The drive to the port was quiet. The only sounds were the low hum of the engine and the ticking of Rico’s watch. His jaw was tight the whole ride. The call had been short and sharp—another shipment hit. The first happened weeks ago when he was with Calla. He got that call and had to leave.
This being the third one this month with the same route and same pattern. Whoever was behind it knew exactly where to strike.
When the car stopped at the dock, the smell of salt and metal hit him. Floodlights flashed across the wreck of broken crates, spilled cargo, and blood on the concrete. Two men were lying face down.
Rico stepped out, the soles of his shoes echoing against the wet ground. The men nearby straightened the moment they saw him. He didn’t speak right away. He just looked around, at th
