Chapter 55 - The Manifest on the Gantry Crane
Back on the pier, the wind screamed through the lattice steel of the giant gantry crane above us.
Miller took the lead, moving up the rusted gangway with her sidearm drawn. The ship’s deck was slippery with sea spray and fuel residue. A lone deckhand in greasy yellow oilskins emerged from behind a winch housing, his hand dipping toward a heavy crescent wrench in his belt, but Miller’s weapon was leveled at his forehead before his fingers touched the steel.
"Federal agent! Down on the deck! Hands flat on the steel, now!"
The man froze, looked at Miller’s badge, and dropped to his knees without a word. He knew what kind of cargo was in the hold; he knew the Holloway name wouldn't protect him from a federal harbor conspiracy charge.
"The bridge is locked from the inside," he muttered, spittle flying from his chapped lips into the wind. "The boss and the blonde girl... they’re down in the lower hold. Waiting for the pilot tug."
"Where is Arthur?" I asked, stepping up behind Miller, the wind whipping my hair across my eyes.
The man looked up at me, his eyes widening slightly as if recognizing the family resemblance in my cheekbones. "The old man had a stroke an hour ago, lady. The girl wouldn't let us call an ambulance. She locked him in the ship's sickbay and took the briefcase herself."
A cold, familiar nausea hit the bottom of my stomach. Claire hadn't just abandoned Eleanor; she had discarded Arthur the moment his body failed him. To Claire, human beings were never people—they were vehicles with varying fuel capacities. When the tank ran dry, you left them by the shoulder of the highway and took whatever cash was in the glove compartment.
"Thomas, stay with the deckhand," Miller ordered, keying her radio. "All perimeter units, enter Berth Delta. We have a medical emergency on board and an armed suspect in the primary cargo space."
"I'm going down," I said.
May you like
Miller looked at me, her sharp blue eyes assessing the fire burning beneath my exhaustion. She saw that no court order, no federal injunction, and no barbed-wire fence would ever give me back the pieces of my life that Claire had methodically shattered. This had to end face-to-face, where the truth couldn't be redacted by a high-priced defense attorney.
"Behind me," Miller said simply. "Two-step interval. If she draws, you drop."
