Page 129 of The Fourth Option
“Like where?”
“Inside some of those containers.”
“Tell you what. Head over to the middle warehouse. I’ll call the foreman, José, and let him know you’re coming. He’ll show you whatever you need.”
“Thanks,” Walker said, moving to the door.
“Happy to help. The middle warehouse is that one there,” Babineaux said, pointing to a nearby building.
Walker walked through the rain toward the warehouse where he had heard a forklift earlier. The door was ajar, so he entered, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. The metal structure had pallets stacked on racks holding the same burlap sacks he had seen earlier. Now that he was closer, he could see they were stenciled with a hummingbird logo. But that wasn’t what drew his attention; it was the sickly-sweet smell.
He saw a man emerging from a small corner office.
“José?” Walker asked, approaching the man with a flash of his badge.
“Sí.”
“What you got there?”
José was mid-thirties, with a crew cut and a tattoo on his neck. He gestured with his chin at the sacks. “Sugar.”
“I didn’t realize sugar has a smell.”
“Sugar in the store doesn’t. This is processed sugarcane, before it goes to a packaging company.”
“It comes into the country by container ship?”
José looked at Walker suspiciously, eyeing the weapon at his side. Walker had put his coat back on but stood with his hands on his hips to reveal the gun and badge. “Sugar comes in via a bulk carrier to a refinery downriver. We send it off to manufacturers. I can show you.”
“I just need to look around some of the empty, unlocked containers,” Walker said. “We had a burglary not far from here this morning and just need to confirm our man isn’t hiding in here.”
“This way.”
José led Walker across the spacious warehouse. They exited through a door on the far side.
Charlie Babineaux stood facing them, a sawed-off side-by-side 12-gauge in his meaty hands. Behind him stood two Latin men covered in tattoos, aiming AKMs at Walker’s chest.
“I got some friends in the NOPD,” Babineaux said. “Turns out, they’ve been looking for you.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
IF IT HADbeen just Babineaux with a shotgun, Walker would have made a play. But two military-aged males with AK-type weapons were another matter.
José moved quickly, snatching Walker’s pistol from his holster.
“That way,” Babineaux said, gesturing with the shotgun. He pointed to an empty shipping container.
“Want us to tune him up?” José asked.
“Bates said not to get close to him. He’s some kind of badass. That right, buddy?”
Walked remained silent.Bates?
“Move, hero,” Babineaux said, chuckling.
One of the riflemen had maneuvered to the edge of the CONEX box, letting his weapon hang on its sling so he could wrestle with the notoriously difficult handles of the container.
“Get in the box,” Babineaux ordered.
