A group of men gathered around a corner booth, drinks half-finished, smoke curling from the tips of cigars.
Two women sat among them, laughing loosely, though their eyes moved between faces with careful interest. The table was cluttered with empty glasses and quiet tension.
One of the men tapped the table twice. "Alright, alright. Enough jokes," he said, voice low but steady. "Let's talk about what we're really here for."
The laughter died off. Shoulders leaned in.
"Did you get the news from Portside?" another asked.
"Yeah," the first man said. "My guy tells me the shipment will be on the move in a few weeks. We'll have to be ready by then. No delays."
Another voice cut in, skeptical. "Are you sure we can trust him?"
The man didn't flinch. He sat back and lit a cigarette before answering.
"I paid for his kid's surgery," he said. "Full cost. No strings. That kind of debt doesn't wash away. He owes me for life."
That seemed to satisfy the table. One of the women leaned in with a lazy smirk. "That's a risky kind of trust."
The man glanced at her, then shrugged. "All trust is risky. But this one's got a reason to stay loyal."
"So what's the plan?" one of the men asked, leaning forward. "You said you already handed over the firearms."
"I did," another replied. "Everything's stashed in one of the containers near the East Docks. Sealed and disguised like plumbing supplies. We'll move them two nights before the drop."
"I'll secure the safe house," a third man said. "There's an old duplex outside Rosehill. Vacant. Used to be a stash spot years ago, no heat from cops. I'll clean it up, run power, prep two cars."
The one who brought it up nodded. "Good. We'll need it. Is there anything we're missing?"
Another guy pulled a folded map from his jacket and laid it flat across the sticky table. He pointed at the dock area first, tracing a line with his finger. "Firearms are here. From there, we take Route 12 up to Rosehill. Safe house is here." He tapped near a cul-de-sac outlined in pen. "Then on the day of the deal, we reroute down this back road, take Southbridge, and meet at the drop point under the overpass."
"Where's the drop truck parking?" someone asked.
"We leave it in a grocery lot five blocks from the meet. Driver stays with it, no engine running. The van we take to the meet will circle once, pick up the goods, and transfer them after midnight."
A short silence followed as they stared at the plan.
One of the quieter men spoke up. "What if they tail the van from the docks?"
"They won't," the map guy replied. "I got a crew watching the lot the day before. We'll know if there's eyes on us."
Another leaned back, unconvinced. "You got cameras on the container?"
"No."
"Then how the hell do you know if someone tampers with it?"
The table got quiet again.
The man who lit the cigarette earlier shrugged. "We'll check it the night before. If it's been touched, we move the whole thing."
"That's a big risk," the skeptical one muttered.
"It's always a risk," the first guy said. "But we're running tight on funds. Cameras mean extra mouths. We don't have time to vet new faces."
Another man pointed at the overpass on the map. "What about traffic? It's not as dead as it used to be."
"We checked," someone else answered. "Construction's got it blocked off from one side. It's just a single lane now. No traffic cameras, no foot traffic."
One of the women finally spoke up. "And what if the buyers are late?"
"They won't be," the map guy said. "And if they are, we wait twenty. After that, we walk."
The group went quiet again, each replaying the moving pieces in their heads.
The guy with the cigarette took one last drag and stubbed it out. "Alright," he said. "We keep eyes on the docks. We prep the house. Everyone shuts up outside this table. We move in twelve days. No sooner."
They all nodded.
The plan wasn't perfect, but it was set.
Lucian stood up fast. The noise of the chair scraping against the floor made a few heads turn. He didn't mean to draw attention, it just happened.
His heartbeat was already high from what he'd overheard, and now his body moved before he could think it through.
He reached for his jacket, planning to leave like nothing happened. That's when he felt it, a firm grip on his wrist. He looked down.
One of the women from the group had gotten up without him noticing. She was holding his arm, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to stop him.
He froze.
"What?" he asked, trying not to sound too shaken.
"You've been listening," she said. Her voice was quiet. She didn't look angry, just alert.
The others hadn't fully registered what was happening yet. One of the guys raised an eyebrow, looking over, but didn't say anything.
Lucian's mouth opened slightly. He couldn't find a good answer. His first instinct was to deny it, but he didn't even know if she saw him react earlier. She might've just guessed.
"I wasn't—" he started.
"Don't lie," she said. "You're not good at it."
Two of the men stood up from the booth. One circled wide, heading toward the bar's back hallway. The other stayed close, just watching.
Lucian panicked. His breathing picked up. He tried to pull his arm back, but she didn't let go.
"You're not walking out of here," she said. "Come quietly."
"Wait—" Lucian said. "Just wait. I didn't hear everything."
As he was about to speak, Lucian felt a hard jab in his lower back. Cold metal. A gun.
"Don't speak," a voice said behind him. "Move."
He froze.
His mouth stayed shut, and his hands slowly raised as the grip on his wrist was finally let go. He didn't look back. The man behind him gave him a slight push, guiding him toward the back exit of the bar.
This was bad. Really bad.
If they were taking him outside, Alexa wouldn't see anything. She was parked out front. No windows lined the alley. No line of sight. He'd vanish, and no one would know where he went.
His mind ran through options, but none of them were good.
He glanced around once, just enough to see who followed. Two guys. One behind him with the weapon. Another had opened the back door, standing watch.
The cold air hit him as they stepped into the alley.
The door shut behind them with a dull thud.
Lucian stopped when the man told him to. He heard the slide of something metal, probably a gun safety or chamber check.
He turned slightly, just enough to make eye contact with the man to his right. "Look… you're making a mistake."
"Maybe," the guy replied. "Maybe not. That depends."