Chapter 75: Rainstorm [Bonus for Cumulative Tips]

"I see," and then the receiver was placed back on the handset base.

A foreman lit a cigarette, gazing at the empty warehouse—Hiram and his crew had been dismissed, of course without a single penny paid to them.

The company had always operated this way—it saved a fortune, and since the losers weren’t them, they never complained.

Then Foreman A glanced at his colleague: "Someone will come soon to take over our duties; we’ll hand over the keys and leave then."

The other man said nothing, but his beaming expression made his delight obvious.

In truth, both were thrilled—though the job was easy, being stuck here day after day with nowhere to go had become unbearable.

They’d have quit long ago if not for Arthur’s high status and the generous pay.

Now, at last, they could leave; they whispered plans for where to go out and celebrate that night—they’d practically grown lice from being cooped up!

Suddenly, a torrential downpour arrived, just as the radio had forecast.

The entire city was shrouded in a curtain of rain, misty and dreamlike, transforming the world into something surreal.

The rain was so heavy it hammered the metal roofs like pebbles; only a few desperate souls braved the streets, while everyone else huddled under eaves, and even the roads grew sparser with cars.

Even luxury cars of this era weren’t well-sealed—if water got into the engine, it was no joke.

Many cars had pulled over to the roadside; the cheap ones with canvas roofs were ruined—rain poured in from outside, turning the interiors into drizzling rooms.

Arthur cursed as he parked his car in the garage—he was a moment too late, and the interior was already soaked.

Fortunately, he knew what to do and ordered his servants to clean it up quickly.

He then put the matter out of his mind, thinking instead of how to get more money.

After all, he had barely a week left before leaving No. 25.

The storm washed the world clean; in the misty haze, several figures in thick raincoats arrived at the warehouse’s entrance.

"They’ve seen me—I’ll sneak in and trick them into opening the door, then signal you."

Erwin gave a signal, then slammed the door hard, while the others stood at a distance, waiting for Erwin’s cue.

To ensure absolute safety, everyone carried weapons.

The pounding on the door couldn’t be drowned out by the rain—not even by the deafening drumming on the roof.

The two foremen exchanged delighted glances and hurried to the door, flinging it open: "You’re finally here—just you alone?"

Supervisor A was very friendly; although Erwin’s raincoat had a hood, the heavy rain had drenched his hair, messy and covering part of his face.

He paused, then reacted swiftly: "A few others are waiting outside—I saw you’d locked the door."

"It’s pouring!" Foreman B explained. "Here’s the key—call your boss later to confirm the handover. This place is yours now."

"I hope your boss discussed this with you."

Erwin didn’t know exactly what had happened, but he knew it couldn’t be bad: “Of course, the boss said to call him once we get the key.”

He gestured toward the door: "I’ll call the others in."

The two foremen had no objections: "If they don’t like getting soaked, they’re welcome to come inside."

As they pulled on their raincoats, both were already eager to head to the red-light district near the docks—this downpour meant more girls would be available, and they couldn’t wait.

Lans entered and saw the two supervisors changing clothes; he glanced at Erwin in confusion, and Erwin held up the key. Though Lans didn’t understand what was going on, he still cooperated and walked toward the bottles: “I’ll check them.”

Foreman A glanced at Lans, now without his hood, unable to see his face but sensing his expression was unpleasant.

He looked at Erwin: “Your friend is kind of unpleasant—nothing could possibly be wrong here!”

Erwin smiled: “Sorry, he’s a bit sensitive.”

The two supervisors glanced at Lans a few more times, now fully dressed; they had a good impression of Erwin: “You look kind of familiar… have we met before?”

Erwin was quick: “Have you been to the Red Romance nightclub by the entrance?”

The two foremen exchanged knowing, lewd grins: "If we weren’t on duty tonight, I’d drag you along—next time, let’s make plans."

He extended his hand, and Erwin shook it: “Definitely next time.”

Then came the other one.

Both pulled up their hoods, said goodbye, and plunged into the rain, vanishing into the mist.

As soon as they were gone, Lans spun around: "Hurry—get the Howard brothers here fast! We need to move this stuff out now!"

Something had changed—clearly.

Morris, though small, was fast—he bolted for the door. Lans grabbed Hiram and pointed: "Open the warehouse gate! Everyone else, prepare to load the goods!"

Two minutes later, two utility trucks—each 3.5 meters long and 2.2 meters wide—rolled in; their high sides could hold at least fifteen cubic meters of cargo!

The workers, soaked from waiting in the rain, leapt down and began swiftly loading the goods using forklifts and tools.

The Howard brothers stood by the truck cab, staring at the liquor, swallowing hard: "How much do you think there is?"

Young Howard lit a cigarette: "At least two hundred thousand worth."

They exchanged glances—greed, shock, faint fear—all emotions present, but mostly awe at Lans’s boldness—this was a massive operation!

Hiram’s crew were skilled; they filled both trucks in no time. There was no time for waterproofing—they just told them to drive off.

Lans’s rented warehouse was nearby; large trucks were still rare in this era, mostly seen only near docks or train stations.

Elsewhere, their appearance was unusual—and always drew witnesses.

Hiding the goods elsewhere wouldn’t guarantee secrecy, and the distance made it unlikely they could move everything.

At the docks, trucks were everywhere; with the heavy rain and thick fog, visibility dropped below fifty meters—perfect for smuggling.

The two trucks quickly reached Lans’s rented warehouse—a common daily rental spot at the docks—and unloaded in under ten minutes.

Everyone then trudged back through the rain to the original warehouse.

The storm began to ease—torrential downpours like this rarely lasted more than twenty minutes.

At this point, Lans had guessed the situation: the shift change had been delayed by the storm, and the foremen mistook them for the incoming crew.

So another group was surely on the way—just unknown when they’d arrive.

Every second felt agonizingly long.

By the second trip, the warehouse was nearly empty—this might be good news.

The rain had lessened to a heavy downpour, but the oppressive clouds still loomed, as if ready to collapse onto the city at any moment.

Morris stood in the rain holding a lantern, watching the road.

Five roads led into the docks; he focused only on the one leading to the warehouse.

Suddenly, four headlights appeared at the road’s end—two cars approaching; instinctively, Morris tensed.

Fortunately, the cars moved slowly—the dock roads were rough from constant truck traffic, and with low visibility, they dared not speed.

As they turned toward the warehouse road, Morris quickly opened and closed his lantern’s cover repeatedly.

While loading the last batch, Lans spotted a light flickering through the fog—someone was coming.

He checked the loading progress: about two thousand bottles remained. He shouted: "Stop!"

"Someone’s coming—drop everything and get out now!"

Lans held absolute authority; no one argued. Workers scrambled into the truck beds, and both trucks sped into the fog.

But they didn’t go far—only one road led out, so they pulled over nearby, turned off engines and lights.

About three minutes later, the two cars crept slowly forward; everyone held their breath.

Once they passed, Lans signaled the Howard brothers to restart the engines.

Meanwhile, the two cars arrived at the warehouse; under the dim bulb, the warehouse number stood out clearly.

The driver was cheerful: "They actually opened the door for us…"

The assistant’s nephew paused, his face darkening with unease: "Drive in fast—something’s wrong."

If the rain soaked or damaged the bottles, their value would plummet!

But when they entered the warehouse and saw only about two thousand bottles left in the corner, they let out a furious roar.

Mr. Jobe, about to rest, was jolted awake by the phone—the pitch-black clouds outside made the night feel utterly suffocating.