Page 74 of Ricochet

The brick-orange, rusted fence scraped a worn path along the weed-spackled concrete when Silvio unlocked the gate. They waited for him to re-chain it before walking along a concrete alleymade of stacked freight containers.

The old metal containers looked like children’s building blocks from far away, but up close, they were each the length of a semi-truck and looked as though they could attach to them or slide onto a train car. Some were newer than others. All had rust and wear and tear on their metal bodies. They smelled of the oceans and the lands they’d come from. Graffitimarred the sides of many in languages hadn’t seen spray painted before.Maybe Arabic and Chinese. Or Hindi or Urdu.Adelia didn’t have a clue.

Graffiti was a worldwide thing. That had never occurred to her before. She found it interesting how similar the tags were. The company painted over them, only to have them tagged again.

Cranes operated high overhead, and they walked across the shipyard.Silvio waved to men in hardhats and vests with clipboards, who used their cellphones as walkie-talkies, but still yelled at others nearby.

They walked for what felt like miles, past ports where large ocean freighters had crane operators dragging off their containers. Some were lifted by forklifts and eased down, while others seemed unsteady and were moved less carefully. Adelia wondered how theirweapons were unloaded, how the shipments were monitored—or not—and who knew what was where.

Silvio managed so much of that information here and around the world. He knew many people’s secrets and simply put things into boxes and move them places without causing a problem for the shipper or receiver.

Adelia looked around.What’s behind the walls of each container?Her stomach dropped. “Lenora?”

She didn’t slow down, and Adelia quickened her pace.

“Hey, Lenora—”

The slightest headshake said not now, and Adelia’s stomach lurched again. They were monster hunting, and everywhere Adelia looked, she could only see ocean liners’ freight containers.

This wasn’t how she saw people transported, and she’d seen hell—girls shoved too tight to breathe into the back of a truck. Conditions wereharsh on the road over what could be days.

Bile sloshed in the pit of her stomach. She grew nauseous. Memories of the auction block where her father had stood her, surrounded by cars for sale and a donkey rang clear in her mind. She was nothing more than them. A truck had garnered a better price.

They peeled away from the main alley and set upon a confusing path only wide enough for machinesto drive through and lift containers or open doors. The sun didn’t reach them. The containers were stacked too high on either side, closing them in shadows, casting a colder blanket on an already chilly day.

“This way.” Silvio came to a stop.

The containers were stacked four high, and each looked older than the last.

“Open it,” Lenora ordered.

“It’s empty.” He crossed his arms, studying hisshoes.

“I didn’t ask about its contents. I want to see inside.”

He shifted his stance and tilted his head. “Why?”

“Why the fuck do you think?”

Adelia watched their interaction, curious how much they could tell from an empty container.

“Lenora, if you two don’t get out of here, and I swear to Christ, we won’t call you to represent my family. Never again.”

“Open the goddamn container, Silvio.”Her muffled voice had been eerily quiet, and her expression blank until she turned to Adelia, tilting her chin. “Have you ever heard where your east coast girls come from?”

“Her?” he asked.

Adelia blinked, shocked that Lenora would mention her network near a stranger. “No.”

“Why do you think that is?” Lenora pushed.

Adelia flicked a quick glance at Silvio, who tamped down his reaction. “I’mlow level.”

Lenora pursed her lips as though that answer might hold up to the sniff test then pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse. “Low level.” She lit the cigarette, inhaling and let the smoke drift out with deprecating laughter. “You have no idea how successful you’ve been.”

“Okay.”

Her index finger tapped the ash off the cigarette. She rolled it between her thumb and finger like ajoint. “When we hear about girls in Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, we know. The Southwest is cut and dry.”

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