I like the new Cherry a lot. I think I’m gonna keep her.
“Shh, look,” Leon whispers, holding out his arm to halt me, then pointing up ahead a ways. I squint in the darkness to make out the movements of several black vehicles, glinting ever so subtly in the moonlight. Black sedans. The feds are here.
But that’s not all… there are several vans, too. Gray, nondescript, unmarked vans. They look for all the world to be exactly the kind of van your parents tell you to avoid as a kid.
“Let’s go closer,” I murmur softly. Leon shoots me an impressed look, then nods in agreement. He takes my hand and a thrill passes down my spine as he leads me onward, the two of us creeping along in the shadows of the trees and telephone poles.
As we sneak slowly and carefully closer, I’m able to make out something huge moving laboriously on the water, with long, tall beams. Leon stops me again and nudges me further off the sidewalk into a clump of brush across the street from the parking lot to the docks.
“Is that the ship?” I ask in an undertone, my heart racing. I still don’t know why in the world would there be a ship coming into the abandoned docks, but I know it can’t be for anything legal.
“Yeah. I guess it’s actually running somehow.”
“Don’t they have to, like, register that or something? You can’t just drive a big-ass boat up anywhere willy-nilly,” I hiss. Leon shakes his head and narrows his eyes, straining to look at the bizarre scene unfolding in front of us.
“See those big, black cars? That’s all the legality they need. A couple of feds to pave the way and keep the public out of their business, and even the nastiest crime boss can get his work done right under the citizens’ noses,” he replies quietly, clenching his jaw tightly.
Then I see something even stranger. It looks like the ship is pulling in and starting to unload a series of massive, heavy-duty containers, big enough to hide elephants inside.
“What the hell?” I mumble. Leon squeezes my hand.
“Come on,” he urges, “let’s go closer. If that’s what I think it is…”
His voice trails off as he pulls me along behind him. We both crouch as we bolt across the road and into the parking lot. I’m grateful that we’re both dressed in pretty dark clothing, so we don’t stand out too much in the shadowy lot. Either way, there’s not a whole lot to hide behind here, so this leg of the journey is considerably riskier. If any of those people on the docks just happen to turn around and look directly our way, they’d catch us. My heart is pounding, but somehow I still feel relatively calm. Leon makes me feel safe, even in the most dangerous of situations. We’re still a few hundred yards from where the black cars and creepy vans are parked, but I know we are essentially inside the lair of the beast right now.
There’s a dilapidated old green dumpster nearby, and Leon pulls me beside him several yards to hide behind it. I try not to gag at the musty smell, deciding it will be better for now to just… breathe through my mouth. But at least we have some kind of cover here, and we can still poke our heads around the side of the dumpster to watch what’s happening on the docks.
The vans are driving up close to where the ship has pulled in to a stop. Feds in black suits and sketchy workers in black hoodies and baseball caps stand on the docks awaiting the containers to be unloaded. I watch with bated breath as the first of these giant boxes is opened.
And my jaw drops.
I was afraid it would be filled with weapons or drugs or something. But what I see now is so much worse. Filing slowly out of the container is a huddled mass of human beings, trudging out and dragging their feet. They all look exhausted, their heads hanging and their bodies thin, dressed in ripped, stained rags. They’ve got to be immigrants, being shuffled into Bayonne for what? Hard labor? Servitude?
“Oh my God,” I breathe, starting to shiver.
Leon’s chest is heaving, breathing hard. I glance up at him to see the mingled horror, fury, and despair on his handsome face. His hands are balled into fists and he looks like he might run down to the docks and start swinging at any moment.
“It’s exactly what I feared,” he murmurs, swiping one huge hand down his face.
“Who are they? Where did they come from?” I question, tears tingling in my eyes at the sight of their bare feet and battered limbs. Some of the women are crying, and the men have distant, far-away looks on their faces.
“From all over, I’m sure. Wherever the price of human life is cheapest,” Leon snarls.
There are multiple containers, at least three from what I can tell. And sure enough, all of them are opened to reveal similarly-disheveled, malnourished, world-weary people inside. The men in suits stand by, emotionless with their hands behind their backs or crossed on their chests, like they’re simply statues-for-hire planted strategically along the docks to guard this illicit deal. And the men in hoodies guide the miserable people down the docks and into the backs of the vans. It’s a horrifying sight. I know they aren’t bringing these people here to give them a chance at a better life. They aren’t rescuing them. They’re herding them like cattle.