Many hours later saw early dawn light creeping over the horizon. The red-orange glow of sunrise chased away concealing shadows permitting illicit dealings under moon’s guidance. For those public servants and humble workers, dawn brought comfort of darkness' shroud lifting allowing decent lives recommence without ominous threats. But for scheming souls twilight expiration signalled hurried covering of illegal tracks built through temptation of darker opportunities.

“Rhaatid, day cleaning crew going to wake up soon now!” grumbled Killz in annoyance as he finished concealing loaded crates inside weathered panel truck nearby. These supplies were meant for discreet circulation among his chained contacts this morning. But another profitable venture had occupied his full attention - namely patronage from a newly recruited courier ripe for exploitation.

Killz glanced over at Devon still seated blearily atop warehouse rooftop against exhaust vents - the location where hours earlier he had generously hosted the naive youth over expensive rum and cigars. They had laughed loudly, traded exaggerated tales and forged superficial bonds of brotherly trust masking true motives as amber liquid soothed away better judgements.

Now the coming workday left little time remaining to utilize this country bumpkin towards expanding Killz’s enterprise. At least the dolt had proven properly malleable once inebriated into obedience. It was all too easy lowering guards through intoxicants and appealing rewards. The poor lad practically drooled hearing promises of big paydays and exotic women. Stupidity was its own just punishment after all.

“Yo Devon, stop daydreaming and come sign for yuh package! Delivery time short.” Killz beckoned impatiently to the disoriented figure struggling to stand upright. The alcohol had done its job weakening willpower and dulling mental defences - now was moment to issue instructions before blackout stupor took hold. Through bleary, bloodshot eyes Devon peered over roof ledge to see Killz holding a thin metallic briefcase expectantly.

“Oh right... di special delivery.” Devon yawned groggily and made his way unsteadily down rusted ladder towards where the gang lord stood tapping one foot. “Sorry chief, guess di rum hit me harder than expected. What do you need mi to deliver?” He reached to accept the briefcase handle.

“Eyes here, pup!” Killz yanked the container out of reach abruptly and cracked the lid meaningfully. “Yuh agreed to provide pickup service but by accepting goods also accept conditions, dig?” His smile held no humour. “Meaning no interfering with seals or contents privately. Yuh job is speed and silence bringing valuables from Point A to Point B, zeen?”

Blinking blearily, Devon struggled processing terms through the pounding alcohol haze clouding his cognition. What was Killz going on about with contracts and points? He had mainly agreed to grab some package, deliver the goods under radar then collect payment, right? All these vague restrictions and minutiae were giving him a splitting migraine!

“Y-yeah chief, zeen...” Devon massaged his temples, willing lucid thoughts to congeal. “Mum’s di word, maximum efficiency... all dat.” This latest errand seemed more complicated than expected. But he still needed to follow the trail on Skull’s supply web at all costs.

“Enough talk. Sign here!” Killz passed a digital ledger requiring fingerprints confirmation of timed acceptance. After Devon messily provided biometric proof, the locked briefcase finally exchanged hands. “Now throw on yuh helmet and carry dis to 78 Birdsucker Lane before six am sharp,” Killz instructed briskly. “Client name Wendel. Him paranoid so no deviations allow!”

“78 Birdsucker Lane... before six...” Devon committed details to memory through supreme force of will. This pending run held deeper significance than personal profit or pains. He had sworn an oath not long ago promising to uphold deeper honour in protection of the innocent. That vow mustn't become compromised by fleeting failings of mortal constitution. Live up to your colours, speedster!

“Yes, chief.” Devon managed to respond without slurring and noticed the first hints of orange sunrise light creeping over shadowed rooftops in the distance. “M-me soon reach inna time, no worries.”

His assurance seemed to satisfy Killz who gave customary gang salute before turning towards the battered warehouse. “Good man. Just holla if any complications arise. We wired in together now, family.” With that, the dealer disappeared inside while dialling next criminal contacts eagerly. Devon was left scrutinizing the unremarkable briefcase in his grasp and wondering what contraband lay sealed within. Then disregarding temptation towards contents, he slipped on helmet and revved delivery bike to begin urgent solitary ride into breaking dawn. The night’s unseen labours were culminating at last.

***

Vroom...Vroom!

Engine rumbling, Devon brought the motorcycle to a stop several houses down from his early morning destination located in a middle class suburban community. Strange that Killz had high priority clients in regions like this instead outright ghettos. Then again the whole illegal neon pill trade encompassed users from all backgrounds and districts - disillusioned youth, recreational thrill-seekers, working professionals attempting to gain edges through risky experimentation. Only fools assumed dangerous stereotypes without assessing unique contexts.

“I hate doing this, but finding Cain and putting an end to the neon dust distribution is a must. Thankfully, mi have this juicy girl to keep me going.” With drools leaking from the corners of his lips, Devon glanced down at a neatly wrapped sandwich in his hand, moreover, smelt the delicious aroma. “Mmm, mama sure knows how to brighten up my mornings.” Before coming here, Devon blurred back home in a rush before his mother could awake to find him absent from his room. As luck would have, he arrived just in time to maintain his cover as well as pack a few of his mother’s tasty breakfast. He lied about having early track practice and bolted off, which led up to this current scenario.

Flipping helmet visor up and taking a huge bite of his sandwich, Devon scrutinized the unassuming split-level house bearing number 78 Birdsucker Lane. The property looked nearly identical to neighbouring units with well-trimmed hedges and little ornamentation beyond a leaning palm tree and small flagstone path leading inside wrought iron gate up to covered entrance. What secrets lay concealed in dull walls like these? His amplified instincts detected no obvious surveillance or security systems beyond intermittent neighbourhood watch patrols. But covert countermeasures likely operated unseen to protect this haven’s confidential purpose from prying outsiders.

"What to do now... maybe case the surroundings?" Easing the motorcycle closer towards concealing foliage, Devon checked wrist console and noted barely twenty minutes remained before expected meeting at 6:00 am with the mysterious client named Wendel. If intake scenarios unfolded anything like the tense interactions at Killz's hideout, anxious reception was assured for any courier associated with contraband delivery. This Wendel character likely proved equally paranoid and dangerous despite reserved residence.

‘Have to play things smooth...’ Devon thought while cautiously approaching the property perimeter through shadows. His instructions forbade directly contacting the homeowner to announce delivery. So options were either illegally trespassing onto private grounds now to covertly leave briefcase at front door with expectation of retrieval soon... or alternatively loitering roadside till owner emerged by chance to swap goods discreetly. Both meant looming here uncomfortably while battling headache noggin.

Five o’clock soon became fifteen past... which shifted towards half past as Devon leaned against a dewy hedge checking his phone every few seconds impatiently. Where was this blasted Wendel? And how much longer could both briefcase and courier linger in sole vicinity before raising wider suspicion? The passing paperboy had already given Devon an odd look when collecting recyclables earlier. The entire situation was becoming ridiculous waiting upon some reclusive criminal afraid of morning sunshine!

"Last chance before I jet..." Devon cleared his throat loudly while inputting Killz’s code name into a  call app wondering if boss had alternate contact means for wasteful housemate. This was impacts of amateur operations - utterly thoughtless directives wasted the time of everyone down distribution ladder! He would have firm talk later with Killz about optimizing professional...

Creeaakkk!

Metal gate scraping loudly interrupted Devon's irritated ramblings. He glanced up to glimpse someone emerging from the house's shadowy interior at last.