand resting on her sidearm.

As she stepped inside, the air grew heavy with the scent of mold and decay. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant echo of dripping water. She moved through the rooms, each one empty and forlorn, until she reached what must have been the main gathering area.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the stillness. "You shouldn't have come here, Agent Grange."
Grange spun around, her gun drawn to find a figure emerging from the shadows—a gang member, his face obscured by a bandana.
"This is where it ends for you," he sneered, his own weapon aimed at her heart.

Grange's response was calm, her training taking over. "I don't think so. You're going to tell me where Julian Carver is."
The gang member laughed, a cold sound that sent shivers down Grange's spine. "You think you're in control here? You're in our world now."
The standoff was tense, each waiting for the other to make a move. Then, without warning, shots rang out. Grange ducked behind cover as bullets whizzed past her. She returned fire, but the gang member was relentless.

Just as it seemed he might gain the upper hand, silence fell once more—this time punctuated by a single, deafening shot. The gang member's body hit the ground with a thud, a neat hole where his eye had been.
Grange looked up to see Mercer perched atop a stack of shipping containers in the distance, his rifle still smoking from the shot that saved her life.

She met him outside, her heart still racing from the encounter. "Thanks for the assist," she said.
Mercer nodded, his eyes scanning the horizon. "Anytime. What did you find?"

"Nothing concrete," Grange admitted. "But if they were using this place as a hideout, they've cleared out."
Mercer frowned. "We're missing something—a piece of this puzzle that's staring us right in the face."
They stood there for a moment, two soldiers in an unseen war. The case was complex, woven with threads of past and present that refused to untangle easily.

"We'll find him," Mercer said finally. "We have to."
Grange nodded in agreement. Together they would chase down every lead, follow every whisper until Julian Carver was found. And as they left the ghostly echo of the gang house behind them, they knew that their journey was far from over.
Mercer goes home to his office to run through the events so far