Chapter 12: Break Until Three-Thirty

By four that afternoon, the gate of Pier Nine was blocked by a forklift.

Joel hadn't asked anyone to do it.

The crew had finished a shift at noon and not gone home.

Thirty dockworkers stood in the gravel in orange vests, shoulder to shoulder across the entrance, and none of them were talking.

A sheriff's deputy sat in his car outside the gate with the notice on his dashboard.

He didn't get out.

"They're not breaking any law," Joel said quietly beside me. "It's a shift change."

"It's a wall."

"It's my father's crew, and they're on their break."

I held Maisie on my hip and watched the older woman from the dispatch office come through the line.

She was carrying a cardboard box with a thermos on top.

"Soup," she said. "For the baby's mother."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, honey. Thank her for what she did to the Christmas bonus."

A man at the end of the line laughed out loud, and for the first time all day, I laughed with him.

The deputy rolled down his window.

"Mr. Paulsen. I don't want trouble."

"Neither do I."

"The notice is lawful. I've got to serve the occupant."

"The occupant is a mother with a custody order from this morning," Joel said.

"She has a toddler and a signed judgment that says her child stays with her."

"That's family court. This is a property matter."

"Then talk to the owner."

"Ms. Paulsen owns fifty percent. You own forty."

"And Tobin owns ten," Joel said.

I looked at him.

"What?"

"I'll explain in a minute."

The silver car pulled in behind the deputy.

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