Page 16 of Lord of Pain
"Oh, believe me, she was a lot of work to get into bed," Alexsey says.
"Cargo trucks coming in from the south." Ivan murmurs in my earpiece.
"Got it," I say, tapping open the channel we're using tonight. "Everyone, the trucks are heading into the dock area now, the ship should be typing off within ten minutes. Stay sharp."
"The thing I can't figure out," Dmitri whispers, "is why that old bastard Morales is upping his game now? His operation isn't expanding, the Jaworski Brothers have been laundering his money for years, and our contacts give us a pretty good idea of just how much he's making."
"This is a huge shipment." I'm watching the ship through the binoculars. "I'm sure there's a lieutenant overseeing tonight's exchange, someone who we can have a discussion with. At length."
Dmitri taps his communicator. "I need the highest-ranking Morales lieutenant that’s here tonight. Be careful who you shoot. They'll be one of the lazy fuckers hiding in the back. Morales's upper management doesn't believe in fighting with their men."
We all go silent as the cargo trucks arrive. They're well-maintained and barely make any noise as they pull up to the dock, engines idling.The Reina Oscurapulls into the landing, the crew jumping down to tie the ship off and lower the gang plank as the first cases come down. This is clearly a crew of Morales' best men because they work quickly and quietly.
When nearly everything is off the ship, I pull up my rifle, sighting through the scope. "Follow the plan," I murmur, "Be precise. Counting down. Three… two… one…"
The explosion of gunfire makes nearby windows rattle and a line of bullets spray over the men on the dock and across the bow of the ship. I can hear the roar of the engines attempting to engage and back out over the symphony of gunfire and I race twenty feet to my left, settling in behind a tree where I can scope the back of the boat.
My sniper rifle holds 20mm rounds, big enough to demolish the rear engine compartment. Unfortunately for the captain, the engines have enough fuel engaged that it explodes, shooting flames up into the night sky. The rest of the crew is racing off the ship, more willing to face the bullets than be burned alive.
I sight and fire repeatedly, each press of my finger on the trigger demolishing chunks of the ship, the dock, and a thicket of howling deck hands.
"Make sure you leave something for the detectives to take credit for," Dmitri reminds me, his voice crackling in my earpiece.
"It's not enough that we're giving them the bust?" I say, "Now they want it gift-wrapped?" I focus again, spotting one of the men racing for the closest truck. It's Marcos, a senior Morales lieutenant. The chickenhearted little bastard pulls the driver out of the truck, taking his place. I shoot through the grill of thetruck, disintegrating the engine and he slams his hands down on the steering wheel. His chance of escape is gone and he knows it.
It's the little things, like his despair and futility, that make life in the Bratva so satisfying.
When most of Morales' crew are dead or nearly so, their blood is sinking into the wooden docks, our team closes in, surrounding who's left.
"Throw your guns in the water," Alexsey shouts. "Lie face down. We don't intend to kill any more of you unless you push it."
Dmitri cracks open one of the crates. It's filled with dozens of bundles of tightly packaged yellowish white powder. Pulling my stiletto out of my boot, I split open a package. Artem, one of our best chemists, steps up licking his pinky and scooping up a bit of the powder, sniffing it, and then touching it to the tip of his tongue.
"Not bad," Artem admits. "This is a clean product. I'm surprised that Morales is carrying it." He's trying to stay professional, but he's distracted, his gaze darting around the bloody dock. Our chemists don't get out much.
"Oh it'll be cut with everything from baby laxative to horse tranquilizers by the time their street crew has it," I say. "Ivan, check the crates for tracking devices and then load them into our trucks. Leave about twenty-five percent of the cargo for the police bust."
Marcos tries to struggle loose from Alexsey's grip. "What the fuck?" he says incredulously. "You're turning us over to those podunkpendejo's?We'll be a fucking laughingstock. The Capo will be so pissed, he won't bail us out!"
"Oh,you'renot getting arrested," Dmitri says, giving him a slap on the back of his head.
"See?" I say happily, "Good news, eh? You gotta be more positive. There's always a bright ray of sunshine."
Marcos does not look like he thinks this is good news, and he would be correct.
Looking over the surviving crew, I find another one of their lieutenants, a wily fuck named Diego. He's easy to recognize, his face is etched by a jagged scar from his left eyebrow to his chin. "Take him, too," I say to Ivan and he nods, and his team loads both men in the truck.
"Are we all set?" Alexsey asks me. "Everyone happy?"
"It's your operation too, brother." I slap him on the shoulder. "Are we done?"
"We're good." He nods at Dmitri. "Nice of you to join the working class."
"I appreciate your gracious invitation," Dimitri says. "Roman, will you contact the detectives so they can pick up where we left off?"
"They're already waiting," I say, texting Detective Connor.
Our people and the stolen cargo are already gone when Connor and Michaels show up with a dozen police officers from the local precinct.
