These Mortals by Alan Lee

Author:Alan Lee [Lee, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sparkle Press
Published: 2020-03-21T22:00:00+00:00

Wednesday Morning

Manny

Rocky was waiting for them the next morning at Bourbon Coffee off L Street when they arrived at 7:30 a.m. A CLOSED sign hung on the door, though the coffee shop had opened two hours earlier. A large man in a black coat stood near the entrance, dissuading patrons from entering by scowling and shaking his head. It was effective.

Rocky sat in the back. He wore a red scarf and dark herringbone overcoat, which Manny admired. Instead of his traditional good-natured smile, Rocky’s face was turned down. They joined his table.

A barista with piercings in her nose, ears, eyebrows, and lips set down three mugs and a steaming carafe, and quickly she left. The coffee shop was empty other than them.

Rocky placed a device on the table and pressed it. The tiny speaker emitted a strange warble, so high pitched they barely heard it. Not painful or annoying. It obliterated potential listening devices.

“Obviously this conversation isn’t happening,” he said.

“Obviously,” Manny replied.

“I looked into it. And you’re about to get vague details into my private world. If anyone finds out I’m telling you this, we will all be killed.”

Beck nodded. She was breathing deeply and her neck had red splotches.

“The container you identified is scheduled to be delivered to the Dundalk Terminal at the Port of Baltimore tonight. It’s aboard Maryland Victory, a tramp-tanker I bought two years ago from the Mediterranean Shipping Company, as they transitioned to more Pegasus-class ships.”

“What’s in that container?” asked Manny.

“Perishable items—bananas, coffee, that kind of thing. Upon arrival it will quickly be loaded onto a train and sent to Colorado. That container is climate-controlled with dry ice packs. The container itself does not belong to me. Nor does the cargo within. It was loaded in Venezuela by men employed by the shipping terminal. The container does not belong to them, nor does the cargo within. The container was manufactured in a steelyard four years ago, and then altered in a second steelyard by men in the employ of Los Urabeños. The alteration gives the container a false rear wall, allowing cocaine to be packed within. Los Urabeños produced the cocaine, pre-sold it to the Kings, who then pre-sold it to smaller wholesalers on the East Coast. Right now the cocaine is sitting in the hidden compartment, atop the Atlantic Ocean, en route to the Port of Baltimore.”

“How much cocaine?”

“One hundred million’s worth.”

“One hundred million,” breathed Beck.

“After it’s cut and sold, it’ll be worth over three hundred million. Then cut and sold again, for a grand total street value of half a billion. Cocaine is the most profitable product on earth.”

Manny poured himself a mug of coffee. Drank it black. He said, “No way Darren intends to steal a hundred million of coke.”

“I agree. That much requires a large network to process. And if Los Urabeños found him with it, they’d kill him slowly over the course of a month. I think a much more realistic scenario is, the mysterious Carlos is with MS-13 and Darren sold us out.

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