Horse watched the unloading of the weapons, then spoke into his hand-radio:

"Anybody see anything?"

Two voices answered simultaneously. Horse jabbed the "transmit": "One at a time. Jake, what're you talking about?"

"Nothing. Nobody. The docks ain't the place for a big Saturday night. You want us to come in?"

"No! Stay there. Now you, Bart. What's..."

"Zero." The voice from the radio slurred the word as if half-asleep. "It's just dark and peaceful. What a trip, man. Just us and the rats."

"Pete, you there?" Horse called for the man watching the far side of the warehouses.

"I'm here. Watching everything. There's nothing to see."

"Stay there, all of you, a few more minutes."

The tug's engine sputtered, then revved. Clouds of diesel smoke burst from its stack. Turk leaned from the cabin and waved to the mass of men on the dock. Then he spotted Horse, went back to his job. The diesels' sputterings and pops smoothed to a steady, almost inaudible background idle.

Several bikers heaved the planks to the barge. As the first of the chromed and lacquered motorcycles went into the one emptied trailer, Charlie broke the locks off the second one. Horse strode down the ramp.

"What's taking you so long? Get that trash out of there!"

Toothless Charlie glanced at his watch, but he didn't pause as he passed box after box to the human conveyor belt below him. "We're thirty seconds ahead of schedule," he said. "Be cool, Horse. Why don't you take a break, maybe a little skullpop for you? Your nerves..."

Horse's MAC-10 pointed at Charlie's face. Charlie looked down the .45 caliber hole in the suppressor, continued unloading. "I'm just doing my work, Horse. Working as fast as I can. Can't work if I'm dead."