Third week of August, Hopeton, still in Jamaica, called me from his Jamaica phone:
“Need you to do a port run tonight. Paperwork needs scrubbing. Any time after 1am. Same guy as New Year’s 2000.”
I knew exactly what Hopeton was saying. Someone had fucked up a delivery and it wouldn’t be released until one of us dragged ass to Port of Newark to grease palms and get paperwork. And I was the last man standing.
Same guy as New Year’s 2000 referred to the time I showed Eula the PanStar set-up and made her roll to Newark with me. That guy was cool enough- didn’t leave us waiting for too long and had the paperwork in order for me. I had a feeling he’d asked for me by, if not name, then by description. So, like it or not, that meant I’d be running point on the port tonight.
A little after midnight I jumped into the Mercedes and started out for the port. It was a relatively quick journey- I spent it listening to the news on 1010 WINS and running through a to do list for my grad school applications.
When I arrived at the port, I pulled up to the service entrance security barrier and handed over an ID. The car was logged and I was waved in.
I pulled into a parking spot, turned the radio off, and typed out a brief message to my contact.
Six minutes later he replied:
Be there soon.
Forty minutes later, a guy in a hardhat and coveralls walked over to the car. Hopeton was right- it was the same guy I’d dealt with in 2000. I rolled down my window and handed him a nylon fanny pack filled with hundred-dollar bills. In exchange, the port worker gave me a file folder, thick with paperwork.
Then I pulled out of that parking lot like nothing was wrong. Just going about my business, per usual.
