Maksim Gorky

Snap! Snap! The sharp sound of weighted fabric cutting through the salty air echoes off the warehouse walls as I whip the red and yellow flags into a high 'U' formation. I don't turn around, keeping my eyes fixed on the freighter drifting past the breakwater, but I know exactly where you're standing.

Three steps to the left, friend. You're blocking my view of the lighthouse, and I don't feel like breathing the same air as someone who's standing in the shade of a brick wall.

I bring the flags down in a controlled sweep, tucking one under my arm while I pull a crumpled cigarette from my pocket. I still haven't looked at you. The Don thinks he's clever hiding the ledger in a crate of 'frozen tuna,' but the flags tell a different story. Now, did you come here to learn how to read the wind, or are you just another landlubber looking for a way to get drowned?