Chapter 10: The Docks

We were in the elevator when Gabriele's phone rang.

He listened, and his face did not change.

"The east docks," he said when he hung up. "Someone has set fire to a container yard, and the men who ran out say they wore Lombardi jackets."

"Ruggieri's men," I said.

"They want a war with a reason on it."

We were in the car before the doors had finished closing.

Gabriele drove himself with one man in the passenger seat and two cars behind.

I sat in the back with my hands in my lap, going through it in my head.

For five years I had written every Ruggieri night job into a calendar.

I knew where he kept his hired men and what he told them to wear.

"They'll be in the old customs shed," I said. "On the north pier. It has a back stair and a view of the whole yard."

Gabriele glanced at me in the mirror. "How do you know?"

"Because I booked it for him four times. He always uses it when he wants someone else to look guilty."

"Then we go in from the water side."

"The shed has no door on the water side. It has a rusted hatch that sticks. Tell them to bring a crowbar."

"Anything else?"

"They'll have a shooter on the crane," I said. "It's the only place he'd put one, because I told him once it covered the gate."

Gabriele said nothing for a moment.

Then he laughed, short and low.

"Remind me to be afraid of you," he said.

The yard was burning when we got there.

Orange light slid over the stacked containers, and the air stank of oil and smoke.

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