He was a good street fighter. He missed me though and I hit his noise but just enough to make it bleed.He stopped to wipe his nose and said, "You cock...sucker. Maybe we'll try your pretty ass." Your welcome to try."He swung again but one of his gang moved to block me from moving. I blocked both punches and gave them a tap that stung rather than hurt. Flick was angry now and bellowed. I had moved away from my group to get more room. Flick came again and I blooded his nose a bit more but there was. I didn't know or care what was in the crate. My cargo was sewn into the lining of my jacket.Neither of us spoke a word as I paid the smuggler, in US Dollars, for getting me safely to shore. A short climb up to Riverside Street, then a trudge up the hill, back toward the English Channel, through overhanging trees. I went through a latched gate, and suddenly, I was out in the open on a footpath, moving steadily upward as I neared the mouth of the estuary.My life as a confidential courier is often. More

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