Page 9 of Nick

I observe the work yard as Patrick directs the men to remove the two crates he picked out. Since I’m standing by the door, I’m able to see a small symbol on the top left corner of the wood strapping on the crate. It’s neon green and looks like a shield with a snake coiled in front of it. It matches where Patrick was directing his flashlight, so I make a mental note for later.

After loading the two crates, Patrick reattaches the chain and padlock, and then walks back to his truck. As I suspected, the vans follow us to the office building where the fights take place. He drives down a steep ramp at the back of the building through a guarded gate where Artur and a forklift are waiting in front of a double steel door.

I get out and watch from the back of the truck as Artur directs the forklift driver to unload the vans. Once the crates are safely behind the steel doors, he hands Patrick an envelope and leaves. Well, shit, guess we don’t get to see what’s inside. It shouldn’t surprise me. Everything is compartmentalized and separated in this business.

Climbing back into the truck, I ask what was in the crates. “Don’t know. I was told not to look, or I’d be shot,” Patrick responds. Smart of Artur.

That night, I use the burner phone to ask Cash to trace where the boxcar came from. Unfortunately, the answer doesn’t help much. It arrived this morning from New York via the UK. He believes the drugs arrive by port, but from his research, the cargo ships are always from different companies and different countries around the world. His guess is that both legitimate products and drugs arrive at random. Mr. Fitzgerald owns the office building and all the businesses inside, so some of what arrives at the train station is product for them.

A few weeks later, we return to the train station after my fight to unload three more crates. Tonight I was told to win, so my body is feeling okay, but I don’t think my ribs have completely healed once since I got to Tennessee.

While loading the third crate onto the forklift, I hear someone shout, asking what we're doing.

The crew freezes as I raise my gun towards the voice, shielding my body with the container door, and Patrick whisper shouts for the men to finish the job.

A flashlight shines towards us as they slide the last crate into the van. I’m not sure of the protocol here. Does Fitzgerald want us to kill? Knock him out? Or is there some kind of arrangement in place? “Orders?” I ask Patrick as I step towards him.

“There’s not supposed to be anyone working.”

“And?”

“And nothing. Let’s get out of here.”

As we rush to the vehicles, the brave soul runs towards us. Patrick’s truck is farthest from the boxcar, and as we’re approaching the back of the truck, I hear two shots fire, so we both stop and turn around. I can see a body on the ground despite the low lighting and an arm with a gun hanging outside the driver’s window of the van. Just great.

Shaking my head, I follow Patrick as he yells at Deke for shooting the guy. Bending down to examine him, he’s dead already. Deke got him in the stomach and the eye, and the uniform suggests he was a security guard. Poor bastard.

Standing, I see Patrick running his hands through his hair and pacing. Guess he doesn’t have a plan ready. I’d bet money we’re going to get punished brutally by Artur for this, so I have an idea to get information from the situation. “Should we take the body with us?” I ask.

Patrick nods. “Yeah, yeah, that’s good. We should take the body. Hank, Deke, haul him into the other van.”

“What about the blood?” I ask, knowing Artur will expect spotless vans when they’re returned.

“Shit. We need to wrap him up. Let’s check the boxcar for extra plastic wrap.” I already know there’s nothing in the vans or the truck that’ll be useful. Patrick unlocks the boxcar again but doesn’t find any extra plastic.

“Pick your poison,” I say. I need to tread carefully and not actually tell him what to do. He needs to assume it’s his idea, or he’ll squeal like a weasel and throw me under the bus if Artur isn’t happy. Hopefully, he chooses plastic wrap from our crates, and I can get a look inside.

Patrick looks between our crates and the ones in the boxcar before checking his watch. “Fuck, we need to hurry. Shit. You’re going down for this, Deke, not me,” he points at him.

Relocking the boxcar, he opens the back of Deke’s van and starts cutting away the plastic. I step up to help, squeezing myself into the van to unravel the plastic from the backside. The guy is tall, so we’re going to need most of it.

Patrick isn’t paying attention to the contents; his frayed nerves are only concerned with the immediate problem of the dead body. As he turns to hand the bundle to Deke, I take a quick look. Huh. It looks like salon supplies: nail polish remover, nail polish, wipes, gloves, disinfectant. Strange. Although there was a salon in the office building. Are they part of the drug trade, or does Fitzgerald not trust Patrick and is using him to pick up mundane shipments? All the supplies are also sealed up, so I can’t grab anything without notice. With how cautious Artur seems, he's probably using Patrick to pick up legit supplies instead of drugs. Just my luck.

Jumping down, I cross my arms over my chest beside Patrick as we wait for Deke and Hank to wrap and load the dead man into the van. It only takes a few minutes, then Patrick is driving like his ass is on fire to the office building. Artur must have given him a time limit.

As he parks underground, I see Artur standing by, checking his watch. Getting out, I wait for the show. This is going to be amusing and suck at the same time.

“We had a problem picking up the shipment,” Patrick rushes to tell him before he opens the vans.

Artur’s gun is in his hand and pointed at us in a flash. I instantly raise my hands so they’re visible. I don’t want to get shot tonight. He pulls out his phone and presses a button without looking down, and seconds later, armed security joins us from inside the steel doors.

Once we’re surrounded, he lowers his weapon and calmly asks Patrick to explain. As expected, he immediately throws Deke under the bus and then tells him about wrapping the victim in plastic to keep the van clean.

They escort all five of us into the basement and chain us to the legs of the fighting cage. I keep my mouth shut, and surprisingly, so do the others. I watch the forklift bring the crates inside and line them up along the bar. The third crate has a tarp covering it now.

Once the steel doors bang shut, Artur rejoins us and asks Deke and me to recount what happened. When I finish, he quirks a brow at my mentioning I helped unwrap the crate, but he moves on to Patrick, demanding he justify his decisions regarding removing the plastic wrap and taking the body here.

I admit I enjoy seeing him squirm too much, but my face is carefully blank. Once Artur has asked all his questions, he walks around the cage, probably pondering our demise. “Killing the man was the wrong decision. Patrick, you don’t have a handle on your crew. Using our plastic and leaving the other crates intact was the better choice of the two options, but both were wrong. Taking the body with you was better than leaving him there.”