“Seems Ricky here got trapped in the box overnight,” the man responded.
“You knew him?” Jack asked.
The man looked around the docks, “Yeah I know everyone around here. I drive through making my rounded every hour on the hour. Hard to not make friends in these parts.”
“What type of person was your friend?”
“Like any other dock worker. A blue collar American trying to make a living in one of the last hard labor industries in his country.”
“Any enemies?”
The man turned around exiting the container and Jack followed. “Not that I knew of. You know how it is, police are kept at a distance. We only seem ‘em with a smile. I couldn't see a reason though. Ricky hadn't worked here more than a year.”
“Any ideas on who I should talk to at least?”
“Sure, his shift manager… Terry Moore,” the cop said, “we haven't seen him yet, but word travels.”
From the corner of Jack’s eye he noticed a group of men in the shadows. The red ambers of three cigarettes told him they weren’t police.
“Thanks Pal,” Jack said to the port police and headed towards the men. One of the fellows drifted away from the group and rounded a corner of containers that by the time Jack approached the remaining two, no sight could be found of the heavier one.
“Any ideas who did this to Ricky?”
Neither of the men responded.
