Chapter One The Bar

It had been strangled by an invisible net. The men who owned the street were not the men who pulled triggers. They were the men who decided who pulled them, when, and which report would be written afterward. The thought burned cold inside Ethan. Three weeks later he met Marcus Reed at the docks. Marcus was a Black veteran back from Iraq with a bad knee and no steady work. A white supervisor had been holding his wages and calling him a useless set of dog tags in front of the crew. Marcus had not swung. He had memorized blind spots, license plates, and loading schedules. Ethan handed him coffee. "Do you want your pay back, or do you want him afraid to short you again?" Marcus studied him. "You have a way?"