[Lakot]

Louis Rhodes stood at the side of the pilothouse as the Horizon puttered away from the line of ships moored just beyond the 12-mile limit of U.S waters. He tucked a cigarette behind his ear and ran a hand through his black hair, letting out a tired sigh. "Christ this was easier before the Feds moved the line to twelve miles out" he mused as he tapped on the roof of the pilothouse. "Once we're a half-mile from Rum Row, open 'er up" he said to his pilot. "Gershwin needs a new shipment or all those little flapper girls of his are going to pitch a fit".

Louis Rhodes was a Rumrunner, and he was very good at it. He had come from a long line of fishermen before Prohibition had hit and he decided to drop out of the trade and grab a piece of the Gin-soaked pie. His new business had been more than profitable, he made more in his first month than he made in a year. It wasn't without it's dangers, running at night without lights wasn't the wisest of ideas and other runners were keen to increase their profits my decreasing the competition. Then there was the whole 'illegality' thing. Rhodes glanced as he steadied himself in the small chop, the lights of the anchored Canadian ships were getting farther and farther away.

There was a small clomping of booted feet to his left. He turned to reagrd a sandy-haired, grease stained boy dressed in a mechanic jumpsuit. "Engines are purring like kittens" he said with a smile as he wiped his hands on the railing.

"Good, but they better be roaring like tigers if we need them too, things have been getting hot since Solonik started moving in on Kerrigan" Rhodes was rewarded for his caution with a rag to the face.

"Ey, I know those engines inside and out and they'll be roaring like lions when you open up that throttle" he grumbled as he stalked off back into the bowels of the ship. Rhodes only sighed and looked up at the brilliant stars, they'd be racing the dawn into Portland again.