Francesco Fontaine slips through the south gate as the dock lamps buzz and shiver. Ahead, the freight shed yawns open, and the shift change leaves the yard crowded with noise but thin on attention. This is the gap they need.
The Dockman keeps to his shoulder, pale and sweating, and points with a tremor toward the loading row. Men in caps haul crates past a chalked tally board. One foreman is barking orders too loudly, trying to hide the confusion.
The Dockman
Tony has to be seen by the right ears, not the wrong ones. If Benny’s people clock him here, it gets ugly fast.
A hard voice cuts across the yard. "Hey, you. Tony." A dock foreman with a clipboard lifts his chin from the shadows near the shed door, already suspicious, already waiting to see who Francesco is meant to be.
Francesco Fontaine
Yeah. I’m Tony. Where do you want me?"
The Dock Foreman
Late, that’s where I want you. Get in line with the others. If you’re the new man, prove you can carry your share before Benny hears you’re dead weight."
The foreman jerks a thumb toward a crate stack marked for the freight shed, the exact route tied to Benny Mallory’s movement. One order, one lift, and Francesco is inside the operation at last.
Get inside Benny Mallory’s loading operation