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The Solly Solinus Case

The large storage door opened and the green Toyota Camry drove into the warehouse. The beams from the headlights broke the darkness as it edged into the building. It stopped, its engine idling. The warehouse doors closed and overhead lights were turned on, exposing the inside of the building. The engine of the car was turned off.

From behind several large packing cases, two men approached the car from the front, both with shotguns. From the rear, the two men who had opened the warehouse door also approached the vehicle. They, too, carried shotguns. The four stopped and stood watching the vehicle, the firearms by their sides. The driver’s door opened and a man removed himself from the vehicle, his coat open, fingers spread to show they were empty. He backed slowly to the passenger door and opened it. A Spanish dark-skinned man wearing a turtleneck shirt and slacks stepped out carrying a black attaché case. He placed the case on the hood of the vehicle and stepped away from the car. No one moved.

Several minutes passed before a huge man appeared, thick neck, muscular arms and torso, head shaved bald, eyes that bore into the two men standing by the car. He was holding a long, thin knife. He approached the attaché case and opened it, removed a large white bag from inside among many other such bags and stabbed a hole into it. He licked the tip of his knife and seemed to savour the contents. Apparently satisfied, he returned the bag to the case and closed it.

Another man appeared, middle-aged, dressed in a full well-cut suit, clean shaved with a thin pencil-style moustache under his Roman nose, a smile on his face and his hand outstretched ready for a shake. “You must be the Matador,” he said, “I’m Harry Greco.”