The evening breeze was gentle, and the west suburb dock, bustling during the day, had quieted down for the night.
Carson Flores drove his red Ferrari off the main road and followed the concrete path downward, eventually arriving at the dock's warehouse number eight.
After parking his car, Carson stood in the wide yard, looked around, fished out a cigarette, and lit one for himself.
"Clap clap clap!"
The sound of applause echoed in the emptiness.
Santino Vasquez walked out from a nearby building, followed by three men.
"Carson, I really admire you," said Vasquez. "To come all by yourself, you've got guts!"
Carson glanced at the three men behind Santino Vasquez and laughed, "I was thinking of finding you quietly and taking you out silently, but since you took the initiative to come to me, there was no reason for me not to."
