The iron hook tipped with red paint was forcibly wedged between two wooden boards, using leverage to pry several rust-specked nails from their holes with sharp bangs. The foul-smelling, black oil-slicked water shimmered at the silent dock at night, reflecting the lights cast by distant skyscrapers. There were no stars or moonlight here. Everything was swallowed by darkness, like a wasteland abandoned within the city. Only the constantly swaying flashlight beam inside a dilapidated shipping container, rats darting across the pavement, the wet ground, and the gunshot-like noise of nails being pulled free proved that this was not truly some remote wilderness.
Although the recipient's contact information had been spray-painted onto the wooden coffin, the item had remained in a shipping container at the dock due to the halted logistics network. Perhaps in a few more days, the dock owners would auction off everything inside the containers, giving those dreaming of getting rich by buying low and selling high a chance to gamble.
This was territory controlled by New York's Japanese gangsters, which was why he had no choice but to come here rather than arrange a pickup. The spark that had ignited New York's gang war was Fisk Wilson running into trouble with the Department of Homeland Security. Some factions believed they could break free from Kingpin's control, causing certain orders that had once circulated among different gangs to stop flowing. Now, the true recipient of this wooden coffin had arrived. He had no intention of claiming the goods through legal means. Instead, he had slipped in on this deserted night, taking advantage of the dock manager's wife giving birth, intending to take his goods away without anyone else knowing.
The advantage of the information age was that logistics data could be tracked at any time.
"I thought you'd