Sally's Story (1.5-10): After Dark

youtu.be/Arc_I54oYrg

	“Hello, uh,” Vincent sniffed, eyes darting to the phonebook and back, “is this a Mister Malinowski? Mhm. You’re his secretary? Could you- No, I don’t mind waiting.” The detective rolled his eyes at his waiting partner, the nandroid eagerly rolling her pen between her fingers. Phone number by phone number they struck towards the grumbling heart of the Beacon City Port Authority, the enigmatic department which oversaw every ship coming up and down the broad river the city was built around. Access to that information was, however, painfully concealed behind several layers of irritating bureaucracy.
	“On hold again?”
	“Only for the fourth time, no biggie.” Vincent lowered the handset to his thigh for a second, muzak buzzing against his bouncing leg. “Shouldn't be more than a couple minutes.”
	“And then what?”
	“We ask for what ships are coming in tomorrow, Dutch or, uh-”
	“South African. Preferably with Afrikaner names, and *ideally* being some kind of chemical company.”
	“Seems like a pretty small keyhole there.”
	“Well, that's all we have to go off of. It’s what the Captain would want regardless, just to offer more proof.”
	“Proof, proof- that’s all they want,” he sighed, “never *results*.”
	“*Vince*,” Sally snipped.
	“I’m kidding, S- oop.” Vincent picked the handset back up to his head, a gruff voice crackling through. “Vincent la Fontaine, Mister Malinowski. Yes. Yes. BCPD Vice.” Sally readied her hand over her little notebook.
	“What can I do for you Vince,” the man continued. “You certainly worked your way up here, heh.”
	“Yep, uh, took a bit. Could you offer us some information on incoming ships for tonight and tomorrow?”
	“I sure can, uh, what are you looking for exactly?”
	“Well, about that,” Vincent turned to Sally. Rolling her eyes she held up her notebook, the bleeding ink underlined where her finger tapped it. “Right- we’re looking for ships coming, o-or going I guess, from the Netherlands and… South Africa.”
	“Alright, any specific companies? Cargo? Ship size and accom-”
	“We’re looking specifically for chemical companies, maybe even… uh-huh, yeah pharmaceuticals too. Same deal for cargo.” A shuffling of papers and the creak of archaic steel filing cabinets squeaked through the phone line, the older man rubbing his graying chin hairs as he plunged a hand back. Setting the phone down he excused himself, the soft clap of his boots escaping his tiny office and the waiting detective.
	“Hold again?” Vincent nodded. He drummed his left hand on his knee, Sally sketching out sections and headers for whatever Vince would relay from the phone, whenever that would be. Minutes passed, Vincent’s left hand ferrying a cigarette to his mouth in place of patting his leg before a crackle across the line picked his head up. Sally twirled the pen back into her hand, Vincent waiting on the harbormaster on the other end of the line to finish clearing his throat and, behind the woody knock of papers being straightened on a desk. Vincent clicked the speaker button as Sally leant forward, notes ready.
	“Alright there detective,” he coughed, “here’s what we’ve got. Tonight there’s a few ships coming in that fit your specifications. It’s all barge traffic from the coast, draft limitations, but first is one from… Hankamp-Breijder, a chemical company. Smaller sized, uh… quite small actually. Just carrying... precursor chemicals for household cleaning goods.” Sally narrowed her eyes, a brief calculation in the back of her mind shaking her head.
	“Not it, sorry.”
	“Alright, next is a barge from the same company, acetone. Industrial solvent stuff.” Sally shook her head again, Vince asking for the next on the list.
	“Alright this one’s a three-barge cable tow, being ported inland for… huh. Undisclosed purposes, though it is refrigerated. Listed owners are a…,” he shuffled through some more papers. “Strydom MFO- man, it’s come a long way. Out of Cape Town, up the Hudson River and Great Lakes, and here finally.”
	“Could you tell me anything more than that?”
	“Well... it’s due at the bulk cargo terminal, so that narrows it down some. *Could*, and probably is, some kind of unmarked pharmaceutical goods,” the man spat, papers rustled, “dunno how it’s slipped by though. I can get customs on it asap if that’s-”
	“No, no, we can handle it sir,” Vincent nodded, Sally already noting the terminal. “You’ve got a time of arrival?”
	“Yes, detective- about eleven tonight, bulk terminal like I said.”
	“Perfect, thank you Mister Malinowki. This has been very helpful to my partner and I- uh, well, one last *procedural* question- do you have *any* record of a customs check?” Papers brushed past each other, the rusty pull of cabinets following for several minutes as the phone knocked down on its desk.
	“...No, not at all. I-I assure you, detectives, that-”
	"No worries, sir, that's very helpful to us."
	"That's v-very reassuring officers," the man sputtered, "thank you."
	“You’ve been a great help, but we should be going."
	“Did you not want to hear the others coming in?” Vincent turned to Sally, shaking his head before she joined him.
	“I believe you gave us what we were looking for, we appreciate your assistance immensely.” A few extra platitudes and the detective set the phone down, sighing. “Welp, that’s that taken care of. We’ve got a couple free hours before we have to go, and-”
	“Go?”
	“Well, I gotta talk to the Captain but we could stake it out, get a look and, ideally, see some illegal shit and just move in. Simple and easy.”
	“Just the two of us, Vince?”
	“Sure, why the hell not? Unless you think-”
	“N-No, not at all… it just seems a bit... brash, Vincent.”
	“Well, if the whole ‘long guns’ deal is true then they’re already in trouble over some possible firearms charges, given they’re neither citizens nor law enforcement. Twist that to our advantage and we have probable cause enough to go and search the place, make some arrests and wrap this up neatly. Not to mention we *could* play the illegal smuggling card, no recorded customs check and all.”
	“You seem to have put a lot of thought into this…”
	“When haven’t I?”
	“Well-”
	“Hold that thought, I’m gonna go fill the captain in on this. You can sit back for a couple hours, we ain’t gotta go anywhere for a hot minute.”
	“Sure, Vince…”

	The little foam ball rebounded off of the hard wall, a hollow pop sending it back into Vince’s hands as he launched it ahead once more. Reflecting off of the wall again it hopped off the ground and up into his lap, tired hands fumbling to grab it. With a drum on the carpet it flopped out of his hands and onto the ground, rolling to a stop underneath his and Sally’s shared desk. Ducking his head he cracked it on the wood-paneled edge, grunting in surprise as Sally leant her head to the side of her computer’s glowing monitor. A smacking of keys paused her chirping game.
	“Everything alright Vince?”
	“Fine, fine. Should be heading out soon, though.” He checked his glowing little watch, the glancing sodium yellow of the streetlights outside spilling into the cramped Vice wing. All their coworkers had gone home for the night, the partners’ special assignment holding them late. “Ready?”
	“Ready,” Sally blinked, the click and whine of her sleeping computer standing her up. “And you said the Captain was okay with us going alone?”
	“Yeah, he seemed fine with it. Just said to call for backup if we need it.”
	“...Do you think we will?” Vincent paused, slipping his heavy coat over his suit. A hand fidgeted inside the twin layers, palm slipping inside in practice should he need to draw his sidearm in a flash. The backup leather ankle holster chafed an itch more as he tightened it.
	“...Nah, we should be fine. From Brian’s words odds are there are only a few there. We’ll be cool.”
	“I still think it would be wise to… to keep alert, Vincent.”
	“You worried?”
	“N-Not at all! Just, we should always be careful.” Sally unbuttoned her own suit jacket, the lapels split apart as she reached a hand reflexively inside- quick and routine, how it had to be. “Well, I’m set…”
	“Let’s head on out then.” The pair of detectives snipped the last lights off, the dim overhead fluorescents buzzing silently as they hopped back outside to Vincent’s hefty car. Grumbling back to life the machine growled and bounced on its suspension, bucking them up with each manhole cover or odd pothole, twisting and etching towards the northwest once again, towards the harbor and more importantly their destination there between the terminal and their target at the warehouse. Slipping down concrete-paved alleyways and around broad, corrugated storehouses the two detectives posted up. Vincent reclined in his seat as Sally nervously watched around them, hopping out to keep an eye on the gently lapping obsidian waters of the neighboring river.
	“I’m gonna go get a better look Vince.”
	“Wha- Oh, cool,” Vince snipped, shaken from his late-night stupor. It was getting perilously close to the ship’s arrival time, Sally nervously stalking the narrow streets formed from the towering container constructs built up around her. The odd light on the corner spilled harsh white light around her, Sally sidling around and closing in on the water’s edge. Her internal clocker told her five to, just enough time to spot the little trio of barges swinging up the concrete berth. She consciously blinked her eyes to subdue the lights behind them, adjusting to the abject, Autumnal dark. Leaning on the edge of a container she spotted a flat, black shape contorting and bending in the water beyond the harbor, looping underneath one of the sharp truss bridges spanning the river. Bending and coiling like a rigid snake it slid into place alongside the towering cranes and, her eyes narrowing, the small teams of waiting longshoremen helping to haul it closer.
	Cranes groaned to life at the union of barge and harbor, the fifty-odd yards between her and them just enough to catch snippets of shouted instructions and directions. Tracing the orders in her head they guided the moving trucks towards the same warehouse Vince was parked in front of, Sally nodding in victory as she started her short jog back to her waiting partner. With a knock on his window the snoring man shot awake, Sally leaping into the passenger seat.
	“HWOAH, sh-sheesh,” he panted, “where’s the fire Sal? Christ…”
	“About a hundred yards away Vince, I saw the ships come in and they’re porting that cargo over *here*, we should probably-”
	“Yeah, yeah,” he yawned, “l-eeh-et’s take up positions some… some place.” Shaking his head he breathed sharply.
“You okay, Vince?”
“Yep, yeah. Let’s fuckin’ do it.”