With a low, melodious whistle, he picked up a shipping invoice and then peered inside the crate, glancing at the sheet for confirmation. The box was alleged to contain boxes for cash registers, and as he pulled aside a thick wad of cardboard stuffing, the corner of stacked gray boxes were revealed. "Yeap."
A yell outside the ship made him look up, and he heard the sound of air brakes releasing and catching just outside. "Now what?" He muttered, going to the hatchway and looking out.
An eighteen wheel truck was parked outside, its driver arguing with one of the guards. Andrew glanced inside, watching the crew around him gathering around the coffee pot for a break. He stepped out onto the gangway instead, and crossed over to the road to listen in.
The trucker was a big, tall, man wearing cowboy boots, a big buckle belt, and with a hat to match, as much a stereotype as Andrew had seen recently round these here parts. Feller even had highway patrol sunglasses on.
"Listen, buddy." The trucker pointed past the guard. "There ain't no gate down there big enough to pull this rig in. I just need to go over there, so get outta my way, okay?"
The guard shook his head. "Sorry, buster. My boss said no one goes through here to that pier, period."
"What's the big deal? It's just a damn road."
"Not to that pier. They don't want anyone going through this pier or to that pier for deliveries. Forget it. So just take off."
"This stuff's got a rush delivery!"
The guard, a young man in his mid-twenties, smirked. "Rush? I don't care. My base said no one, and that means no one. Guess they're just out of luck," he said.
No deliveries to Dar's boat, huh? Andrew ambled closer, leaning against a stone post near the truck. "Now, that don't make much sense." He drawled. "Feller's just looking to pull on through."
The guard looked at him. "Shut up, old man. Get back in there to work. No one asked your opinion."
No one, least of all Andrew, expected what happened next. The trucker, standing within arm's reach of the guard, dropped his clipboard and lashed out, slugging the man across the face with one gloved fist, and sending him sprawling to the ground. "Know what I hate worse than a pissass little punk?" The man growled. "It's a pissass little punk disrespecting people."
Andrew snorted, covering his mouth with one hand.
The trucker stomped back toward his rig, grabbing his clipboard on the way, shaking his head and muttering as he walked. "Ain't got the balls to stop me going where I want to go, that's for damn sure."
The guard got to his feet, and wiped a bit of mixed blood and spit from his face, then removed the baton from the ring on his belt and took off after the trucker. "Son of a..."
"Wall, now." Andrew shoved away from the stone pylon and intercepted the guard in two long strides, catching him by the arm and swinging him around. "Son, don't be a jackass."
"Let the fuck go of me!" The guard squalled, lashing at Andrew with the baton. "I'll kick your ass!"
"Boy, don't you do that." Andrew warned, reacting out of instincts honed during many years of experience.
The trucker turned, to see his erstwhile attacker being bent into a pretzel as Andrew put him in a restraint hold and lifted him off his feet. He put his hands on his hips and just watched, as the uniformed man was shaken like a rat, bits of his guard accoutrements bouncing off the pavement and rolling under the truck.
"Ah told you, don't be a jackass." Andy told him firmly. "That there feller's just going to drive that truck over you and make you flatter than a pancake."
"Let go of me!" The man struggled to no avail.
Andrew walked over to the waterside with him, and held him threateningly over the edge of the pier. "Ya like salt?" He inquired. "No? Then just shut your mouth up." He looked over at the trucker, who had climbed inside his rig and started the engine. "Now, don't you be speeding on this here dock, young feller." He cautioned the driver, getting a grin in return.
The trucker honked his air horn in appreciation, giving Andrew a big thumbs up as he drove past the ship toward the next pier.
Andy waited for the truck to clear their space, and then he released the guard giving him a healthy shove across the dock to prevent any errant stupidity.
The guard caught his balance, and turned, starting back toward Andrew with an angry expression on his face. "You are in so much trouble, old man."
"Ah am not in any trouble, son." Andrew merely sat down on the pylon and waited for him, relaxed and calm. He made eye contact with the guard and held it steadily as the man advanced on him, years of facing danger lending a sheen of ice to his composure. "But surely you will be." He added, in a soft tone. "If you keep on keeping on."
The guard slowed as he approached, and then halted uncertainly. Then he backed off, sticking his baton back into his belt. "I'm not going to bother with you."
Andrew smiled.
"I'll just get my boss to get your ass fired." The guard gathered the shreds of his dignity and stalked off toward the small guard house, leaving Andrew in peace on the side of the dock.
Thunder rolled overhead, making him look up at the sky. "Ah do think ah just like trouble." He remarked. "Lord knows mah kid got that from some damn place, after all." After a brief moment, the ex-SEAL got up and headed back across the gangway, chuckling softly under his breath.
DAR REACHED OVER and picked up her cup of coffee, taking a sip before she offered it to Kerry. They were still squished together on the couch, after an hour of tense work on the laptop had at least given them a measure of security over the situation.
"How long does it take security to figure out who is in that building?" Kerry groused, handing the cup back after taking a swallow. "What did they do, call out the dogs to sniff the Xerox supply rooms?"
Dar watched her gauges, her fingers twitching above the keys. "It's a big building."
"Not that big." Kerry listened to the thunder, and then she returned her head to Dar's shoulder. "You know, it's a pity we can't work like this all the time."
"From the cabin or from this couch together?" Dar asked.
"Yes."
"I have a couch in my office."
"It's not as comfortable as this one." Kerry objected, reaching over to type in a few lines, and hit enter. "And there is just no way I could wear my jammies there, Dar."
Dar cocked her head and regarded Kerry's dress that featured adorable little cart wheeling piglets all over it. It consisted of a nightshirt that was just barely legal, but also had a pair of bottoms Kerry seldom wore. "I could post a policy change just for you."
"Uh huh. I can just picture me running meetings like this."
Dar chuckled. "Not a goddamn thing would get done," she said. "Ah...here we go. All right. Now that's looking better." She was at last satisfied with how her program was behaving. "Okay, I think it won't crash now."
"Phew."
Dar now switched to her mail, clicking on a late arrival. "Here's the trace Mark got." She reviewed the results. "Encrypted."
"Can you un-encrypt it?" Kerry asked. "I can't even read the header."
"Hmm." Her partner drummed her fingers on the keyboard. "Not without the..." She hesitated. "Let's wait to see if Mark finds the machine it was coming from. It'll be easier with the key. I might be able to crack the encryption, but it would take me forever."
Kerry typed on the keyboard. Mark -- what is taking so long for the security report?
Dar slipped her arm over Kerry's shoulders, and rubbed her back gently. "This is going to be a big issue. I better warn Alistair."
Freaking all of sales and marketing is here! Mark's answer came back, brimming with disgust. The whole damn floor is packed with them, and they've been sucking DHCP addresses all morning.