CHAPTER 23: CHAPTER 23

Ace ducked back behind the chain-link fence, his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird. Deke’s thugs were watching his storage unit. They knew about his new base. The twelve-day deadline suddenly felt like a noose tightening around his neck.

He couldn’t go in the front way. Not now. Silently, he backed away, moving carefully down the alley beside the motel. He needed a different route. Remembering the overgrown bushes at the back of the storage lot, Ace walked the long way around the block. He found the spot he’d used earlier – a section of rusty fence partly hidden by thick weeds. Using all his strength and the System’s efficiency bonus, he carefully bent a few loose wires just enough to squeeze through. He emerged inside the storage lot, hidden from the thugs at the front gate. He hurried to Unit B-17, unlocked the heavy padlock, slipped inside, and rolled the door shut behind him with a quiet sigh of relief.

The bare concrete space felt safer than the open alley, but the threat was real. Deke wasn’t giving up. Ace needed Evelyn’s information more than ever. He busied himself organizing his tools on the second-hand worktable, trying to calm his nerves. The Network Ping skill hummed softly, confirming no immediate electronic threats nearby inside the unit.

***

A soft knock sounded on the metal door later that afternoon. Ace tensed for a second, then relaxed as the Network Ping skill identified the familiar signal of Evelyn’s phone nearby.

"Evelyn?" he called out softly.

"It’s me," came her voice from outside.

Ace quickly rolled up the door just enough for her to slip inside, then closed it again. Evelyn looked around the small space, taking in the swept floor and Ace’s organized toolbox. She carried a small notebook and looked serious.

"Did you see them?" she asked immediately, her voice low. "The two guys watching the gate?"

"Yeah," Ace confirmed. "Crowbar and Knife Guy. Deke’s welcoming committee. What did you find?"

Evelyn opened her notebook, her eyes bright with the thrill of the hunt. "Deke is in trouble, Ace. Big trouble. His pawn shop is just for show. His real money comes from squeezing small businesses near the old docks. He forces shop owners to pay him ’protection money’ – cash every week so he doesn’t wreck their stores or hurt them."

"That’s how he operates?" Ace asked, feeling a flicker of anger. He knew about bullies.

"Worse," Evelyn said, tapping her notebook. "He’s also a terrible gambler. He owes a huge amount of money – fifteen thousand dollars – to a man named Victor Ramos. Ramos runs illegal high-stakes poker games downtown. He’s dangerous. Really dangerous. And Deke is way behind on paying him back."

Ace’s eyes widened. Fifteen thousand dollars? That was more money than he could imagine. "So Deke is desperate for cash because he owes this Ramos guy?"

"Exactly," Evelyn said. "He’s squeezing the dock businesses harder than ever to try and cover his debt. But here’s the interesting part." She flipped a page. "One of the business owners he’s shaking down is named Marco Silva. Silva owns a bar called ’The Rusty Anchor’ down by the water. Word is, Silva is getting fed up. He’s scared, but he’s also angry. He might be ready to fight back if he had some support."

Ace felt a spark of hope ignite. This was leverage. Real leverage. Deke wasn’t some untouchable kingpin; he was a desperate man drowning in debt to someone even scarier. "This Ramos guy... if Deke doesn’t pay him?"

Evelyn’s expression was grim. "People who owe Ramos money and don’t pay... they tend to disappear. Or end up in the hospital. Deke knows this. That’s why he’s so frantic. That’s why he’s coming after you so hard."

Ace paced the small space. "Okay. Okay, this is good. This is really good, Evelyn. Thanks." He felt a surge of gratitude. "How did you find all this?"

Evelyn shrugged modestly. "Public police reports mention Ramos and gambling disputes. Local business forums online have people complaining anonymously about ’protection fees’. Silva’s name came up a few times. It’s amazing what people post when they think no one is paying attention. I just connected the dots."

"You’re brilliant," Ace said sincerely.

Evelyn smiled. "Flattery gets you extra research hours. So, what’s the plan? How do we use this?"

Ace stopped pacing. "We need to find Silva. Talk to him. If he’s ready to stand up to Deke, maybe we can help each other. And we need to find out exactly when and where Deke meets Ramos. If we can prove Deke owes that much... it could be the key to making him back off for good."

"On it," Evelyn said, closing her notebook. "I’ll see what else I can dig up on Silva and Ramos’s schedule. I have to get to my shift at The Grind House now." She headed towards the door.

"Be careful," Ace said. "Deke’s thugs are watching."

"You too," Evelyn replied. "Don’t do anything stupid before I get more info." She slipped out, and Ace quickly closed the door.

He leaned against the cool metal. He had a path forward. It was risky, but it was better than waiting for Deke’s next move. He needed to keep busy, keep earning money, and look completely normal. He remembered his promise to Doris at the laundromat: organizational help only. No more machine tweaking.

***

Ace walked into Suds & Duds. The familiar smell of detergent and warm air greeted him. Doris was behind the counter, wrestling with a tangled mess of extension cords.

"Ace! Perfect timing," she called out, relief in her voice. "Hope you brought your sign-making magic. This place is chaos today."

"Just the signs and the guide, like we agreed, Doris," Ace said, holding up a bag containing a small whiteboard, markers, clips, and a plastic sleeve. "No surprises."

"Thank goodness," Doris said. "After the... bubble incident... I think simple is best."

Ace got to work. He found a clear spot on the wall near the entrance and mounted the whiteboard. Using bold, clear letters, he wrote headings at the top: "WASHERS IN USE" and "WASHERS FREE" on the left, "DRYERS IN USE" and "DRYERS FREE" on the right. He made small, laminated cards with the numbers of each machine on them. Under "WASHERS IN USE," he clipped cards for machines 1, 3, and 5. Under "WASHERS FREE," he clipped cards for 2, 4, 6, and 7. He did the same for the dryers.

He then placed the simple, printed guide near the change machine: "1. Get Quarters. 2. Sort Clothes. 3. Choose Washer Size. 4. Add Detergent. 5. Start!" He slipped it into the plastic sleeve so it would stay clean.

He was just finishing when a woman struggling with a large laundry bag stopped and stared at the board. "Oh! That’s helpful," she said, moving towards a free washer.

Doris beamed. "See? Already working! You’re a lifesaver, Ace. Simple and effective." She handed him the fifty dollars they’d agreed on. "Worth every penny."

As Ace pocketed the cash, Doris pointed towards the back. "While you’re here... Washer #5 just stopped dead halfway through its cycle. No bubbles, thank heavens, just... dead. Any chance you could take a quick peek? I’ll throw in an extra twenty."

Ace hesitated. He *had* promised no machine meddling. But a straightforward repair was different from risky efficiency tweaks. And he needed the money. "Okay, Doris. Let me see." He walked over to Washer #5. The machine was silent, the clothes inside soaking wet. The Neural-Interface activated:

[Scanning: Washer #5]

[Issue: Faulty Lid Lock Switch. Machine detects lid as open, halting cycle.]

[Repair: Replace switch or bypass temporarily. Tools Required: Screwdriver, Multimeter (Optional).]

Ace unplugged the washer. He found the screws securing the top control panel and carefully removed them. Lifting the panel, he located the small plastic switch near the lid hinge. Using his multimeter (a recent, cheap purchase for his toolbox), he confirmed the switch wasn’t sending the ’lid closed’ signal. It was broken.

"Broken switch, Doris," he called out. "I don’t have the exact part, but I can bypass it safely for now so you can finish this load. You’ll need to get a new switch later."

"Whatever gets it running!" Doris called back.

Ace carefully disconnected the wires from the faulty switch. Following the System’s precise guidance, he spliced the two wires together, effectively tricking the washer into thinking the lid was always closed. He insulated the connection carefully with electrical tape. He plugged the washer back in, closed the lid, and pressed start. The machine hummed back to life, resuming its cycle.

"Fixed!" Ace announced.

"You’re a wonder, Ace!" Doris said, handing him the extra twenty dollars. "Here. For the emergency fix."

"Thanks, Doris." Ace pocketed the money. Cash now: $501.35 + $50 (signs) + $20 (repair) = $571.35. He felt good. He’d helped Doris, earned money legitimately, and kept his promise. No chaos. As he packed his tools, the System chimed:

[New Task: Gather Compromising Evidence]

[Time Limit: 10 Days]

[Goal: Obtain verifiable proof of Darius "Deke" Vance’s criminal activities (protection racket, gambling debt).]

[Reward: Skill - "Audio Enhancement" (Amplify/Clarify Recorded Sounds)]

[Penalty: Temporary Loss of $500 System Funds]

Proof. The System wanted proof. That made sense. Proof could protect him, expose Deke, or maybe even be leverage with Ramos or Silva. The penalty was steep – losing half his System funds – but the reward could be invaluable. He accepted the task mentally.

***

Feeling cautiously optimistic, Ace decided to check his storage unit one more time before heading back to the motel. The evening was settling in, casting long shadows. He approached the rear fence cautiously, using the Network Ping skill. Only faint, distant signals appeared. The coast seemed clear.

He squeezed through the gap in the fence again and walked quickly to Unit B-17. He inserted the key into the heavy padlock. It clicked open smoothly. He started to lift the rolling door, but something felt off. The door seemed slightly heavier than usual, sticking for a second halfway up.

He pulled it all the way open and stepped inside, flipping on the single light bulb. He froze.

His storage unit had been searched. Not trashed, but clearly rifled through. His toolbox sat open on the worktable, the contents disturbed – screwdrivers out of place, the wrench lying on top instead of nestled inside. The small box where he kept spare parts was open, bits of wire and fuses spilling out. A dusty footprint marked the concrete floor near the door – larger than his own shoe.

Someone had been inside.

Panic flared, cold and sharp. Had they taken anything? He quickly inventoried his tools: screwdrivers, pliers, wrench, hammer, multimeter, soldering iron... all present. His small stash of spare parts was messy but intact. His emergency cash was still hidden securely inside the hollow handle of a screwdriver. Relief washed over him, quickly followed by anger. They hadn’t stolen anything... this time. It was a message. A show of force. We can get to you anywhere.

Then he saw it. Taped to the inside wall, right next to the light switch, was a single playing card. The Ace of Spades. Scrawled across the face in thick, black marker were the words: "PAY UP. OR NEXT TIME WE WILL BURN IT."

Ace ripped the card off the wall. His hand trembled, not with fear this time, but with cold, focused rage. They’d violated his space. His hard-won sanctuary. They threatened everything he was building.

He crumpled the card in his fist. Deke thought he was a scared kid who could be intimidated. Deke thought he could push Ace around forever.

He was wrong.

Ace looked at the crumpled card, then at his organized tools on the worktable. He thought of Evelyn’s research – Deke’s desperate debt to Ramos, the angry bar owner Silva. He thought of the System’s new task: Gather Compromising Evidence.

The fear was still there, a cold knot in his stomach. But it was dwarfed by a new feeling: determination. He had eleven days left on the first deadline. He had ten days for this new task. He had information. He had a team starting to form. And he had nothing left to lose.

He carefully smoothed out the Ace of Spades card and placed it on the worktable, the threat facing up. He wouldn’t run. He wouldn’t hide. It was time to stop reacting and start fighting back.

"Okay, Deke," Ace murmured to the empty unit, his voice steady. "You want a war? You’ve got one."

He turned off the light, rolled the door down, and snapped the padlock shut with a decisive click. The sound echoed in the quiet alley. Ace walked away, not towards the motel, but towards the bus stop. He needed to find a pawn shop far from Deke’s territory. He needed a small, cheap voice recorder. Proof started with evidence. And Ace was now on the hunt. The game had changed. It was time to go on the offensive.