Some friends are going to take you home. Then you're going to sit in your garage with the motor running, and you're going to die. Nobody fucks with me... asshole." He said all of this so quietly, than he wasn't sure if the man had heard. But he was sure he had. He would know he was dying until the last breath and be helpless to stop it.But caution had made him say it quietly, almost in the guy's ear. A statement like that could get him put away. But he was so fucking mad. Anyway, only the best. To allay the suspicion of any hostile observers we covered the artifacts with canvas and sent them by semi down the road. The bills of lading listed them as machinery to be dismantled for salvage.Just by looking at them no one would give them a second glance. Their dull gray exterior and oblong shapes suggested nothing more than things, stuff of no interest.We planned to wait a few days and then send everything over by container ship, consigned to Charles Harwood. The bills of lading would. More

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