32

  “This is such a bad idea.”

  “It’s not. We’re good at this now.”

  “Says who?”

  “We’ve gone undercover twice now.”

  “That was with Sarpele! And besides, we got rumbled the first time!”

  “Yeah… but this time will be different, trust me.”

  “We’re gonna get gutted and ‘ung from the ceiling.” Wally moaned, his shoulders drooping.

  “Why do you keep saying that? Who even does that?”

  “These mad fuckers!”

  “Next you’ll tell me everyone knows that,” Timmy huffed.

  “Well they do,” Wally muttered sullenly.

  They continued walking in silence along the riverfront to Cameron Haney’s new warehouse. Locating Cameron hadn’t been that difficult. Only one property on the Landlord’s waterfront had changed hands in the last week. Cameron had paid the full amount in gold under an assumed identity. The warehouse had been an old fish processing plant that had long since shut down due the Forest wide food restrictions. The building had sat empty for nearly a year until Cameron bought it a week ago. Ever since, it had been a hive of activity. With limited resources, Conway had them on 12-hour shifts watching the warehouse trying to get any intel that would tell them when the shipment was coming in. So far, all they had seen was endless work, men going in and out, and more and more barricades and defences going up. Rumour on the street was that Cameron’s last warehouse had been robbed, and it looked like he wasn’t about to let that happen twice. Other than that, they had no idea what he was up to.

  After days of fruitless watching, Conway decided they needed men on the inside. There were only three detectives left in the Drug Enforcement Squad: Conway, Morris, Sarpele, and Timmy and Wally on temporary reassignment. Conway and Morris were both too old and smelt like coppers, according to Sarpele. The undercover expert himself was on a different covert assignment that even Conway didn’t know anything about, which left Timmy and Wally. They were of the right age, the right species, and still nobody would believe they were coppers. With the amount of work going on in the warehouse, Cameron had been taking on extra hands for the heavy labour. The plan was to get them in and observe until they found some clue as to when the next shipment was coming in.

  “Let’s go over our covers again,” Timmy said, trying to reassure his friend and quash his own growing nerves.

  “I’m Desmond Crawley and your Oliver Stokely,” Wally repeated in a monotone. “We’re out of work dock hands looking to make a bit of gold.”

  “And where do we live?”

  “Your on Foxley Lane with your ma and I live down in the Sinkholes in one of them boardin’ ‘ouses. Why do I always ‘ave to live in the ratty places?”

  “Dunno… it suits you.”

  “Wot d’yer mean?” Wally said. “I could be from somewhere nice. Maybe I could have a little family, and a missus, a nice lookin’ one. With some little kiddies runnin’ around.”

  “You think anyone would believe that?”

  “Which bit?”

  Timmy shook his head and swallowed a laugh as they approached the bustling warehouse.

  “Woah hold on there boys, you lost?” A gravel faced man with a squashed nose and mean eyes said to them, holding his hand up as they approached.

  “Naa mate,” Wally said. “We’re ‘ere to work.”

  “Says who?” the man asked, and Timmy noticed the short sword strapped boldly to his hip.

  “Word around the docks is yore lot are looking for workmen,” Wally replied.

  “Men… not little boys.”

  “Mate I been working the dockyards since I was eight years old. I could unload a skiff at dawn before breakfast by meself.” Wally said, pointing a thumb proudly at his chest.

  “And him?” the man asked, nodding a sceptical head at Timmy.

  “This is me main mucker Ollie. Strong as a bull ‘e is. Once watched him down a bottle of black rum and bite through a plank o’ wood wiv his bare teeth.”

  Timmy, caught off guard by Wally’s outrageous lies, bared his teeth and grimaced at the man who was equally befuddled.

  “We don’t need no planks bitten mate,” he said after a moment.

  “Don’t worry, he’s had his breakfast,” Wally laughed, slapping Timmy on the back. “I’m Des Crawley, I live down in the Sinkholes.”

  “We just need a bit of work mate,” Timmy said. “Docks ‘ave dried up and Des has got kids to feed. We ‘eard there was work goin’ and we’re ‘ere to work.”

  The man looked them up and down again, sucking his teeth and crossing his arms in the universal ‘get lost before I give you a clip around the earhole’ posture.

  “Oi Connor! Come give us a ‘and with these damn boxes!” a man shouted at the guard.

  “I’m busy!” Connor shouted back.

  “Doin’ what?”

  “Gettin’ rid of these two toerags!”

  A tall, ginger haired man came around the corner of the scrap metal wall that had been erected around the warehouse.

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  “Wot do they want?” he asked, looking at Timmy and Wally.

  “They’re tryna work but…”

  “You two got a pair of strong arms between ya?” the ginger haired man asked.

  “Yeah deffo,” Wally said. “We used to work on the docks.”

  “Good. Come on.”

  “Wait…” Connor the guard said.

  “Unless you wanna break your back takin’ out all that scrap from the warehouse,” the ginger haired man said to him.

  Connor muttered and frowned before taking a step back and letting Timmy and Wally through.

  “Cheers mate,” Wally said to the ginger haired man. “I’m Des and this is Ollie.”

  “Al,” the man said, shaking their hands. “You boys have got good timing. We need all hands on deck today. You’ll break your backs no doubt but the pay's decent.”

  “How much?” Timmy asked.

  “Two gold a piece,” Al said.

  “Oof, that’s a little stiff, ain’t it?” Wally asked.

  “Trust me lad, these ain’t the types of folks you wanna haggle with,” Al said as he led them into the warehouse. “And on that note, keep your eyes on your work and don’t talk anymore than you need to. Understand?”

  “Err… yeah alright,” Wally said.

  The warehouse reeked. There’s something infinitely potent about the smell of fish guts. It stains the very foundations of a building. Even though it hadn’t been in operation for a year, it smelled like there had been fish in there this morning. Half the warehouse was already empty. Men were buzzing about working on the other half, dismantling machinery, chopping down tables, piling up old crates, and destroying anything they couldn’t loosen. That half of the workforce looked very much like Timmy and Wally, just ordinary men looking for work that didn’t mind putting their back into it. The other half looked much more specialised. They were erecting perimeter fencing around the warehouse, welding, sawing, and hacking endlessly. Others were fixing gates with spikes at the top and building a heavy wooden staircase that led to an equally weighty looking room behind another gate and padlocked door. They were almost silent in their work. They were efficient, highly skilled, and expensive tradesmen going about their business. Mixed in between all of these workers were thuggish guards. They patrolled the warehouse, hands on weapons, scowling around and giving everyone a suspicious side eye.

  “Come on,” Al said to them. “You can join the chain gang.”

  Al set them up in a chain of men who were passing along endless scraps of metal and broken timber. Wally and Timmy set about trying to keep an eye on everything without attracting attention.

  They worked for hours without break. Occasionally, someone came around with a bucket of water and a ladle for them to drink from, but other than that, the work never ceased. Their backs ached, and they were caked in sweat and grime. They worked all the way until the sun was high in the sky on this rare cloudless day. By the time they were given a lunch break, they had almost forgotten why they were here. They flopped out of the warehouse, glad to breathe untainted air and sat down on some discarded timber. Timmy, pink faced and dripping sweat, hunched over and scrubbed his face on his dirty shirt. Wally coughed and spat on the floor.

  “Mate I’m knackered,” he wheezed to Timmy.

  “I’m starving,” Timmy said.

  “You boys didn’t bring any lunch?” Al asked them as he walked over with the bucket of stale water.

  “Naa… times is ‘ard,” Wally said as Timmy guzzled at the lukewarm water.

  “I hear that,” Al said, sighing and sitting down the wood next to them. “Here, I’ve got some spare jam sandwiches.”

  He tossed a limp, squashed slice of folded bread with a thin layer of jam to each of them.

  “Cheers!” Timmy said as he took a big bite of his.

  “So you said you got kids, Des?” Al asked after chewing his own bite of stodgy sandwich.

  “Oh yeah right,” Wally said, nodding his head.

  “How many?”

  “Six.”

  “Six? You look pretty young to have that many kids,” Al laughed.

  “Yeah, 'ard to keep me 'ands of the wife... coz she's a proper stunner,” Wally laughed as Timmy shot him a warning look: Wally was starting to get too comfortable with his wild lies.

  “What about you?” Timmy asked to divert Al’s attention.

  “Just the two boys,” Al said. “It’s rough right now, I don’t get to see ‘em much. I’m all over the city looking for anyone needing a back to break.”

  “Back breakin’s about all there is right now,” Wally said, nodding his head as he took another bite.

  “Ay, and even that’ll only get you enough to put some food on the table for one night,” Al said. “You boys might be a bit too young, but there was a time when a man could do an honest day’s work and live an honest life on it. Now? You couldn’t even afford a slice of ham after breaking your back all day.”

  “I miss ham,” Timmy sighed. “When I was little we could still get pork pies at the end of the week but not anymore.”

  “I’ll tell you lads, I don’t even recognise half this city anymore,” Al said. “Time was you would know everybody on your street. Families would have lived there for generations. You grew up and you could find work just like that.” He clicked his fingers. “Nowadays you can’t even sell yourself for cheap enough. There’s all these desperate refugees and all that that will work just for a roof over their heads, let alone a full belly.”

  “Is that why you’re working for these lot?” Wally asked, casting a dark look at the armed guards.

  Al sighed and brushed crumbs from his worn work pants.

  “I don’t know fully what they’re about… but I know enough.”

  “We heard they was in the drug game,” Timmy whispered.

  Al looked up sharply at Timmy and then at the guards who were congregated by the gate having a smoke.

  “I knew it was something dodgy,” he replied, keeping his voice low. “They’ve been in a crazy rush the last three days to get the warehouse ready. You’ve seen all the gates and locks everywhere?”

  Timmy and Wally nodded.

  “Wot’s it for d’you reckon?” Wally asked and Al shrugged.

  “‘Fraid that’s above my head and yours too. I wouldn’t go asking too many questions either.”

  “Yeah right, of course.”

  “But I do know whatever it is, they need things finished by today, so there might not be any more work for you boys tomorrow.”

  “Really?” Timmy asked and then remembered his cover. “That’s shit. Where are we s’posed to work tomorrow?”

  “Can’t help you there lad,” Al said, standing up and stretching his stiff back. “But I’ll make sure you get paid for what you done today. Let’s get back to it.”

  “Yeah sure,” Timmy said. “I just need to go toilet first.”

  Al nodded and hobbled back into the warehouse. Timmy and Wally watched him until he was out of sight.

  “They need it done by tonight?” Timmy hissed at Wally. “That must mean the shipment is coming in, right?”

  “Makes sense,” Wally agreed.

  “We need to get word to Conway,” Timmy said. “Cover me.”

  Wally stood up and began stretching with his back to him. Timmy quickly fished around in his pocket for the scrap of Comm Scroll Conway had given him. He scrawled a quick message and watched the ink slowly fade:

  Shipment coming in tonight.

  Timmy chewed his lip as he waited for a response.

  “Oi!”

  They both looked up like startled mice.

  “Lunch is over! Get back to work!” one of the guards barked at them.

  “Oh yeah, sorry mate! Just on our way!” Wally yelled back.

  Timmy stood up and behind him and had just enough time to read Conway’s response.

  A force is being put together. Keep your cover. Shipment will be under cover of darkness. We’ll move on them tonight.

  Timmy swallowed and shoved the paper back into his pocket as he looked around at all the barbed wire, spikes, fences, and gates as they walked back into the warehouse. Conway better bring a lot of backup.