If cocaine was magic, then this operation was Hogwarts. Except instead of robes and wands, everyone had body armor and questionable life choices.
Pier 9 smelled like rotten bananas, ocean piss, and broken dreams. Typical Tuesday
Blizzard stood near a forklift, disguised as a dockworker. He wore a neon safety vest, cargo pants two sizes too big, and a fake mustache that looked like it had been stolen off a dead magician.
Next to him, his "team" — a lineup of degenerates that would've been rejected from a budget Fast & Furious movie.
Fathead, a hacker with the IQ of Einstein and the hygiene of a sewer rat.
Chains, a bald ex-con who once robbed a bank using a water gun and intense eye contact.
And Mimi, who looked like a K-pop idol but had stabbed four people with a nail file.
Selene's voice crackled in their earpieces.
"Cocaine is in the third container. Marked Papayas. Because nothing says white powder like tropical fruit."
Blizzard muttered, "This is what drug empires have come to. Hiding coke in fruit. Pablo Escobar's ghost is probably weeping into his mustache."
He nodded at Chains. "Go check the crate."
Chains grabbed a crowbar and popped open the container with a grunt.
Inside: a dozen crates.Inside the crates: papayas.Inside the papayas: cocaine. Wrapped tight. Gleaming white. A fruit salad of felony.
Fathead whistled. "Damn. This batch is shinier than my forehead."
Just then, a guard passed by. Blizzard panicked — not out of fear, but because Chains had already half-unwrapped one papaya and was licking it.
"Chains, what the hell are you doing?"
"I wanted to know if it was sweet."
"IT'S COCAINE, NOT CANDY, YOU GOBLIN."
Before the guard got suspicious, Mimi casually walked up, winked at him, and whispered something. The guard turned red, giggled, and walked away.
Fathead blinked. "What did she say?"
"She told him she had a toe knife collection and he reminded her of her ex who died mysteriously," Blizzard muttered. "She's... unique."
Within minutes, the crates were swapped. The cocaine-filled papayas moved onto a truck marked as "Community Fruit Donation: For Orphans."
Fathead cackled. "We're literally stealing drugs from cartels by pretending to donate fruit to children. We're monsters."
"No," Blizzard said with a smug grin. "We're entrepreneurs."
They peeled off into the night, papaya drugs in tow, leaving Pier 9 like a bad Tinder date — no explanations, no cleanup, no regret.