by Lexy Timms
He watches as this portly man shovels the entire thing in his mouth. The customer is an older guy with a balding head covered by a greasy comb over. Sweat causes the glow of the flames to glisten on his face. His cheeks are round and puffy like a baby’s. Double chins are somewhat concealed behind a long goatee, which is also caked in tomato sauce.
Grady and Tony approach him as he slurps up a spaghetti noodle. He looks up from his plate as sauce splatters on the bib tucked into his jacket. Two brown eyes shift from one guest to the other. They stop at Grady. “Who’s this guy?” he asks, he points at the unfamiliar Grady with his fork.
“This is my cousin Grady,” Tony, the informant answers, smacking his cousin firmly on the back. “He came here all the way from Philly for work. Needs some help paying off some gambling debts.”
“That true?” the greasy man asks, taking another forkful of noodles into his mouth.
Grady lies, “Yeah, I play the ponies. Don’t have any luck, as of late.”
“Fair enough,” he turns his fork from Grady to Tony, “I want you to take your cousin out and pick up a package for me. It’s an easy job. If he can pull it off, I’ll consider him.” He stares down his nose at Grady. “You may look like a tough guy, but that don’t mean shit in this line of business. You got to have the balls for this work. Let’s see if you got ‘em.” He slides a slip of paper across the table.
Grady picks it up and reads it. Written on it in sloppy handwriting is an address. Committing it to memory, he crumples the piece of paper and tosses it back on the table. Giving the stout man a nod, he and Tony walk out of the restaurant. Once they are out in the open air, he turns to the informant. “We passed the address on our way here.” Grady turns down the street they came on and starts walking.
Tony runs ahead of him to block his path. “Wait a minute, Cuz, how do you know this is the right way?”
“I recognized the street name from our little stroll.” Grady points down the road to a green street sign hanging from a traffic light. “The address is 147 Mott Street. That sign over there says Mott Street.”
“Impressive. I always took you for an idiot,” Tony says and laughs. “Now come on, this is going to be an easy job.” Together they walk down the street to the intersection. Even in the dead of night, the traffic lights operate as they do in the day. Across the street is a glowing orange hand, but Grady ignores it. Halfway across the street, he looks back, waiting for Tony to cross. The informant runs after him, “So, what do you—”
“Quiet down,” Grady wraps his arm around the guy and pulls him close, “we’re being followed.”
Tony and Grady hold their collective breaths, listening. It’s faint, but a steady stream of wheezing comes about twenty yards back towards the restaurant. Managing to stay inconspicuous, Grady takes another glance over his shoulder. A plump and round shadow stops. It clumsily dives into an alleyway, waddling as fast as the pair of stubby legs can.
“My guess, that’s the dealer keeping an eye on us.” Grady nods in the sneak’s direction.
Tony agrees, “Yeah, Miles likes to keep a careful watch over the new recruits.”
“Miles,” Grady snickers. “The guy looks like he hasn’t walked a mile his entire life.”
“Ha, good one man!” Tony chuckles. “Just don’t let the boss hear it. Oh yeah, Miles likes to be addressed as ‘boss’, so keep that in mind too.”
“Will do,” Grady answers, making more mental notes. He looks up at each of the stoops that they pass along the street. Each of the residential mailboxes has their house numbers plastered on the steel in white lettering. The houses seem nearly identical, with minute changes made by the homeowners to make them somewhat unique. His ocean blue eyes read the numbers one by one. On the fourth house, they find it.
Tony’s the one who hops up to the door, pounding his fist.
From the other side of the door, they hear a woman shout in a raspy voice, “It’s in the mailbox!”
Tony checks the mailbox. His hand reappears with a square package the size of a CD case. Brown deli paper wraps the contents to keep them safe. The informant waves to Grady with the package in hand and bounces to the street. As his feet touch the pavement, red and blue lights start flashing. They grow brighter as a vehicle draws closer. Grady’s body tenses when he sees the familiar glow flash against the face of the house.
“No, no, not now,” Grady growls under his breath. When he turns around, he sees a patrol car parked a few feet away with two policemen stepping out. Their guns are drawn.
Across the street, Grady is able to catch the swollen sight of Miles trying to hide behind a shrub. The red and blue lights flash across his swollen face. He seems to be studying Grady, watching to see what he’ll do. With little to no option, the undercover cop does the only thing he can think of. “Book it,” he shouts to his cousin.
He takes off running down the street with Tony trailing behind him. The officers chase after the pair of criminals. Being in better shape, Grady gets farther ahead, creating space between him and the cops. When he hears the footsteps growing fainter in his ear, he glances back over his shoulder. Tony is trying to keep up, but he’s red in the face, gasping for air. Similarly, the cops also appear to be tiring. He decides to use it as an opportunity. Once an alley comes up on his right, he runs to it and ducks behind the brick wall. There, he waits.
Footsteps grow louder as someone approaches, but he knows they belong to Tony. When the informant comes into view, he grabs the guy by the collar and drags him into the alleyway. “When the cops come, I’ll tackle the one and you can get the other. Knock him out as quickly as you can.”
“No wait,” Tony objects to the plan. “These guys are in on this, it’s all staged. We wanted to make a good first impression so Miles would trust you.”
“What?” Grady shakes his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you knew,” Tony says while he rests against the wall. He’s still struggling to catch his breath.
Grady turns his attention back to the street just as the two police officers come panting into the alley. One is doubled over, holding his knees while he gasps for air. The other presses his back against the wall, using the brick for support.
“Holy shit,” the older looking of the two says between breaths. “Are all you Pittsburgh cops that fast?”
“Yeah, every single one of them,” Grady lies.
“You’re nuts,” the younger one remarks.
“Thanks, and thanks for the help.” Grady wants to knock the two guys out. Who has time for chit-chat?
“Anything to catch Dean,” the older cop says. “By the way, I’m Dan and the rookie over there is Casey. If you ever need help in the big city, we can help you out.”
“Okay.” Grady looks at both their faces, hoping their images will stick to memory.
Dan glanced back to the streets. “I don’t see Miles, but you two better hide so it looks like we lost you.”
Suddenly, Grady gets an idea. “That fat lard’ll take a while to catch up to us, unless he’s got someone else working with him. Let’s make it a bit more believable.”
“What do you mean?” Tony asks.
Grady points to the rookie. “Casey, punch me.”
“What?”
“Punch me,” he repeats himself. “Hit me in the eye. It’ll make things more believable.”
“But…I never hit anyone before.”
“It’s true,” Dan chimes in. “The poor rookie has yet to see any action in the field.”
Grady smiles. “Come on, rookie, give me your best shot.” Stupid dumb-ass.
The rookie walks up to Grady, who stands easily six inches taller. The young officer trembles, his arms look like straws when compared to the muscular, seasoned officer. Still, Casey obeys and curls his right hand into a fist. Still trembling, he winds back. He tries to focus on Grady’s right eye. The rookie swings, but closes his eyes at the last second. Knuckles connect though not where Grady had hoped. The
fist strikes.
“Ow, you mother fucker,” Grady curses, his hands reaching for his nose. He bites back a cry of pain.
His fingers feel his entire nose is bent toward the right side of his face. Blood pours out of his distorted nostrils like a red waterfall. It stains his face and hits the ground, creating a crimson puddle at his feet. Overcome with pain and rage, Grady merely reacts. He throws a punch of his own. Unlike the rookie, he hits Casey square in the eye. The blow sends the rookie flying off his feet. He comes down with a loud thud, crashing hard on his back. He does not move, he does not get back up.
Grady looks over when he hears a grunt coming off to the side. Tony’s standing over the other officer. The older cop is lying flat on his stomach, knocked out cold like the rookie. Grady’s about to speak when he catches the sound of heavy wheezing coming from the street. Whirling around, he sees Miles standing a few feet away.
Sweat’s falling from his face in a torrent, staining the collar of his shirt and underarms. He’s huffing and puffing like a fairy tale wolf. It takes him a moment to gain his composure. “That…was…amazing,” he says between his panting. “You’re so strong, man, so fierce…it’s fantastic! You’re a good man, Grady, a very good man. Perfect and fearless. Much better than you,” he points to Tony. “He’s exactly what I need in my group. Strong. Fast. Not stupid. And you can stay out of trouble.” Miles continues to pant. He wipes his forehead with the bib still around his neck.
“Thank you sir—I mean, boss.” Grady makes the slip, but Miles does not notice. He holds his hand up and then readjusts his broken nose. It hurts like hell, but it’s happened before so Grady braces for the pain, and then the release of pressure.
“Yes, come back to the restaurant,” he says, managing to stand upright. “I have a place upstairs. We need to celebrate.”
The three conscious men leave the alleyway, making their way back to the restaurant. Miles leads them through the kitchen to a flight of stairs in the back. At the top there is another door. He opens it, allowing Grady and Tony to enter his apartment. It is just as large as Grady’s back in Pittsburgh, but not quite as luxurious. The couch in the corner appears to be as old as New York City itself. Grady can see a few springs poking through the cushions. Beneath their feet the carpet is old and decrepit with some patches of rug missing. Wallpaper is peeling. Still, it is a roof over their heads.
“You boys can stay the night if you like,” Miles says as he tosses Grady a towel. “What do you drink?”
“Anything. I need one,” Grady says, still feeling the throbbing pain in his nose. Tony just nods.
“Good, good.” Miles waddles to the arch leading into the kitchen. “Lara, baby. Get three beers in here. Now!”
Grady steps out of the way to allow Lara entrance into the living room. The woman walks in with three cold ones in her hands. She stands a head over Miles without heels on. Her hair is long blond locks that hang down to her shoulders in waves. She has skin the color of cream and as smooth looking as silk. She’s beyond gorgeous. Not rough, fat or ugly like Miles. She’s wearing a friggin’ tight black dress that shows every curve and muscle on her sexy body. Dang, she didn’t belong here!
Deep pools of hazel stare only at Grady. He meets her gaze and cannot help but gape back, unable to tear his eyes away.
Chapter 4
“’Allo.” Grady forces the word out and tries to sound cool, like her beauty didn’t throw him. “Nice to meet you.”
Lara stares hard at him, probably used to guys gawking at her. She gives him a small smile. “Nice to meet you too.”
“Grady,” he blurts out. “The name’s Grady.”
Tony snorts, as if trying to warn him to smarten up. Or shut the fuck up, Grady can’t be sure.
She laughs at his nervousness. “Nice name. I’m Lara.” Her voice has a husky touch to it, slightly low and incredibly sexy. He can’t stop ogling her.
Oblivious to the two of them staring at each other, Miles snatches a beer out of her hand. “Lara, babe, I’m thirsty here.”
She’s dating that dickhead? Grady presses his lips tight together to stop himself from making a comment and fucking the whole undercover thing up.
“Right, sorry.” She rolls her eyes as she hands Tony and Grady a bottle. Her fingers linger when she gives Grady his drink. She looks up at him with her lovely eyes.
Keeping his composure, Grady opens the top and smiles. “Thanks, Lara.” He likes the way her name sounds on his lips. He wants to say it again to test it once more but manages to stop himself.
Behind them, Miles forces the bottle cap off with a thick palm. Beer suds spray from the mouth, soaking him in foam. “You stupid bitch! You did that on purpose!” He grabs her by the hair and drags her back into the kitchen. “Get me a towel before I knock your front teeth out.”
Grady gnaws at his inner cheek so he can restrain himself from decking the drug dealer. He watches as Lara shoots the portly Italian a look behind his back before she walks into the kitchen. Ignoring the burning rage in Grady’s eyes, Miles plays off his brutality. “Grady, you got a place to live?”
“I found one uptown,” he says, taking a long gulp of beer to douse his anger. “I get the keys tomorrow.” The fine NYPD gave him keys and the address already in the file. He doesn’t need to let Miles know that.
Waddling over to the old couch, the plump drug dealer sits on it and tosses the towel Lara had thrown at him on the floor. Somehow he avoids the spring poking out through the cushion as he sits. “You can sleep here for the night if you want. A one off. There’s a guest room just through that door.” He points to a closed door opposite the kitchen. “There are a couple girls in there, feel free to use ‘em.” He laughs. “We’ll take it outta yer pay.”
Grady resists the urge to roll his eyes. Lara hasn’t come back out of the kitchen. He figures she’s not going to again tonight. “I’ll take you up on the offer for a night’s rest,” Grady says, feeling fatigue creeping up on him.
Tony sets his empty beer bottle on the table. “I’m outta here now then.” He yawns. “See ya tomorrow, Grady. Good to have you in town.”
Grady nods and stands a moment after Tony leaves, unsure of what to do. He guzzles his beer and picks up Tony’s bottle. “I’ll put these in the kitchen.”
Miles waves his hand. “Don’t bother. Lara can do it later.”
Later? It’s like three or four in the morning! He carries the bottles to the empty kitchen and sets them on the counter. She’s not in the kitchen and he has no idea where she’s gone. He yawns, too tired and sore to care right at the moment.
He walks past Miles and nods as he heads to the bedroom offered to him. He should be checking the place out for bugs and what drugs are in the house but it’ll have to wait a couple hours. He just needs a bit of sleep. He reaches to open the door, but the brass knob falls off as soon as he touches it. Pushing the door open with his shoulder, he finds the room even worse than the previous one. The carpet and walls are the same color of faded beige. Cracks dance across the ceiling with pieces of plaster missing just above the bed. Through the hole Grady can see a network of copper pipes and wiring for the electric and water. Along with a queen-sized bed, there is a couch. This one appears to be in better condition than the one in the living room, except stuffing is falling out of one of the cushions, like a row of bullets ripped the material covering it.
Grady walks over to the bed and pulls off the pile of sheets. Underneath are two naked women. With their bodies sprawled out over top of one another they look to be more unconscious than asleep. One looks up at the ceiling with her eyes open, but rolled into the back of her head with only the whites visible. Grady can see the remnants of white powder around their nostrils and above their lips. A half-finished row lays carelessly on the glass-top end table beside the bed.
Just the thought of what they had been doing makes his nose itch. When he goes to scratch, he is met with a shot of pain from touching the broken cartilage. He shouts an obscen
ity, but neither girl stirs.
Stepping around the bed, he heads for the other door in the room. The knob manages to hold in his grasp. He turns it like normal, but it pops off when he tries to pull the door open. “Bull shit,” he grumbles under his breath, and tosses the brass to the floor. It bounces loudly and rolls underneath the bed. His only option is to stick his finger through the open door hole. The door creaks open as he pulls on it. Splinters dig into the space between his index finger and thumb, making him curse again. Gnashing his teeth, he forces the door open. He’d rather leave but that would be too suspicious.
He flicks on the light, and watches as a few cockroaches scatter into the dark corners of the bathroom. Ignoring the insects, he walks over to the sink. Around the mouth of the sink are traces of the same white powder under the nose of the two girls passed out on the bed. He wipes it away and looks at himself in the mirror. A crack running down the glass distorts the image somewhat, but he can still see the damage done by the rookie. He fixed his nose earlier but it’s still swollen and crooked. Beneath it is a mustache of dried blood.
He pulls his shirt off and hangs it on the hook by the mirror. Taking a thumb to either side of the broken nose, he applies pressure and tries to reset the cartilage. Pain rushes across his face like a flood, causing him to shout and curse. Trying his best to ignore it, he pushes further. As the nose bends back into place, the pain intensifies. It becomes too much for him, forcing him to stop. The broken nose slides right back into the original spot, making his efforts for naught. Another thrust of pain hits him, throbbing as if he has a headache. To combat it, he punches the sink and swears.
“What the hell are you doing?” he hears a woman say.
Thinking it’s one of the girls passed out, he looks to the bedroom. He sees Lara standing at the door by the living room. She’s leaning on the wall of the bathroom, with her arms folded. He watches her glance at the pair of naked girls passed out on the bed and shakes her head. Then she turns her attention back on him.
