Chapter 480 - 222: Louis
Pittsburgh South District, the Phase II construction site of the Inland Port.
This was the heart of the entire revitalization plan.
Dozens of pile drivers roared in unison, making the very ground beneath their feet tremble slightly.
Louis hung up on Luna, then immediately dialed Barney’s number.
The phone was answered after a single ring.
"Barney, Luna says the FBI went in," Louis said. "State police have sealed the doors, SWAT is on the flanks, and the Mayor is surrounded inside."
The other end of the line was silent for two seconds.
"Got it," Barney’s voice came through. "Louis, don’t make any rash moves. I need to confirm the situation. Give me ten minutes."
The call ended.
Louis stared at his phone’s dark screen, his heart beating a little faster.
He didn’t know what Barney needed to confirm, nor what might happen in those ten minutes.
But he knew that Leo Wallace was inside that surrounded branch office.
That young Mayor, the man who had given them jobs and dignity, was now facing a behemoth from Washington all alone.
"If they take him away, I’m afraid dark days will fall on Pittsburgh again."
Louis muttered to himself.
Every second of those ten minutes felt as long as a century.
Ten minutes later, his phone vibrated again.
It was Barney.
"Do it."
There was a fierce edge to Barney’s voice.
"Hold them back," Barney ordered. "Don’t let a single car with government plates get near that block. Buy Leo time. As long as Leo is still in there talking, I want you to block those vehicles completely."
"Understood."
Louis hung up.
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air.
He put his fingers in his mouth.
"TWEEEEET—!!!"
A sharp, long whistle echoed across the construction site.
It was a specific signal.
Several nearby foremen immediately looked up in Louis’s direction.
The crane operator stopped working his controls, and even a worker mixing cement in the distance shut off his machine.
The noise on the site quickly died down.
Dozens of pairs of eyes turned to the portly foreman standing on high ground.
Louis simply waved his thick arms, making a few simple gestures.
It was a silent understanding forged through countless strikes and confrontations.
No explanation was needed. No rally was required.
Stop work.
Assemble the crews.
Prepare to fight.
"Stop work!"
Louis roared.
"Crew Three! Crew Four! All the dump trucks, and those extra-wide flatbed trailers!"
"Roll them out!"
A dozen or so drivers poked their heads out of their cabs or ran out from the break shacks, quickly climbing aboard the massive steel beasts.
"Boss, where to?" asked a big, heavily bearded man.
"We’re going to fix a road!"
Louis pointed north.
"That main road leading to the Pittsburgh Branch—I haven’t liked the look of it for a long time. The pavement is too broken up. It’s an eyesore and a serious traffic hazard."
"We’re going to fix it right now."
"And make it a thorough repair."
The big man paused for a second, then broke into a grin, revealing a set of smoke-stained yellow teeth.
"Got it, Boss."
"That road really does need fixing. I reckon it’ll take at least a dozen trucks parked sideways to get it done right."
"Then take twenty," Louis said coldly. "Bring the cement pipes, bring the barricades. If we’re going to repair a road, we’d better look the part."
"Move out!"
"ROAR—"
The engines, silent for a moment, roared to life again.
More than twenty heavy trucks started up at once, sending columns of black smoke shooting into the sky.
These behemoths formed a single file line and, with the site as their starting point, rolled majestically out of the construction gate.
...
Fifth Avenue, on the way to the Pittsburgh Branch.
This was the main artery connecting the city center and the South District, and it was currently morning rush hour.
Three black armored personnel carriers, lights flashing, were struggling to weave through the traffic.
They had received orders to lock down the entire block and ensure the suspect named Luigi had no chance of escape.
Suddenly, the lead APC slammed on its brakes.
The driver frowned, staring ahead.
Right in the middle of the intersection, a heavy flatbed trailer, fully loaded with precast concrete pipes, was making an excruciatingly slow left turn.
The truck was so long that it spanned the entire intersection, blocking all lanes of traffic.
"WEE-OOO! WEE-OOO!"
The APC’s siren blared frantically.
The driver leaned out and yelled at the truck, "Get out of the way! Federal agents on official business! Move it, now!"
The truck driver seemed not to hear him at all.
He continued to turn the steering wheel slowly.
Then, the very second the truck’s body was perfectly horizontal across the road...
"PFFT—"
A muffled sputtering sound.
The truck stopped.
The black smoke stopped spewing. The engine had died.
The driver pushed open his door and jumped down.
He was wearing a set of grimy work clothes. He spread his hands with an innocent look and shouted to the officers behind him:
"It broke down!"
"Dammit! The clutch is fried!"
"It’s not moving!"
"Are you fucking kidding me?" An FBI agent, furious, jumped out of his vehicle. With his hand on the holster at his hip, he stormed over. "Move this thing! Now!"
"I’d love to, Officer!" the driver said, kicking one of the enormous tires. "But this thing weighs dozens of tons. When it’s broken, it’s broken. What can I do? Maybe you can give it a push?"
The agent looked at the truck, which was like a city wall, then at the heavy concrete pipes on its bed. His face turned green.
’Push it?’
’A tank couldn’t even ram this thing out of the way.’
"Call a tow truck!" the agent roared at the driver.
"No use calling," the driver said, slowly pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "There’s more behind me."
The agent whipped his head around.
He saw that in the other three directions of the intersection, several more heavy trucks, with this one as the epicenter, had conveniently suffered various malfunctions.
A dump truck’s bed had "accidentally" risen, getting stuck on the traffic light’s crossbar.
A cement mixer had "carelessly" skidded, its rear half mounting the curb and blocking the right-turn lane.
Two other dump trucks had a minor "fender-bender" in the middle of the intersection, and the two drivers were now standing in the road, using it as an excuse to start a long, drawn-out argument.
The entire intersection was instantly paralyzed.
The flow of traffic on Fifth Avenue was completely cut off.
Behind them, private cars, buses, and taxis were backed up in a long line, a cacophony of horns filling the air.
The Federation vehicles, which had been rushing to provide backup with such bravado, were now stuck fast in the middle of the gridlock, unable to move forward or back.
They were surrounded.
Surrounded by steel, noise, and the raw industrial might of the city.
The agent looked at the smoking driver, then at the workers pretending to argue in the middle of the road.
He understood.
This wasn’t an accident.
This was a blockade.
"Goddamn Pittsburgh."
The agent cursed, viciously kicking a roadside guardrail.
He issued a new command into his radio.
"All vehicles, hold your positions. Cordon off the scene and wait for tow trucks."
Then, he pulled open the door of the APC behind him.
"First squad, second squad, all out!"
The agent’s voice was ice-cold.
"Full gear. Move out on foot. Target: the Pittsburgh Branch."
...
Louis stood a short distance away, watching the intersection that had become a parking lot.
"Well done."
Louis said in a low voice.
He took his phone out of his pocket and composed a text message.
"It’s blocked outside. Federation reinforcements can’t get in. For at least half an hour, no one can disturb you."
Sent.
Recipient: Kevin.
Louis looked at the "Message Sent" confirmation on his screen and let out a long breath.
’This is all I can do.’
’The rest is up to the young man inside, to see if he can withstand the pressure from those big shots.’
"Mr. Mayor."
"Don’t let us down."