“Do we have to walk around with these cannons strapped to our hip like this?” Thorn asked as he and his new partner, Cyrus Cooper, stepped from the guard station into the warm night air.
The cannon he referred to was an aging .44 Magnum in a cracked leather holster that was assigned to him just hours before with the instruction to put it on and never walk about the docks without it. Large and unwieldy, it tugged at the belt used to hold it in place, much different than the smaller side arms he’d carried in the service.
“I told you, son, when we’re in the guardhouse it can come off. When we’re making the rounds, it has to be on,” Cyrus responded, drawing out the vowel sounds and rounding off the R’s in an accent that evoked the Boston stereotype.
“I’m not complaining about following the rules, I’m really asking the question,” Thorn clarified. “Are they necessary? Seems pretty quiet around here.”
Cyrus smirked, his upper body rocking up an inch. “That’s what I used to think, too. Course, that was four friends and a visit from big brother ago.”
As they walked, he flicked his gaze to a camera mounted to the top of a nearby light pole and nodded toward it. “If they want me to wear it like some Wild West cowboy, then yee-haw, I guess.”
Thorn nodded a silent agreement, his gaze scouring the camera on high. “And who’s doing the watching?”
“Damn fine question,” Cyrus said with a shrug. “One day I came in and my buddy Mikey was working. The next I came in, he was gone and the cameras were here.”
“Huh,” Thorn said, filing away the information, making mental notes to determine where the videos were stored and how he could access them.
“Yeah,” Cyrus agreed, drawing his clipboard up in front of him. “I’ve got two kids at home to feed. I don’t ask questions.”
As partners went, Cyrus was on the high end of what Thorn had been expecting. While he had the distinct Boston drawl and the grizzled red hair and beard of an Irishman, his demeanor seemed more school teacher than dockworker. He had an affable, easy going manner that belied a man with young children and had been more than willing to show Thorn around the grounds, explaining in excruciating detail how things worked each day.
A single roadway extended the length of the docks, beginning with their guardhouse and ending a half mile away with a cluster of outbuildings that housed the business affairs. In the distance Thorn could see the one he had been interviewed in that afternoon, the lights within blacked out for the night.
Extending from the roadway like fingers from a palm was a series of piers, each one as wide as a three lane road. On the outer edge of each were metal shipping containers and wooden pallets of various size and cargo, all sitting quiet in the darkening night air, ready to be moved about first thing in the morning.
Side by side Thorn and Cyrus walked to the end of each pier, checking over the freight, making sure everything was in order. Every so often Thorn made a point to ask some inane question, almost always already knowing the answer. As Cyrus in turn prattled on about this or that, Thorn checked over each of the cameras, never once finding a light on or a cord attached to indicate they were active.
They finished their third trip of the night at twenty minutes after eleven and began their journey back toward the guard station. After the non-existent Spring the warm night air was a welcome respite, small talk passing between them. Each remained on semi-alert as they went, watching for anything unusual, discussing the Red Sox pitching rotation as they rounded back onto the main roadway.
Within three steps both fell silent, each one staring at what lay before them.
Four hundred yards away, standing as a perfect silhouette beneath the security light of the guardhouse, was a single figure.
“You see that?” Thorn whispered, his pace rising.
Already he could feel the breath tighten in his chest and tiny beads of sweat form along his lip and lower back. Years of training had taught his body to react with adrenaline, not apprehension.
On pure muscle memory his hand lowered itself to his hip, fingertips grazing over the cracked leather of his holster.
“Yup,” Cyrus responded, his tone clipped and sharp. His breathing became loud as he increased his pace to keep up with Thorn, needing five steps to the taller man’s three.
In silence, the gap between them and their intruder closed to one hundred yards, pace quickening another half step. Together they approached through the darkness, both ready to draw their weapon if need be, when the silhouette stepped forward and threw an arm in the air, waving it from side to side.
“Hey there!” a syrupy voice cooed out at them, both men slowing their pace.
The voice was not what either had expected, a far cry from the mysterious man in black they had heard so much about.
This wasn’t a man at all, but a woman. A young one at that.
“The hell?” Thorn hissed, turning his head sideways so the low-pitched question was just audible between them. He made no effort to hide the confusion on his face, his right eye bunched up so tight it was almost closed.
“First time I ever seen her,” Cyrus said, his lips never moving as he kept his gaze straight ahead, his breathing still heavy.
Feeling his heartbeat slow just a tick, Thorn again grazed the tip of his holster. Two years of slogging through places that weren’t even on maps had taught him to never assume anything on outward appearances, knowing the girl could be nothing more than a decoy, a plant to get their guard down.
Slowing his pace, Thorn passed his gaze over the ground around them, peering into the shadows, looking for signs of anybody lurking. He watched for any stray bits of light refracting off of metal, for any show of movement in the night.
Across from them, the young woman stepped away from the guardhouse, stopping in the middle of the cone cast downward from the security light above. There she waited, framed in the center of it, her body in plain view.
At first glance she had long, dark hair that hung in tight ringlets and framed a face with large mellow eyes and well-shaped lips. Her frame was a bit on the thin side, adorned with a bright colored skirt that swung from her hips and a yellow shirt that sat low off both shoulders.
She stood with one hand resting on her hip and the other fingering her hair, an expectant look on her face. “I said, hey there,” she purred, her voice equal parts sultry and naivety.
“Um, miss, I’m not sure what you may have heard, but this isn’t the place for that sort of thing,” Cyrus said, eschewing any sort of formal greeting. His cheeks were tinged red and his gaze darted about as he addressed her, embarrassment plain.
A cloud of confusion passed over the girl’s face. “What sort of thing?”
Cyrus wagged a finger at her, again refraining from looking directly at her. “You know, that sort of thing.”
The girl glanced down, the same look in place on her face, before raising her gaze back to Cyrus as realization set in. “Wait, you think I’m...”
She raised a hand to her mouth and clamped it over the bottom of her face, colored fingernails showing up against her skin, muted chuckles causing her body to quiver.
Cyrus’ face went an even deeper shade of crimson. “I’m so sorry, I just, uh, well, I…”
The girl pulled her hand down from her mouth and laughed, her entire body shaking with heavy guffaws as she leaned forward and rested a hand on her knee. She stayed that way for several seconds, her voice carrying out over the deserted docks.
For their part, Thorn and Cyrus both stood and watched, Thorn remaining silent while Cyrus fidgeted with discomfort.
“No need for apologies,” the girl said, pushing herself to full height and drawing in a deep breath. “Honey, that’s the best laugh I’ve had in a long time. You wait until the girls back home hear about this!”
She laughed as Cyrus started to breathe again, the bright color receding from his cheeks. He gave a quick glance to Thorn, who responded with a shrug of uncertainty, his gaze fixed on the girl.
“
My name is Vanessa,” she said, stepping forward and thrusting her hand out.
“Cyrus,” Cyrus said, returning the gesture.
“Robert,” Thorn mumbled, taking her hand, the grip stronger than he expected.
A moment of silence passed after the introductions.
“So, uh, Vanessa, what brings you down here?” Cyrus inquired, trying his best to steer the conversation and put his gaffe behind them. “This isn’t the place for a lady.”
The left side of her face curled upward at the smile, the look somewhere between coy and sly. “So now I’m a lady, huh?” She held the pose a moment before swatting at Cyrus, her hand connecting with the meat of his arm. “The reason I came down here is I was hoping to watch the ships for a while.”
Thorn and Cyrus exchanged glances, uncertainty on both their faces.
“Watch the ships for a while?” Thorn asked.
“Yeah, you know, the ships. I’m here visiting and was told they are just the prettiest things to see all lit up at night.”
Thorn’s faced contorted with confusion. Cyrus matched the expression and said, “Ma’am, I think you have this confused with the marina. This is a working dock, there won’t be a ship enter here for another ten hours.”
“And there’s absolutely nothing pretty about a barge,” Thorn added.
A light passed behind her eyes as she scanned Thorn, fleeing just as quickly as she leveled her gaze back on Cyrus. “Well, now, don’t I feel silly?”
In that brief instant Thorn recognized something he had seen a hundred times over in a different life. For the first few minutes her performance had been over-the-top, but having just enough sincerity to give her the benefit of the doubt. After that though, her act became too transparent to buy any longer. She was putting on a show, trying to get their guard down, hoping to draw them away.
The only question remaining was why.
“Not a problem,” Cyrus replied, “happens all the time.”
“It does?” Vanessa asked, a bit of hope in her voice.
“It does?” Thorn echoed, his own belying disbelief.
“Sure does,” Cyrus lied, casting a sideways glance to his co-worker as the color resurfaced on his cheeks.
“You know, I’ve never been to a working dock before. Since I’m already here and it’s such a nice night, you think you could give me a tour?”
The feeling of mistrust rose stronger within Thorn, his gaze hardening. He stared across at her, no more than a handful of years younger than him, wanting her to know just from his gaze that he saw through her.
“I don’t know about that,” he said. “Like Cyrus said, this is really no place for a lady.”
The vehemence on his voice hung in the air as she stared back at him, the skin around her eyes tightening. “Really? Not even one exception?”
Thorn opened his mouth to respond in the negative, but was cut off by his partner beside him. Stepping into the center of the trio, he blocked the sightline between Thorn and Vanessa, the red hair on the back his head facing Thorn.
“A short one,” he said, his voice conceding defeat as he held a hand out toward Vanessa before turning back. “Robert, stay here. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Biting back a retort, Thorn nodded and ducked into the guardhouse. He removed the .44 from his hip and laid it atop the table, his gaze following Cyrus and Vanessa as they moved away down the pier. The moment they were gone from sight he took the gun back up, fastening it to his hip and disappearing into the night.
There was no way of knowing exactly what the girl was up to, but the odds were it wasn’t good. Her performance was too forced, her insistence on luring them away too strong, just to ignore.
Staying along the water’s edge, Thorn avoided as much of the overhead light as he could, the straw-colored glow cast across the asphalt. His right hand pressed to his hip, he continued along in near silence, the sound of Vanessa’s laugh drifting through the air, the smell of the sea in his nose.
Halfway down the main roadway, the distinct sound of metal touching metal sounded out behind him. The hairs along the nape of his neck stood on end as he twisted back toward it, drawing his weapon as he dropped to a knee. There he remained, waiting, pulling in slow breaths.
A moment later a second sound - an exact copy of the one before - found his ears, causing him to rise and head in the direction he’d just come from. Sweat rose from his pores as he took a shooter’s stance and moved forward, yards of pavement disappearing beneath his feet.
His concerns from the previous moments fell away as he pushed on, his mind clearing itself, focusing on the sounds emitted through the darkness. Ahead of him Pier Three jutted out to the right, extending into the ocean. The road opened up beside him, framed by even rows of containers, as he slipped around the side and sighted in on a target.
A hundred yards away, perched near the end of the pier, the spidery chassis of a crane rose into the air, silhouetted against the night sky. Walking heel-to-toe, Thorn kept his steps silent as he pushed in on it, a pair of shadowy figures just visible in the waning light.
Inching forward, he watched as they moved about before disappearing beneath the underbelly of the massive machine, the pier once again seeming deserted.
A moment later that illusion was shattered by the low rumble of the crane kicking to life.
Chapter Seventeen
Liberation Day - A Thorn Byrd Novel Page 18
