The driver stepped closer, running a gloved hand over the horn’s rough surface. His face remained impassive, but his eyes gleamed with the cold satisfaction of a lucrative deal.

“Get them ready for distribution,” he ordered sharply. The men obeyed without question, lifting the precious cargo with the same care they might handle fine ceramic, onto awaiting trucks which had just appeared in a hiss of aging brakes.  The driver lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly as he watched them work, the glow of the burning tobacco reflected in his eyes.

He looked over to the car, to those tinted windows who hid the faces of the real players in this gruesome transaction, he nodded his approval. Inside the car, a perfectly manicured finger pressed the window down button, lowering the window just enough for a wad of cash in a white envelope, to be squeezed through the opening.

It was the moment the small oriental man had awaited. He gingerly approached the sedan, reaching to grab the proffered money and with the wad of cash now clutched tightly to his chest, the small man bowed deeply, his movements punctuated by a servile deference that bordered on obsequiousness. His eyes remained fixed on the ground, avoiding the penetrating gaze of the buyer even though he knew he could not see them, but he could certainly feel it. Each bow was lower than the last, a silent testament to his gratitude and subservience.

As he retreated, his steps were cautious and measured, almost as if he feared disturbing the air around him.

“So much death,” A younger man wearing a red shirt, the colour of good fortune, muttered under his breath, unable to look away from the bloody remnants he was helping shift into a truck masquerading as a vegetable wholesaler.

The driver turned his gaze on him, sharp and unblinking.

“It’s not death,” he said coldly. “It’s business.”

The young man nodded slowly, realizing his mistake as his heart started to pound and the driver continued to stare into his widening eyes. He averted his gaze quickly, eyes flickering downward. Every muscle in his body tensed with the weight of his error. A bead of sweat traced a slow path down his temple, but he did not dare wipe it away, fearing that any movement might draw further ire. For a few seconds, fear became almost palpable on the quay, before an older docker, grabbed the young man by the arm and dragged him away with a severe paternal look.