The warehouse was cold as Nash moved quietly between piles of crates stacked to form aisles with narrow walkways. Outside in the dark of the night a thick fog mostly obscured the docks from view, and muffled the sound of the water lapping against the cement. It didn’t muffle the sound of men’s voices from near the main entrance to the warehouse, nor dim the bright light inside pointed at the loading platform running up the ship docked next to the warehouse.

Dressed against the cold with his long dark leather jacket buttoned up high covering his suit and tie, the high neck of the coat covering the back of his neck, Nash slowly made his way closer to the front of the stacked crates where he could get a good view of the men loading the ship from the trucks parked just inside the door. Coming closer to the end of the line of boxes he took the stub of the cigar out of his mouth and put it out against the wood. Bright though the light was ahead, it was dark where he was and the glow of the cigar could give him away.

Opening his coat he slipped his hand inside, placing the cigar stub safely in his inside pocket and then sliding his hand further, to his armpit where his fingers closed around the reassuring wooden grip of his favourite friend, an old Webley .455 revolver that looked like it had seen better days, but never let him down when he needed it. Pulling the gun from his coat he looked down at the weapon nestled comfortably in his gloved hand and felt the weight of it. He inched around the last box and saw what he was expecting, a dozen men of Maloneys gang loading crates onto the ship with a forklift, and Maloney himself in his white suit standing on the railing above the main doors, next to the entrance to his office. His eyes followed the men and the warehouse left and right as far as he could make out and he inched back behind the boxes and waited.

“Where the hell is Keene?” He muttered. They had split up at the back entrance to find their way forward and cover both of the available entrances. Since then, he hadn’t seen or heard from his ‘partner’ and that worried him more than he cared to admit.

Detective Ethan Nash, Bay City PD