Page 15 of Gray Area

My father chuckles. “I’m gettin’ old, Declan,” he chides. “For years I drove all over this damn city running to and from all the bars and buildings. And then there were the activities for you guys on top of it. I remember counting down the days until you three got your licenses. Now you boys all take care of the runningaround and I just have to be Roman’s taxi driver. I kind of like not having to drive as much for a change.”

I nod my head, taking it in. It sounds like a good enough explanation, but I don’t believe him. In my gut, I feel like he is lying to me. I always trust my gut—it has never let me down—but I have never had to listen to it with my dad. Why would he lie to me?

I push the thoughts away. It is just driving, I tell myself. Instead I focus on the road while I mull over the best route to take, then make my way onto the highway toward New Bedford and the warehouse.

Fishing is big in our New England coastal area, and if you ask me there is nothing like fresh fish. The warehouse is Perez’s main fishery, and it distributes many of the local delicacies to surrounding states and even nationwide. It is a well-known distribution center for local cod, scallops, and lobster. But you can also get yourself a side of fentanyl, or perhaps a dash of cocaine if your price is right. Perez uses the warehouse as a front to move his legal and illegal products around the area as well.

It is common knowledge that Perez comes to the warehouse each and every evening to ensure his distribution is on schedule and properly shipped. Because his most lucrative cargo goes out under the cover of night.

The parking lot of the warehouse is crushed-up quahog shells, and there is a massive sliding door on the side of the building, almost as large as the building itself, open partway. The crunch of the shells as our vehicle approaches has workers looking up from inside the huge building. It is so bright inside the building, it has to be blinding them to the outside, and their squinting seems to confirm that. So while they look out to the sound, there is hardly any way of anyone inside telling if we are someone to worry about. That is the job of the guys posted outside.

The guards are in suits, and look like they belong outside a high-end nightclub rather than outside a raggedy-looking building. One of the suited apes taps my window and indicates for me to roll it down. I do so, about an inch.

“I don’t think you belong here,” the man says, his narrowed eyes peeking through the minuscule crack I’d created.

“Tell your boss Falco is here,” I say to him, and watch as the man’s eyes flick briefly to the side, listening to whatever is said into his earpiece. He nods, I presume at whatever information he is given, and then he points to the front of the building and I pull forward.

Once parked, we get out of my car and enter the highly lit warehouse. I follow my dad and we make our way through the workers inside who keep their heads down and continue working, ignoring our presence. Likewise, we don’t look at anything they are doing either.

At the end of the warehouse is a staircase that leads to an upper-level office with windows that overlook what is happening downstairs. As we get closer, Antonio Perez appears at the top of the stairs and starts walking down them toward us.

I wait patiently with my father at the bottom of the stairs, but I am ready. I see guards on the edges, I see the guards behind Perez, and I try to keep some of the workers in my sights as well. I know for sure they too could just as easily be part of the security detail.

When Perez makes it to the bottom, he and my father assess each other, and I feel the air around us crackling with energy. I am used to my father walking in and his presence claiming a room. I have even noticed it myself as I start to do more things for our businesses. But now there are two powerful presences before me, and it feels like electricity is buzzing all around us, enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if the power shorted.

“Jude,” Perez finally says, acknowledging my father.

My father tilts his head to the side and considers Perez from head to toe before he replies, “Antonio.”

It is quiet for a second—even the factory workers have paused, wondering what is going to happen with their surprise visitors. And then, out of nowhere, both my father and Perez burst out laughing and embrace each other.

The security guard behind Perez looks at me with awhat the fuck is thislook, and I just shrug, feigning boredom, but inside I am just as flustered. I just know how to keep it in.

“How the hell have you been, old man?” Perez asks my father as they pull out of their bro hug.

“Who you calling old man? Last I remember, I am younger than you byseveralyears,” my father reminds him.

Perez shrugs. “Those are just numbers. Come, my friend, let’s head to my office and talk about this mess.”

Arms around each other, my father and Perez walk up the stairs to the office. The guards follow immediately behind, and that is fine with me. I want to be at the tail end to assess the area further for escape routes. My father was in the navy and was scouted to be a Navy SEAL, but he opted out. His training was in-depth, and he wasted no time training my brothers and me on how to keep ourselves safe. He still has old navy buddies that he employs, and all of his new hires for security go through a rigorous training session to see if they can stand it. But one of the most important things is being aware of your surroundings.

Once we reach the top metal landing that looks over the warehouse, Perez opens the office door and waves his hand to invite my father in. I am still scoping out the area when Perez says, “I see you’ve trained your boy.”

“All my boys are trained,” my dad says proudly, then continues to me, “Declan, come on in.” I exchange looks with him and he gives me a slight nod. I don’t want to go in and he knows it. I want to stay outside and keep an eye out.

“You are safe here. I swear on my family’s life,” Perez says to me.

I don’t trust him, but I trust my father, so I go in.

One of the guards attempts to follow, and Perez just says no and they all stay outside.

I walk inside and am surprised by what I find. I expected an office with a junky desk and maybe some folding chairs. But it is actually what looks like luxury office spaces I’ve seen in movies. There is walnut wood paneling, from floor to ceiling, hardwood floors, and lush drapery around the windows that overlook the floors below. The windows are tinted to allow a soft lighting and block out the fluorescent lighting that is hitting the people downstairs.

“Surprised, young Falco?” Perez asks me as he strides over to his plush chair behind a large mahogany desk. “I like nice things,” he says, smirking at me. “Please, have a seat.”

My father sits, but I stand behind him, liking that vantage point best.

“I have to say, it is a pleasant surprise to hear from you after all this time, Jude,” Perez starts. “But I feel this is not a friendly visit.”

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