The Million Dollar Janitor

Chapter 6 Building the crew

Evan Creed stared at the silver-haired man stepping from the limo—Kane, one of the Syndicate council’s five bosses. The street near the docks felt colder now, wind biting through his torn janitor uniform. The gun in his hand shook, aimed loose at Kane’s chest. Lila stood beside him, her own pistol half-raised, eyes darting between Evan and the man. Midnight had hit—the docks were steps away—but this wasn’t the plan.

“Lower that,” Kane said, voice calm, like he was ordering coffee. His suit gleamed under the streetlights, sharp and expensive. “I’m not here to kill you, Evan. Not yet.” His smile was thin, a snake’s promise.

Evan didn’t budge. “You know my dad. Talk.” His jaw ached from the night’s fights, blood crusting on his lip. The black card in his pocket—loaded with Syndicate cash—felt heavier every second. Kane’s name rang from the cop’s chatter: the brainy one, cautious, watching. Dangerous.

Kane clasped his hands, unruffled. “Tommy Creed was loyal—Hale’s rock. Smart too. Kept the Syndicate’s streets clean while we built the towers. Then he asked too many questions.” He paused, eyes locking on Evan’s. “Someone shut him up. Not me.”

“Who?” Evan snapped, finger tight on the trigger. His dad’s ghost hovered over this mess—gone since he was ten, now the key to it all.

Kane shrugged. “Could be Voss. Could be Russo. Maybe Elena. Tommy sniffed out a traitor—Hale’s killer, I’d wager. Got him buried for it.” He stepped closer, voice dropping. “You’re him reborn, kid. Hale’s wild card. That phone proves it.”

Evan’s gut twisted. Traitor again—same word from the phone, the cop, now Kane. He glanced at Lila. “This true?”

She nodded, tense. “Tommy was big. Hale’s death wasn’t clean—heart attack’s a lie. Council’s hiding it.” She glared at Kane. “He’s fishing, Evan. Don’t trust him.”

Kane chuckled. “Smart girl. But I’m not your fight—not tonight.” He waved at the limo. “I’ll give you a pass. Get to the docks. Claim it. Then we’ll see who you are.” He turned, sliding back into the car. The limo purred off, leaving dust and questions.

Evan lowered the gun, chest heaving. “What’s at the docks?” he asked Lila, voice raw.

“Your throne,” she said, holstering her pistol. “Hale’s vault—cash, codes, power. The phone unlocks it. Council doesn’t want you near it.” She pointed across the street. “There. Move.”

Evan ran, boots pounding pavement. The docks stretched ahead—warehouses, cranes, water black and still. He didn’t feel like a king—just a janitor with a target. But Tommy’s name burned now. A traitor killed him, and Evan was next unless he fought back. Alone, he was dead. He needed help.

They hit a warehouse, rusted and unmarked. Lila kicked the door; it creaked open. Inside was dark, smelling of oil and salt. A metal box sat in the corner—sleek, bolted down, a slot glowing faint. “The vault,” Lila said. “Phone goes there.”

Evan pulled it out, hands shaky. The screen blinked: Insert now. He slid it in. A hum started, then a click. The box opened—stacks of cash, a laptop, a single key. Evan grabbed the cash—more hundreds than he’d ever seen. The laptop glowed, files loading: names, deals, Syndicate dirt. The key felt old, heavy.

Lila whistled. “That’s it. You’re in charge—till they kill you.”

Evan stuffed the cash in his jacket, pocketing the key. “I need a crew. Can’t do this solo.” His mind flashed to people he knew—nobodies like him, but tough. “Ricky—the bouncer at Tony’s Bar. He’s strong. And Mia—she’s in my building, hacks stuff. They’re good.”

Lila raised a brow. “Your call, boss. Clock’s ticking—dawn’s your deadline for the traitor.”

Evan nodded, heading out. The docks faded behind as he hit familiar streets. Tony’s Bar was close—a dive he’d cleaned once. Ricky was there, a bear of a guy, tossing drunks out nightly. Evan burst in, dodging late-night losers. Ricky stood at the door, arms crossed, bald head shining.

“Evan?” Ricky rumbled, frowning. “You look like hell.”

“Need your help,” Evan said, breathless. “Big trouble—big payoff.” He flashed a wad of cash. “Fight for me. Now.”

Ricky eyed the money, then Evan’s bloody face. “What kinda trouble?”

“Gang stuff,” Evan said. “Guys with guns. I’ve got cash and a shot to win. You in?”

Ricky cracked his knuckles, grinning. “Beats bouncing jerks. Let’s roll.” He grabbed a bat from behind the bar—wood, chipped, mean.

Next stop: Evan’s building. Mia lived on the third floor—quiet, nerdy, always tinkering. He banged on her door, Ricky looming behind. She opened it, glasses slipping, hair a mess. “Evan? It’s late—”

“Hackers get paid, right?” Evan cut in, tossing her a stack of bills. “I need tech. Bad people want me dead. Help me.”

Mia blinked, counting the cash. “This real? What’s the gig?”

“Crack a laptop,” Evan said, pulling it from his jacket. “Secret stuff—gang secrets. Can you?”

She smirked. “Can I? Gimme an hour.” She took it, slamming the door to work.

Evan paced the hall, Ricky leaning on the wall. “This crew gonna hold?” Ricky asked, tapping the bat.

“Better,” Evan said. “Council’s got five bosses—Voss, Russo, Kane, Elena, Marcus. They’re split, fighting over this.” He held up the key. “Whatever it opens, it’s mine now.”

Ricky grunted. “Sounds like a war.”

“It is,” Evan said. “Tommy—my dad—died for it. Traitor’s still out there.”

The door creaked open. Mia stepped out, laptop glowing. “Cracked it. Syndicate files—deals, names, dirt. Voss runs muscle, Russo’s flashy, Kane’s sneaky, Elena’s quiet, Marcus loves cash. And this—” She pointed. “Hale’s last note: ‘Traitor’s close. Trust no one.’”

Evan’s jaw tightened. “Close, huh?” He scanned the files—drug routes, payoffs, a hit list with Tommy’s name crossed out. His dad fought this council, and they crushed him. Now they wanted Evan gone too.

Lila’s voice echoed in his head: Eliminate the traitor by dawn. He checked his watch—hours left. “Mia, dig more. Ricky, we’re hitting the streets. Someone’s dirty—Russo, maybe. Cop said he’s loud.”

Ricky hefted the bat. “Loud’s easy to break.”

They moved out, Mia typing behind. Evan led Ricky to a spot he knew—Russo’s turf, a flashy club downtown. Neon buzzed, bouncers glared. Evan flashed cash, slipping in. Russo was there—big guy, gold chains, laughing loud at a table. Evan watched, pulse racing. Traitor or not, he was council—untouchable, till now.

Ricky nudged him. “Plan?”

“Watch him,” Evan said. “If he’s the one, we hit hard.” He gripped the gun, hidden under his jacket. The club pulsed—music, sweat, danger. Russo stood, heading to a back room. Evan followed, Ricky close. The door shut behind Russo, locking with a click.

Evan tried it—stuck. He pried with the key—nothing fancy, just force. It popped. Inside, Russo turned, startled. “Who the hell—” His hand went for a gun, but Ricky swung the bat, cracking his arm. Russo yelled, dropping it.

Evan aimed his gun. “Traitor?” he snarled. “You kill Hale? Tommy?”

Russo laughed, wincing. “Kid, you’re clueless. Hale’s dead ‘cause he was weak. Tommy too. I’m just playing the game.” He smirked. “Council’s coming. You’re done.”

A crash sounded—glass breaking outside. Evan spun. Shadows moved—men in suits, guns out, storming the club. Council muscle. Russo grinned. “Told you.”