Fells Point was about 50 miles south of downtown Hudson City. It was home to two things: first, it was home to the Farmlingdale Federal Corrections Institute; second, it was the best place to move contraband into or out of Hudson City. Raphael diSantiago sped the stolen car Ford down the 408, past the prison with its spotlights lighting up the night; every time he passed that place he wanted to put in “Folsom Prison Blues”.

He shoved thoughts of spending his the rest of life locked up there behind him and drove on. It was only another 15 minutes until he’d arrive at the meet.

He parked the car on a bluff that overlooked one of the large industrial docks. He knew a guy – who knew a girl – who was banging some Peruvian mobster. She had been good for the information; bought cheap with a Jackson, bag of smack and a quick fuck. Anyway, she said that he said a big shipment of Bolivian blow and freshly washed cash were coming in from La Paz. The La Paz Cartel – such as it was – was trying to make a comeback. After 30 years of in-fighting and getting their collective asses kicked by their neighbors to the north, Bolivia and Peru were trying to cut into Columbian cartels business. A fact that his Columbian friends (as well as the Triads) bitched about whenever he was around. Several times, they had asked him to pull a job like this. But, he had never taken them up on it.

Once you start pulling jobs for money for people outside your organization, you are on the path to being owned by someone else. One master was enough for Raphael.

What made the Columbians so angry about this was that the Bolivians were being backed by La eMe, the Mexican Mafia. And, they were going directly at the Columbian’s hold over Cocaine trafficking in the City. A source inside La eMe backed Siete-Diez gang had let slip that there was a shipment coming in and everyone would ‘get their paper’ very soon.

The transaction was like those that Raphael had engaged in or observed through his years with Javier. The buyer stepped out of his 1992 Mercedes S-class, and instructed his boys move the drugs and what appeared to be several televisions into an 18-wheel truck. They Then placed two duffel bags into the back of his car.

Raphael watched from 1000 meters away, taking notes and some pictures: which dock superintendent took the bribe; which truck was loaded; which customs officer had been paid off.

What would a superhero do? Raphael asked himself. Probably, not let the drugs come into his city. Was the answer that came back.

He wondered how long it would take the new team to lock down this entire place. The Conquistadors were still two weeks away and he was working for Javier; though not tonight. Tonight, was his own score; and a way to take a couple of dozen kilos of La eMe’s coke off the street and score himself some walking around money in the process.

He watched the big truck pull out and onto the highway with the Mercedes following them back north. He waited for a minute, then started his car and followed them with his lights off. This time of night, there was very little traffic.

They were easy to tail, the big Merc followed the truck up the mountainous road north. When they were about 30 miles from town, Raphael made his move. He punched the accelerator and was treated to the roar of the engine as he passed both the sedan and the 18-wheeler. When he had passed the truck, he reached out with his mind and lifted the cab and front wheels of the rig about 6 inches off the asphalt turning it about 10 degrees before he dropped it.

Rubber and metal slapped against black-top as the truck bounced over on its side and skidded to a stop. The cry of the big sedan’s tires as the driver tried vainly to stop from slamming into the back of the rig was audible over the sounds of the tractor-trailer skidding to a stop. Raphael could nearly feel the impact when the two vehicles crashed.

He pulled his car over and walked back toward the wreck. There was one body that was half under the truck, the other had gone head first through the wind-screen; both dead. Raphael pulled a clean Smith and Wesson .38 revolver from his jacket pocket. His hand was surrounded by a thin, invisible field that prevented him from leaving fingerprints or having gunpowder residue deposited on his clothes or skin. He had even loaded the bullets using gloves.

The smell of burned rubber and diesel fuel filled the night air. As the truck came to rest, the only sound Raphael could hear was the cracked fuel tank pouring fuel onto the road. That only makes things easier. he thought.

The Mercedes had driven through the top of the trailer and was covered in cocaine, glass and plastic. The driver was dead, there was a piece of metal through his head. The man in the back seat was still alive: trapped and very much disoriented. The drug dealer looked up, trying to focus. His face managed a look of confusion before the rapport and muzzle flash of the .38 punctuated the night.

Raphael looked in the trunk and invisibly lifted the two duffel bags and pulled them outside. He reached out with an invisible hand and lifted an unbroken plastic bag of cocaine from the wreckage. Never know when this will be useful.

Both duffel bags were filled with shrink-wrapped blocks of large bills. He lifted each and smiled. This money will go to good use now, He thought as he drove away. Mine.

Back in his car, he lit a match and threw it as he sped away. The entire road and both vehicles were set afire; the crime scene would leave little in the way of evidence.

He pulled the stolen car off the road before he got back into town. And, after cleaning the car, he got into his jeep and returned to the City.

He stowed the duffels in a safe and tried to get some sleep. But, he was still too pumped; this was probably his last job like this. As a member of the Conquistadors he had to play the part of a hero; and no one would look kindly upon something like this.

“Two point six million. Jesus.” Raphael said aloud. If crime pays, maybe stopping crime pays more. He checked the clock, it was 3AM. Every place he could think of would be closed by now; all the girls would be gone and only the most desperate, least attractive professionals would still be around. He would have to postpone his celebration until tomorrow night.