CHAPTER 5
Three weeks had passed since the Headman’s first meeting with the CEO of Bacro Industries, and phase one of his operations was going according to plan. The drug lord’s second in command leaned up against a large metal canister on the docks. He was casually smoking a cigarette as two out of uniform Headhunters saw to other affairs on the pier. As a Homeland security agent, his responsibilities included regular inspections of cargo ships at the pier. Today, however, was a special day because the Headman’s long-awaited shipment was scheduled to arrive. Gristle had been instructed to meet the ship as it pulled into port, but as it now stood, the cargo carrier was two hours behind schedule.
It had been three months since their last delivery and most of that product had been depleted due to the demand of their clients. The illegal substances in this shipment were necessary in order for the Headman to carry out his plan for full control of the illegal drug trade in the northeastern part of the United States. Once secured, the organization could move onto to phase two of their plan.
The shipment was essential but the solitude and the waiting gave Gristle some time to partake in one of his favorite pastimes, Three Stooges Movies. He loved the Stooges and their crazy antics always made him smile. He watched Malice in the Palace, one of their shorts recently restored in full color, on his cell phone screen and wondered aloud.
“How can Larry and Shemp be so stupid? They have to know that no matter what they do, Moe is going to let them have it.”
Sure enough, there were two more slaps to the face eventually followed by two thumbs in the eyes, and a couple of clunks over the head. He laughed heartily before turning his attention to the flashing red lights appearing in the fog. The approaching cargo ship had passed through the Narrows and Kill Man Kull and would soon be docking. He glanced at the time on his cell.
“A little late, but here nonetheless. I’ll take it!”
He paused the video and sent a cryptic text to his boss. The message, composed using their unique personal code, appeared to be nothing more than gibberish, reading: Demon smoke on the water, the eggs are hatching as the cow jumps over the moon!
It took a few moments, but the expected reply soon flashed across the screen. The itsy bitsy spider goes up the waterspout. He returned the cellular device to his inside jacket pocket and made his way towards the end of the Newark pier to greet the crew as the seafaring vessel docked.
Gristle wore an official Homeland Security uniform with the appropriate patches and badge. He carried a clipboard containing U.S. Customs forms detailed with shipping schedules and vendors under his arm. No one had ever questioned his credentials, and if they ever did, they would easily check out. It was hard to believe the drug dealer held down a part-time job in the agency established to keep contraband from entering the country, but The Headman’s influence reached far and wide and included inside informants in just about every major government agency, as well as all branches of the military. The only place they had not yet infiltrated was the elite G.I.Joe team, but Gristle knew that it would only be a matter of time before their influence spread there as well.
The Headman’s motto was simple, “Everyone had a price. No matter how good they tried to appear on the surface, everyone and anyone could eventually be bought.”
He lit up a second cigarette as he walked and eagerly polluted his lungs with the noxious fumes. He greatly enjoyed not only the feeling that his specially-formulated cancer sticks gave him, but he also liked attempting to create the perfect smoke rings while exhaling. The air around him was thick as the opposing temperatures of the water and the air created a minor fog. It was the perfect environment for trapping the plumes of smoke and holding them suspended in midair. The cloud spiraled in slow motion around his head as the low drone of the approaching freighter’s fog horn tore him from his smoke-induced trance. The ship would soon be secured to the dock and ready for his inspection. He covered the remaining thirty or so yards between him and the massive freighter. As he reached the bow, the crew was already beginning to lower the boarding ramp onto the pier.
The S.S. Chameleon was no stranger to the Newark piers as she had been sailing the high seas for close to a decade now. The current crew kept her in ship shape so to speak, ensuring that her hull was free of rust and barnacles. The cargo carrier had recently been painted and three state-of-the-art, clean-burning diesel engines were installed to replace her previously outdated ones. The business had to be booming in order for improvements like that to be made.
“Ahoy me mateys! I trust your time on the high seas was a pleasant one.” He greatly enjoyed having the opportunity to talk like a pirate.
“Ahoy yourself you, landlubber!”
The voice was familiar to him and belonged to none other than Captain Morgan “Zanzibar” Teach. Captain Teach was an eccentric character, who took his title of pirate a little bit too literally. Gristle often wondered if his name was even real, thinking it a combination of his favorite drink and the infamous Blackbeard. He was a tall scraggly man with long black hair pulled back into a well-kept ponytail, which protruded oddly from the top of his head. He wore his eyepatch over his right eye today, but it was not uncommon to see him wearing it over his left eye as well. His facial hair consisted of a greasy handlebar mustache and a five o’clock shadow. Two medium-sized gold earrings adorned his ears, and a shiny and ornate bronze cutlass hung from his left hip. The rest of his garments were unremarkable except for his boots, which seemed a bit too biker-ish to belong to a pirate or anyone manning a seafaring vessel.
“Will you be coming aboard then Mr. Gristle, you salty sea dog? Or do you yet to have your sea legs?”
Danimal looked up at the man with a scowl. He really did not like the scalawag and knew he could not be trusted. Having dealt with him many times before, he really wished someone else was in charge of his boss’s prize shipment today. As he made his way up the gangplank, he nonchalantly checked to make sure his gun was still safely holstered under his left arm. He could never be too safe with the likes of the men who worked these vessels.
“Aye, you know the drill captain. I need to see the ship’s manifesto and to check the canisters for contraband. Once that’s done, you be free to unload. Then you and your men can either come ashore or shove off.”
His tone was professional and stern, but he still kept a bit of his pirate accent going. As far as the captain was concerned, this man was an official employee of Homeland Security and needed to be watched.
“Of course, yer not for telling me anything I don’t already know. Just make it quick, as I got me a certain special lady awaiting my arrival. If you catch my drift.”
With that, Captain Teach flipped up his eye patch and gave him a disturbing wink. The thought of any woman wanting to be with the likes of that man nearly made him hurl.
“I won’t keep you too long captain. Besides, absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
“Forget the heart, my loins are about ready to explode from being out at sea with this mob of cretans for the past two months!”
As the words left his mouth, he thrust his hips forward a few times imitating a sex-crazed humping dog. Gristle threw up a little in his mouth due to the pirate’s obscene gesture, and instead began to climb the ladder to the upper deck. As he turned each corner, he was met by the uncomfortable glares of the crew members. He tried to smile and be cordial as he passed them, but he knew full well that they were hiding illegal activities on this boat, just like the controlled substances being smuggled in by the Headman. This scourge would just as soon slit his throat and toss his body out at sea if they felt he was interfering with their livelihood. He tried to make his inspection as legitimate as possible, marking each canister with a chalk X as he passed and conveniently skipping over the contents of any canisters marked by a rather conspicuous symbol that resembled a flaming, horned skull with a knife stabbed through it; and quite honestly, he didn’t want anything to do with the organization that owned them.
In return, Captain Teach would unload his boss’s personal containers, and pay him in the form of a bribe for looking the other way. In the end, it all worked out. Zanzibar delivered what his boss needed, he secured the shipments his boss requested, and he made a little extra cash on the side. It was a win-win for all parties involved because both sides were making private deals with outside organizations. This particular time though, he was a bit concerned by the excessive number a skull marked containers. It was nearly four times the normal shipment, and he wondered if the Captain’s employer was possibly formulating a plan to take over the Headman’s urban empire. He did his best to conceal the concerned look on his face as he passed the contraband and came upon the three, sixty-foot steel containers bearing his employer’s sigil, a skull on top of a black diamond with the number nine emblazoned at the top. He found it amazing that the death-like symbols used by multiple shippers did not raise the eyebrows of any of the other shipping authorities worldwide. No one gave it a second thought in a world where “skulls and crossbones” had become synonymous with various everyday companies like Harley Davidson and Day of the Dead clothing.
People today possessed such an admiration for the macabre, not like it used to be when he was a kid. Halloween has grown in popularity so much, that it seems destined to overtake Christmas as the number one commercial holiday. He retrieved a ring of keys from inside his left coat pocket and began to undo the locks. As he stepped inside, the interior of the first crate was lined with hundreds of innocent-looking, unlabeled, uniform-sized, brown cardboard boxes. He removed the top four boxes and took his pocket knife to the tape on the lid of the fifth one down. Inside, there was a red plastic bag bearing the same symbol as the one painted on the outside of the canister. He immediately put on a pair of latex gloves and a white respirator mask. After opening this bag, he inserted an electronic device that he had carried in his inside coat pocket and pressed the power button. A few seconds later, the number eighty-five appeared on the LCD display.
Satisfied with the test result, he sealed up the box and walked to the opposite side of the container and removed a box from a similar position. The contents of this box he sampled using his index finger. It was odorless and tasteless at first, but within seconds it started to numb the tip of his tongue. He smiled as his boss’s suppliers had once again not disappointed. He rearranged the boxes, then closed and resecured the first container. After checking the other two, he would circle back, do a cursory examination of the other fifty or so containers, sign off on the ship’s manifesto, and collect his bribe.
His inspection was moving along without incident. The second cargo canister, as well as the third, checked out, but as he turned around to exit and lock the third shipping crate, he was greeted by the ship’s scraggly captain.
“Is everything to your approval Mr. Gristle?” The ship’s first in command was eyeing him up quite oddly. “I’m starting to think that you’re not really who you say you are. These three cargo crates are chock full of drugs. . . but I take it you already knew that. You’re either unscrupulous and devoid of morals, or someone is paying you an awful lot of loot to make sure their precious opiates make it to shore. So, which is it?” With his final statement, he unsheathed his cutlass and pointed it in the direction of Homeland Security Agent’s neck.
Danimal thought to ventilate him on the spot, but quickly rethought the situation, and instead slowly reached into his pants pocket to retrieve his cell phone.
“I was actually just about to call in and report this to the Narcs, these and those others with the flaming skulls painted on them.”
He narrowed his eyes and let the last syllables of his statement sink in.
“Whoah, whoah now! There’s no need to be hasty. I’m sure we can come to some sort of equally-profitable arrangement here. My employer is very wealthy and very well connected.”
“Well, here’s the thing. If I call in this contraband, then I have to call in all the others as well. Once the DEA gets here, they’re going to tear this vessel apart. Chances are really good that you, and your crew, will be getting locked up for a very long time. Your loins will then have to settle for someone named Bubba.”
He smirked at his last comment and this time, he winked at the captain.
“So what’s it going to be? I’m sure your employer would hate to lose everything on this ship to the feds. I’m thinking that he just might let you and your crew rot in a federal prison for that without any chance of extradition.”
The pirate slowly sheathed his sword and began to shift uncomfortably under the steely gaze of the Homeland Security agent, who showed no signs of backing down.
“Lovely weather we’re having this night Mr. Gristle sir. Would do me some good to get these bones some exercise.”
With that, he spun around and headed back out into the night. Danimal breathed a sigh of relief and was happy that the old sea dog had not called his bluff. Zanzibar could very easily have scuttled him and left his lifeless corpse several fathoms below, but ultimately that would not be good for business on either side. So why the confrontation? What did Zanzibar stand to gain from it? This was something he would have to tell his boss, but not until the cargo was safe and secure in their warehouse on the pier. He locked the third container and then finished his rounds, marking the remainder of the canisters with a small white X. Before disembarking, he made his way back to the nave and the captain’s quarters. He politely knocked before entering. Zanzibar sat behind a sturdy oak desk and did not rise as the HSI official entered with a signed ship’s manifesto in hand. He approached the desk and handed the documents over. Captain Teach skipped to the last page where Danimal Gristle’s initials indicated that the ship, her crew and her cargo had all passed inspection. He then reached into the top drawer and produced a small manila envelope stuffed to the point of bursting with Australian money. He kept a firm grip on it even as Danimal grabbed to retrieve it. Then he leaned forward rather sinisterly.
“Know that Zartan and the Dreadnoks will be watching you Mr. Gristle, and you might do well to inform your employer because mine does not take such threats idly.”
The drug dealer in disguise did not flinch as he easily yanked the envelope free from his grip.
“There was no threat made against you, or your benefactor Captain Teach, just simply a fair statement. As far as a boss, I answer to the United States Government. This job requires that I work with many people, from many walks of life. It’s nothing personal, but if I am forced to rat on one client, then all the others will have to suffer as well. Especially, if they’re the ones drawing the suspicion. I try to keep all parties happy with minimal complaints and unnecessary paperwork. I’ll expect your cargo to be unloaded by midday tomorrow and then back to the open seas with you.” He made a mocking salute and turned to leave the captain’s quarters. “Good day to you captain!”
As he walked confidently back down the gangplank and onto the pier, he could feel the contempt-filled gazes of over a dozen crew members burning into the back of his skull. He fully expected to be assaulted, or possibly shot as a result of his most recent interaction with the captain. But, as his feet once more crossed the threshold and planted firmly onto the pier, there were no further incidents. He pulled out his pack of special cigarettes and placed one to his lips. In his other hand, he used a lighter to ignite it and took a long relaxing drag. Not wanting to dawdle, he walked off in the direction of a second freighter that was already secured to the other side of the main dock. This ship, according to his official documents, was carrying merchandise from China and South Korea in the form of textiles, shoes and children’s toys. It was not on his list for inspection, but in order to further distance himself from the Chameleon, he walked over and loudly called up to the crew.
“Ahoy! Me Mateys! Permission to come aboard?”
“Permission granted you, landlubber.”
It never got old.
No comments:
Post a Comment