"She's not here to meet a guy?" I asked, knowing we had issues with prostitution in the area thanks to a local street gang who didn't realize they needed to keep their asses on their own turf.
"No. She's on a mission of some fucking sort," Leandro said, shaking his head. "Running around, looking at containers, definitely looking for something. Not someone."
"You have Angelo keeping tabs on her?" I asked, approaching the squat, square brick building that acted as our main office. It wasn't much of a space, just a front room with a bathroom and sitting area, a reception desk that was empty at this time of night, then a hall that led to two offices. The one for my father, me, and my brother who rarely ever set foot in it. Then the other one, where security was set up.
"What is she up to?" I asked as I opened the door, finding Angelo sitting there at the desk eight screens in a semi-circle around him, the desk littered with coffee cups and energy drink cans.
"Looking at numbers on the containers and then shining a flashlight into the top corners of containers. For what reason, I don't have a fucking clue."
"Where is she?" I asked, eyes scanning the containers.
"Far left over by the shit that came in from South America yesterday."
"Alright," I said, turning to walk back out. "Call me with updates if she moves."
With that, I nodded to Leandro and Dario, watching them take off in the directions as I kept moving in straight toward the left side of the shipyard.
Just because it was a woman didn't mean we were going to let down our guards. These weren't the old days where it was a boys-only club, this criminal underworld. These were new times, and women could be—and often were—the heads of their own empires. And, in my experience, could be even more ruthless than their male counterparts.
Had I ever pulled a gun on a woman?
No.
But if it was about the survival of my business, I figured I would have to be willing to do that.
In my experience, people tended to do a lot of talking when they were staring down the muzzle of a gun held by someone in the local mafia. We were top of the criminal food chain for a reason.
And talking was what she would do when we found her. Because answers were what I was after.
What, exactly, in my port was so important that it was worth risking her life for?
Drugs was an easy answer. They were the most likely answer. They came through. I knew they did. The thing is, if you want to retain control of a port, you need not to rock the boat with the imports. The Russians, Chinese, Irish, the Yemeni mobs, along with every small organization with a large ego wanted the docks. Imports were where the money was. And it didn't come with the strife of running guns or kneecap breaking.
Everyone wanted to take what was ours.
Many had tried in the past.
Clearly, none had succeeded.
And none were going to on my watch.
Pausing at one line of containers, I took a deep breath, listening to the sounds of the waves, the sirens in the distance, and, finally, the telltale sound of feet hitting the pavement.
Then, the flash of light.
Two rows away.
Taking a deep breath, I turned in that direction.
Only to hear fucking Dario's phone ringing.
My eyes pressed close as I let out a silent sigh, preparing for the inevitable chase that was sure to follow now.
And I would be the one who would be doing the chasing. Leandro was too old. Dario had a bum knee from high school football. I got up at the crack of dawn every morning to clear my head. And prepare my body for this possibility.
The light clicked off.
The footsteps paused.
Then began again, faster.
"Here we go," I grumbled, breaking into a run.
Clearly, whoever this was, she'd been hanging around the docks more than I had lately. She weaved in and out of rows, sidestepping dead-ends I didn't know existed.
How long had she been hanging around without being seen?
That was a question for Angelo when all this was done. Someone was dropping the fucking ball.