“It’s stress,” I argue.
“It’s salt and your lifestyle. If you aren’t gonna take the drugs I gave you, then you need to change your diet.” I’m about to tell him to fuck off when my phone rings.
“That’s the docks,” I say as I rip the blood pressure cuff off my arm.
Twister reaches across and answers the call on the speaker.
“This is Joel,” I hush the members who snicker at my government name.
“Hey, boss, it happened again. We’ve got it isolated just like you asked.” I blow out a breath and look at the men around me.
“Got it. I’m on my way.” I grab my phone and stand as all the members follow me out.
We ride out to the east docks that are usually secluded at this time of day. It’s not late enough for the homeless and drug dealers to be lurking, but not early enough that a bunch of teenagers are looking for something to get in trouble with.
Twilight is fickle on the river.
“Morty,” I greeted my employee, who was standing guard at the unknown container, with a few guards.
“Boss, this one is different. It’s making sounds.” What the fuck?
I take the clipboard from him and scan the info on the cargo. The ship came in from Singapore with a registered three hundred and six containers, which are all accounted for.
This three hundred and seventh one has no custom forms, labels, or any other identifying papers.
“Thanks, guys, we got it. Go grab dinner.” I dismiss the workers and circle the big metal box.
“He said weird noises?” Tank bangs on the side, and the container fucking rocks.
“What the fuck!” I jump back in shock.
“This ain’t girls, Prez.” Bars says, handing me the bolt cutters.
“No shit! The question is what it is?” I stare at the thing and shake my head.
“Go grab a drill. I want to see what we’re dealing with.” Tank nods and grabs what we need.
He drills a hole and feeds a small camera and light that attaches to his tablet, so we can capture video of what’s inside this thing.
“Holy shit!” He laughs and shakes his head.
“What is it?” I set forward to look and curse.
“Is that a Bengal tiger?”
Before he can answer, an explosion rocks the docks. We turn to see a fireball on the Jersey side of the river.
“Grab the speed boat! I want eyes on what’s going on over there. Hack the feed.” I glance at Boots, knowing he has his ways with computers.
“Oh shit, it’s the Jersey crew.”
Fuck.
10
JOEL
We’re across the river in less than five minutes, flying across the water to help the Atlantic City chapter of our brotherhood. I’m not sure what they’ve gotten themselves into, but we could hear the gunfire halfway across the river. Our light seems to scare the shit out of them, and I jump out of the boat first, making a beeline for their President.
