“The hell was that?” I snap, unsure what he’s playing at.
“Just making sure you’re ready.” Cunt. “Looks like you are. I’ll shut up now.” Yeah. Good idea.
I look back at my phone and frown, uninterested in anything that isn’t directly related to what’s happening here and pissed that he thinks I’m not on this. Fuck him.
“You’ve got your own woman. Stop thinking about mine before I rip your fucking eyes out of your skull.”
“You could try.”
My brow arches.
“How old are you now anyway?”
I swing back to him, mouth ready to deliver a tirade of abuse and hands barely holding themselves off him. He does nothing but stare at me and smirk, one hand holding a gun in his lap.
“You’re a dick, Cane.”
“Yeah.” He opens the door as the car pulls to a stop and steps out before I’ve given him the okay to do it.
“A damn arrogant one,” I spit, exiting with him and looking around the area. He nods and moves across the space, eyes looking at anything that might be useful to him as he sweeps the area himself.
“Port B?” he asks, his feet striding towards the place through puddles. I follow, listening to the splash of his footsteps disturbing the stillness in the air, lights bouncing off the reflection from the water. He scans again, searching high for vantage points he can get to, as he shoves his gun in the back of his waistband. Astute. I stop and watch him then check my watch. Still no message. I pick out my phone and call the warehouse for an update. They’re still a half hour out of New York, some crash on a back road diverting them off the chosen route.
“Boss?” one of the boys says as the cars come rolling to a stop near us. “Where do you want us?” I flick my head over to the storage containers, fingers pointing to the other cars that come to the opposite side. As long as we cage the fuckers in, we’re safe.
“Seven up high, where Cane is,” I mutter, still watching him scope the dock out. “Some over by Border Control. Keep that secure. You left one out near the security post?” He nods at me and gets out of the car, feet already heading for Quinn.
“Two on the entrance further up, too.” Good.
My eyes search the inky night after that, watching as they all find secure positions within this dock. There aren’t many men that aren’t mine, but there are a few. Most of the systems were mechanised ten years back, but a few still need human input to keep the containers moving in and out. I look up to the tower, hand shielding my eyes from the light that shines down until it finally goes dull—day setting engaged. The result is a lowly illuminated dock full of calm and near silence, other than the smooth turn of the containers being moved.
A sudden burst of action coming from the right side of the docks makes me grab for my gun and turn for it, my finger ready on the trigger. It’s only when I see a load of men running the outskirts, all of them in hard hats and high vis jackets, that I realise Roman’s calling his men out of the yard.
“Could he fucking announce it any louder?” Quinn asks, creeping out of the gloom from somewhere. “Looks like a fucking parade’s going on.” I chuckle at that, continuing to watch them off the dock, flashes of orange in the night. No one now. No one but us—machines and guns.
“He’s protecting his men. Wouldn’t you?”
He doesn’t answer. He paces instead, eyes continuing to flash around the area at where my men have put themselves.
“You got anything yet?” he asks. He means the message.
“No. It’ll come in soon enough. We wait now.”
Wait.
Nearly an hour of fucking waiting later and I’m about ready to blow. There’s been nothing. No movement, no lights in the distance, not even a goddamn phone call. I walk out of my spot and stand in the middle of the yard, eyes fixed on the main roadway distance in front of me. Not one fucking thing has come down it since my boys all got here. Including Yakuza.
Quiet.
For the first time in a long time, I want a cigarette. I call over to Ferdinand to get down here. He hustles over at speed, smoke already blowing from his own mouth.
“Give me a smoke.” He does, his hand shielding the lighter from the wind as I draw a lungful in. I blow out and squint into the distance again, not sure what the fuck to think.
“You called in again?” Quinn asks.
I turn to look at him, wondering where the hell he keeps coming from. “Stop fucking creeping up on me.”
Why is it quiet? Too quiet. I look at Quinn, eyes narrowed, and think of Nathan back there on his own with all my information open for use. Yakuza should be here even if the trucks aren’t. They were told, offered the information by one of my henchmen who likes to dabble in Japanese pussy. Trust is wearing thin.
