Dangerously Quiet

2.

 The Docks

This was old school but it had to be done. Low-level dealers and hawkers were taking advantage of their laidback nature, not expecting to be caught. To make matters worse, the new cops in the precincts around Boston are looking at the French Mafia for the upheaval on the streets. Someone was poking the bear. Over the past months, they allowed their stock to be taken, knowing it didn't put a dent in their distribution but when they upped their rap sheet from stealing to vandalism, they made it personal. 

Here he was with his best friend and two brothers waiting for the little rats to strike. Father told them of the procedures they made up back in his younger days to avoid attention and less violence when intercepting hawkers. Vital information along with the history of their family's riches was told to them over and over. It wasn't because his father had an arrogant air, it was all because of his pride in being a Delacourde. Though they had millions to play with and be spoiled rich brats, their parents taught them the value of the money they earned and the work that went behind it. To see idiots like the ones coming onto the docks in three black panel vans, angered him greatly. The connections and trust, plus the discretion in which was used to distribute these drugs were all made on the shoulders of past Delacourde Patriarchs. Whoever started this attack on his family's business disrespected him and everyone lying in wait for these cunts.

"We got movement on the east side of the shipping containers, sir." 

"We are in position on loading dock B. Clarify that movement," his brother asked softly into his mic. They all were on one channel to make this easier and faster. It was the last few days of summer and the majority of them had to get ready for their new schools. 

The man who held the aerial view of everything that was about to happen heaved a heavy sigh. "It's the fucking newbie from BPD. The transfer. Can't we just shoot him and get over this shit? He's been on our ass since the first spill," the man said, annoyance lacing his tone. An actual growl escaped his lips before his brothers stepped closer to him, standing a few feet apart from each other, waiting for his next order. Though age was a good excuse to always listen to the quiet dark-haired teen, he was the next king and whatever he says goes. 

"For once the fucking calvary decided to show up but at the wrong damn time. Father won't be pleased. Let's get this done. Ice, keep track of them."

"You got it, boss. You got a three-minute opening. They're doing searches on our cargo."

"His i's and t's better be crossed and dotted or mama will be pissed," one of his brothers commented. Everyone on the channel, for a second, sympathized with the cop. The cargo the Delacourde female had on the docks was decor she had designed for the new apartment building and restaurant set to open in three weeks. Any hiccup to her schedule, the wrath of Arianna Delacourde will be upon their heads.

"Move in."

Upon his command, masks were lit up and weapons were drawn. Behind him in an identical stance, the twins both readily detached their choice of weapons from their backs. Dressed in the Delacourde signature black tactical gear and family crest insignia, they were all armed but the retractable steel batons were their choice for the night. The Vendetta maks they wore, were lit up with LED glow wire making it hard for anyone to see the color of their eyes. Hoods were attached to their gear hiding any noticeable features of the men.
A tight grip on their batons, they uniformly ran quietly to the men who were now searching through the cargo containers they selected. The first hit was dealt, to the lookout guy at the back of his knee, he cried out in pain, alerting the others.  Curses of disbelief rang throughout the container, running at the Delacourde soldiers without a plan and guns weren't a good idea. The crushing of bones and painful cries were heard as each blow from the batons connected with the thieves. A few thought it wise to open fire on them which was anticipated. In a practiced move, the oldest Delacourde retracted his baton to replace it with one of his guns. He didn't shoot to kill but to disarm the gunmen, though his soldiers knew how to keep their asses alive. In his peripheral, he saw one of the fallen thieves reaching for his gun. He didn't think twice, he knew the man's intention was to shoot his little brother in the back. Two shots became background noise right before the man's body stilled. The twin who was targeted gave his big brother a sharp nod before downing his victim, set to run after one who decided to be a coward.