Dead Men Bleed

Morning Rounds

I left before Carin woke up. I dug through my pantry. It didn't hold food though. Hell no. I had two outfits. The one I chose had marine blue camouflage patterns. I fashioned it with thick layers of Kevlar and armor. The pants had pockets for magazines for my two 9mm pistols and shells for a sawed-off shot gun.
My mask looked akin to a paintball mask, but more compressed to my face and tinted visors. Black gloves kept my fingerprints concealed.  I slipped on the outfit as quietly as I could.
It was only 4:46am. No chance in hell. She needed some rest. I have no choice. The more I sleep, the more scum courses through this city's veins. Plus, I can't lose momentum. Not at a time like this.
I placed the shotgun in a sheathe on my back and two knifes at my ankles. The morning air was dense and foggy. Lights barely broke through the dense mist. I started off by the port.
I surveyed the port, watching for smugglers or dealers sneaking in imports like drugs or weapons. About 100 yards to my two  o'clock, was a speed boat.
Smugglers. Ports here don't let in ships until 7am. Whoever was at the helm was docking.
I needed to get closer. I snooped around a couple cars that belonged to snoring security guards. I watched the person intently, stalking him like a lion. He tied a rope around a pole. He docked.
I bolted toward the person and slammed them face first to the pole. Judging by the yelp, it was a male. He moaned and groaned as I peeked inside the speed boat. Grey crates were stacked neatly atop each other. I unhinged the crate and flipped the top open. Sub-machine guns. An Uzi, P90, and a Kriss Vector were settled upon a pile of straw (not the ones you drink from).
I looked at the one across. There was a rifle. SCAR 17, wheel magazines, scope, and even a mini grenade launcher in front of the magazine. Six grenades were placed beside a pair of pistols. Not just any pistols. Ones that dazzled me. Prismatic duellers colored a crimson red in the back with a blue dragon designed toward the paired nuzzles in the front.
I stole both of them and dropped the guns in my holsters. I even stuffed my hands with the SCAR 17. I gorged my pockets with as much ammo as I could. Just when I satisfied my lust for firearms, I turned to the smuggler. He was shaking his bloodied head, dazed and crouched. I laid the newly acquired weapon by the edge.
"Who are these for?" I questioned him, pointing to the boat. He let out a grunt and spat a thick stream of saliva. The spit landed right on my chest. Disgusting pig. 
I reached forward and squeezed his jaw. The blade from my ankle sliced the air as it was brought against his jugular at his neck.
"Tell me or I will drench this dock with your blood. The arms? Where are they going?"
He smiled at me arrogantly. I didn't want him dead. Not yet. I looked at his bare forearm. An idea sparked. A sick one.
With a forceful shove, he landed on the concrete. His head bounced off the canvas. His neck was trapped under my knee. I clutched his forearm and slowly dug the side of the serrated blade into his skin. His hairy, dark skin was pushed back as I dragged the blade up his arm.
He wrestled and jerked beneath me, making the blade make the wounds even worse. He let out a weak scream followed by a yelp. The warmth from the blood of his arm seeped through my gloves as I stopped at the top of his shoulder. His skin fell to the floor like a long flake.
"I can go all day! I'll peel you like a fucking potato! Who are the arms for?!"
He wheezed and whined as I lessened my weight off his neck.
"Avirace! Avirace is here to pick them!" He squealed. Supplier, maybe?
"Who are you to Avirace? Partner? Supplier? Answer me!"
He coughed under me.
"Supplier. I ship them from New Crest across the bay. He's gonna be here any minute now. With guards. He always comes with guards. I dunno what he does with them. Why the fuck would I care?! Just let me live!"
Shit. Guards. Blackhand's guys. Most are trained. In Avirace's case, they are trained. I wasn't going to let his supplier live either. He's a key in giving the tools to killers and savages that slaughtered people in the sake of wealth and pleasure. If I can't kill Avirace, I'll send a message.
I took the blade and plunged it right into the supplier's skull. Bone crunched and snapped as the blade shredded his brain. Blood squirted from his wound as I ripped the blade out of his head.
Seconds later, three black Suburban SUVs sped into the dock. Their headlights beamed across the lot. I quickly dashed away. The SUVs were drawing closer. I had no time to climg up nearby warehouses. Especially with an assault rifle on hand.
I looked around. Cars. Trucks. I couldn't hot wire. Then again, my clothes. They were dark! I rolled beneath the nearest car, pancaking myself to the floor. Transmission fluid cascaded in droplets onto my back. Ugh. I hope it's easy to wash.
The SUVs pulled up near the dock. That was when doors started to open.
"Holy shit!" A voice exclaimed. My skin crawled. Memories cursed me as they flashbacked into my mind. I knew that voice.
"The fuck happened?" A deep, unfamiliar voice questioned.
"Dunno. Just get this shit loaded up and ready. Gonna have to explain this Billy later on."
More footsteps stomped around, busying themselves with Avirace's orders.
"Two are already opened up!" A guard reported. Ah, shit.
"Opened?" Avirace asked doubtfully.
"There's two cheap nine millimeters laying in an empty crate."
Super shit.
"Someone raided here. Was it the Midnight?"
What the hell is a Midnight?
"Nah. Midnight don't steal shit." There was a pause.
"I think it was that sunnuva bitch Max Ammo."
Fuck me.
"Keep your eyes peeled. Get them loaded ASAP. Discourage the curious."
For about 20 minutes, I laid as still as a boulder while watching black boots rush back and forth. I was nervous and angry. Images of my bloodied mother flashed before me. He was so close. The taste of vengeance flirted with my mind. Sensibility was my salvation from suicide. I was outnumbered and outgunned.
All I could do was watch them pass me by.