The van door slid open. Layed out across the ribbed floor were nine barley sacks, zip tied shut. Some squirmed around, others whimpered. Two men in brown jumpsuits appeared on either side of the door and looked around nervously before stepping down to the ground.
“I hate this whole-” Davy said, tugging his zipper up.
Poul cut him off. “Remember why you’re supposed to be here.”
A hard looking guard, his face as flat and hard as a brick came to inspect the van. Giving it a cursory look, he nodded in approval. “Gentlemen. Picking up or dropping off?”
Poul gritted his teeth and forced himself to duck his head in a quick bow. “Picking up, sir.”
“Good. Word is we’re overstocked as it is. You been here before?”
Poul’s eye twitched. “O-once—-but it was a long time ago.”
“No problem.” The Policeman smiled broadly and Poul shuddered. “Follow this road around the back. Shipping/Recieving is entrance E.”
“I’ll relay that to our driver.” Poul said.
“Carry on then. I imagine you have a long day ahead of you.”