Pockets of Darkness by Jean Rabe Read Free Book Online Page A

Manhattan across the East River. More than one hundred years ago it was called Fulton Landing because of the ferry stop that operated before the Brooklyn Bridge opened. In those early years it was filled with warehouses and factories. Through the decades that changed to primarily residential blocks with coveted loft apartments, art galleries, non-profit centers, and trendy restaurants.
    Now a historic district, Bridget’s destination was one of the oldest buildings that still actually functioned as a warehouse. The taxi had stopped honking, the delivery truck finally moving on. A siren cut in, and the flashing blue light of an unmarked police sedan bounced off the windows of parked cars. Bridget stood still until the sedan passed.
    A boat out on the river sounded a long, low note. Another car started honking, and Bridget pointed at a dirt-brown building. “This is it.”
    “Doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” Otter said.
    “This time of night, that’s the way it’s supposed to look.” Bridget led them through an alley too narrow to drive a car down and to a thick, steel side door. There was an electric key pad, and Bridget punched in a lengthy string of numbers, tugged the door open, and gestured Dustin and Otter inside.
    It was well-lit, a fact hid to the outside world because of blackened windows. Big crates formed walls branching away from the center like the spokes on a wheel. The cavernous building smelled of old stone and dust.
    “Do you own all this?” Otter craned his neck this way and that.
    “Bought it two years go. Just the building,” Bridget said. “The crates belong to some of the shops down here—we rent storage space to them. There’s a loading platform in the back.”
    “Makes the place seem legit, huh?” Otter gave his mother a knowing nod. “Makes you the respectable businesswoman.”
    “And it brings in a respectable income.” Bridget took the closest passage, then turned and directed them to the back.
    A half-dozen folding tables that stretched end to end were covered with an assortment of objects, some of which glittered under the fluorescent lights.
    Otter rushed forward. “Wow.” He stopped just short of barreling into a table and stuck his hands in his pockets and whistled.
    Four men came out of the shadows, and Bridget indicated that the boy and Dustin were her guests.
    “Double wow,” Otter said. “This shit looks old.”
    Bridget took in the display. “This is it?” She didn’t hide her disappointment. “I expected more from this shipment. Last month I was told—”
    “Boss, the mate said not everything got loaded. Said Spanish and Italian cops were crawling through Genoa looking for cocaine smugglers. Captain didn’t want to get caught in the net by accident, so he left before the big pieces came on. Said that stuff is probably long gone. But he said this was the best of the lot anyway. Looks like this is worth a crapload.”
    “Triple wow.” Otter seemed oblivious to the conversation and tentatively reached forward, stirring some old coins in a box.
    “Hey—” one of the men warned.
    “Some cool stuff, boss, don’t you think? Said come late spring he’d make another run for you. And we got the ship coming in from England in a week with some paintings, and then the one from France after that. So, do you want—” Bridget waved him off, and the man stepped back.
    “No, not bad then, considering,” Bridget decided. “Definitely not bad.” She’d been shorted before because of problems in port; smuggling was often a crapshoot. At first glance she estimated that these goods could bring in four to five million, with thirty three percent going back to the captain, who had some expenses on his end, and another fifteen percent divided among Bridget’s crew. Bridget had other costs to take out of it too, but in the end she was certain to pocket at least a million for herself.
    Bridget went to the first table, Dustin close enough behind her she could smell