Chapter 7 - Midnight at Pier 42
The rain had started again, a cold, relentless drizzle that coated the asphalt of Pier 42 in a slick, mirror-like sheen. The industrial docks were a maze of towering rust-stained shipping containers, creaking cranes, and the low, rhythmic humming of massive cargo vessels idling in the dark, murky waters of the bay.
Our armored SUV rolled to a silent stop behind a row of stacked containers. The headlights were turned off, plunging us into total darkness save for the harsh orange glow of distant sodium vapor lamps overhead.
"Perimeter secure," the lead security operative muttered into his comms. "Thermal imaging shows a single heat signature moving rapidly toward Berth 7, near the loading ramp of the cargo ship *San Marco*."
"Stay behind me," I instructed, stepping out of the vehicle into the cold rain.
I didn't carry a weapon; I didn't need one. My power was absolute, and Julian was already a dead man walking, trapped in a cage of his own making.
We crept silently through the labyrinth of metal boxes, the salty ocean air filling our lungs. Up ahead, near the edge of the concrete pier where a massive steel gangway led up to the towering hull of the freighter, a lone figure was frantically pounding on a heavy metal door.
"Let me in! Open the damn door! I paid you!" Julian’s voice echoed shrilly across the empty docks, cracking with pure panic. He was soaked to the bone, his expensive Italian suit ruined, mud caked on his designer shoes, and his hair plastered wildly across his face.
No one answered. The crew of the *San Marco* had already been tipped off by my financial proxies—their docking permits were suddenly revoked, and fleeing with a federal fugitive was a risk no captain was willing to take for a briefcase full of dirty cash.
Julian slammed his fists against the steel door one last time before sliding down to the wet ground, burying his face in his hands, letting out a ragged, pathetic sob.
"Looking for a ride, Julian?"
May you like
The voice cut through the sound of the crashing waves like a razor blade.
Julian froze. Slowly, agonizingly, he lifted his head, turning around to face the shadows where I stood framed by the harsh amber glow of the harbor lights.
