Page 44 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
THIRTEEN
“Who the fuckuses cassette tapes anymore?”
Daniel nudged the toe of his boot against the wooden pallet in the back of the truck containing boxes and boxes of premium quality Maxell blank audio cassette tapes.
Milo looked from the pallet to Daniel, then back to the pallet. He said, “They ain’t cassette tapes.”
Daniel rolled his eyes.Jesus, this guy. “Yeah, I know they ain’t fucking cassette tapes. I’m asking, why do they send this stuff up here disguised as shit that nobody even uses anymore? Last week it was ballpoint pens. And then waterbeds. Are they all still living in the eighties down there or what?”
Milo just shrugged, then grabbed the handle of the pallet jack. “Don’t ask me, man. Ask Ferrera.”
Daniel just shook his head. He wouldn’t be asking Jose´ Ferrera for anything of the sort. Ferrera, better known as “El Merc”, was the operations manager for Unidos Logistics, a distribution hub that operated out of an old dartboard factory on the outskirts of El Paso. More heroin moved through that factory in a year than some countries seized in a decade, and El Merc oversaw every gram.
Daniel had met him twice and would happily go the rest of his life without making it a third. The guy was deranged. He strutted around the factory floor, with two nickle-plated Desert Eagles holstered in a complicated shoulder rig and his entourage of mercenaries, each armed to the teeth. Daniel had heard stories about him that made Terry seem, by comparison, like a well-adjusted dude.
One of Ferrera’s jobs was the hiring and firing of the drivers who worked for him. The hiring part was probably easy. El Merc paid triple what other transport companies paid their drivers. Something quadruple for a big load. Curiously, though, Daniel only ever saw those drivers at InterTruck two or three times and then never again. Apparently, the guy was as paranoid as fuck about undercover DEA agents infiltrating his operation. And the easiest way to prevent that happening was terminating your drivers every few weeks. Unfortunately for his drivers, being terminated by El Merc was literal.
Milo was struggling to shift the pallet jack. There were eighty ‘keys on that pallet. Probably twice his body weight.
Daniel grabbed the handle off him and pulled hard. Once the wheels started turning, it was easier to maneuver toward the loading ramp at the back of the truck.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He stopped, fishing it out of his pocket. A text from Julia.
Can you come over?
He texted back,To ur house?
Her reply was instant.Yes.
Right now?
When she replied withIf you can, he stared down at his phone for a long moment, feeling his pulse speed up.
He knew Milo was watching him, so he stuffed his phone back into his pocket and finished unloading the pallet of phony cassette tapes. Then he crossed the warehouse floor and tapped on the large glass window of Paquito’s office.
Paq looked up from his desk and nodded.
Daniel opened the door, then poked his head in. “I got a personal thing I gotta take care of. I’ll be back later tonight to finish unloading this lot, alright?”
Paq regarded him for a moment, an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. Daniel had never seen him light that thing; he just seemed to enjoy chewing on it. He nodded once, then returned his eyes to his paperwork. Paquito was a man of few words.
Milo intercepted him at the warehouse exit. “You going to see your little girlfriend?”
Daniel felt his jaw clench.
Milo’s expression was slimy. “I hope you don’t mind, but I did a little Googling of your girl. Saw some videos of her online doing that ballet shit. I bet she can fuck you in all kinds of positions, right?”
Daniel shoved the heel of his hand against Milo’s shoulder. He hit the roller door, leaving a nice round dent in the metal.
Milo laughed, rubbing his shoulder where he’d hit the door. “Relax, man. Just making conversation.”
Daniel didn’t answer. He just held Milo’s gaze for a beat too long, long enough for the smirk to falter. Then he turned and walked out.
The midday sun hit him like a slap, glaring off the windshields of parked trucks and making the pavement ripple with heat. He pulled out his phone again, rereading Julia’s texts as he made his way across the lot.
Can you come over?
He opened the door, slid behind the wheel, and just sat there for a second, gripping the wheel. Then he exhaled, started the engine, and pulled out onto the highway, leaving the warehouse, and Milo’s smug grin, behind him.
