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“Of course. They all want you to get better. So don’t let them down, okay?”
“I won’t, Dak.”
I squeeze his shoulder. “I gotta go now, buddy. I’ll be back, though.”
“Bye, Dak.”
I grin at him and head back out to the van. I follow a crude paper map to the airport, where my shipment is set to arrive. I checked the tracking on my laptop before I left and it was still on time for a 2:45 landing time.
I reach the airport, park, grab a dolly from the back, and lock the van. I head toward a large structure. I ask a man working where the shipments arrive, and he shows me to a door leading to a tarmac.
I wait inside. It’s warm but I’m thankful it’s winter. The summer was horrid. There’s no A/C anywhere in the village and it was miserable. The winter here is mild.
The sound of an engine catches my attention and I see a small single-engine plane land on the tarmac.
I head out, hoping that’s my shipment. I have no paperwork to prove it’s mine, but I hope using my name and driver’s license as ID will be enough for them to give it to me.
After the plane looks stable and parked, and the engines have been shut off, I run out with the dolly as the belly’s door lowers and men begin offloading boxes onto an electronic golf cart-type vehicle.
These men work very fast. They almost have the whole thing unloaded as I reach them.
“Who are you?” one man with a bald head and yellowing teeth asks me. He wears an airport uniform.
“Hi. I believe one of those boxes is mine.”
He doesn’t even look. “No, all these are ours.” He points to the two men who had helped him unload.
“I understand, but if I could take a look, it should only be two medium-sized boxes.”
“No, fuck off,” he tells me in broken English.
Oh, so that’s how this is going to go?
“I’m afraid I must insist.” I set the dolly down and approach the cart, looking at the boxes and see the top two have my name on them.
One of the men pushes me away.
The bald guy snaps, “I said no. Now go away or I call police.”
I laugh. “Oh, you’re gonna call the police? Well, two of those boxes are mine and you’re stealing. So go right ahead and call.” I pull out my phone. “Or better yet, let me.”
I have no idea if the police will even show up. I don’t even know the police’s phone number, as I assume it’s not 911 like back home, but the little Blackberry does have an emergency call icon.
“No, no police. Go away and we won’t whoop your ass.”
My eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
The other two guys hop on the cart and I yank one down and throw him to the ground. I didn’t want for this to get physical but there’s no way I’m leaving without these drugs.
The guy I grab punches me in the face but I recover quickly and punch him back. The other guy lunges for me but I duck and take him down with a leg sweep, then kick him in the stomach. He groans while the first guy tries to hit me again, but I knee him in the balls for the simple reason to get him to stay on the ground this time.
The man who first talked to me tries to punch the gas and go, but unfortunately for him, this cart looks exactly like the ones we used in the laundry department, after we’d wash clothes and bedding and had to distribute them around the prison compound, so I’m aware of exactly what pulling that big black cord will do. I quickly kill the battery with one yank and he hops off, infuriated.
We hear shouting and both look over to see two airport police running our way.
Good.
I stand with my hands up.
