SamAdams cautiously looks up and down the street before darting out of the alleyway and sneaking along the moonlit sidewalk to his car, 2 blocks away. One hand rests on his gun and the other clutches the large bags of coke he has just handed over tens of thousands for. He approaches his car, and after looking under it to make sure there's no bomb he climbs in and stows the drugs in the hidden compartment inside the passenger seat. As Sam starts the car, he checks his watch. It reads 3:50 in the morning. "Good," he thinks. "I can still get a couple hours of sleep before the flight leaves."

Sam will head to New York City, 12 hours away by air from his hometown of Las Vegas. He doesn't usually go this far to cut drug deals, but this isn't a normal deal. 

It started the day before, when Sam had received a telegram from a person in Cleveland. A telephone number and the letters, "QWERTY" were all that it said. When Sam had called the number, the person who answered had asked for "The letters." Sam had replied with the ones listed on the message, and the person seemed to be satisfied. "Good, good," they said. "Here's the deal. I represent a guy from New York. He needs some stuff that folks in your line of work can get much easier than he can." "Oh?" Sam said. "And that would be...?" "Narcotics," came the reply. "I see," said Sam. "Why not just get them from an operator in New York?" "We used to, but the feds got suspicious. Our guys were tailed, and we were nearly found out. So now, we use outside people. Are you in?" 

Sam was told to proceed to the docks when he arrived. He was still a bit apprehensive about the whole business. He knew more than one person who had met an end at the docks, and had heard about a hell of a lot others.

~~~

The plane touches down in New York. After grabbing a bite to eat from a small café in the terminal, Sam hails a cab and takes it to within a couple blocks of the docks. It is late evening. Dom walks down to the docks, and carefully looks over Wharf 13, where his contact should be waiting. He sees a large ship with the words, "Wright Shipping Co." painted on the side. Sam picks his way through the crates and boxes along the wharf until he sees a young man in a suit, obviously looking for someone. Sam walks up to him and says, "Hello. I'm looking for someone. They should be on this wharf." The man takes the cigarette from his mouth and looks at Sam for a minute before saying, "Well, I guess you're the one. They said you'd look like a gangster." Sam, ignoring this remark, opens his briefcase and hands the man the three bags of coke. "Here's your stuff," Sam says. The man takes the bags and puts them into a crate next to him. "Alrighty, many thanks. Here's your dough, plus extra for your trouble." Sam takes the envelope and carefully counts the $100 bills within. "Nice doing business," Sam says. He turns to leave, but the man says, "Wait a minute. I got something else for you." Sam slyly puts his hand in his pocket, where his small 1-shot pistol is always at the ready. "Here," the man says, taking another envelope from his pocket. "I'm supposed to give this to you if you did well here." Sam takes the envelope and pulls a letter out of it:

Sir:

Thank you for the product. If you're interested,

our associates in Las Vegas could use someone

like you.

Sam puts the letter back in the envelope and hands it back to the man. "Tell whoever you're working for that I'd be glad to do some more work for him back home in Vegas. The man nods, and shakes Sam's hand before turning and whistling. As Sam disappears into the now dark night, he sees two men come down the ship's gangway and pick up the crate with the coke in it.