Hustler_A Second Chance Romance

by Rye Hart

  “Shane?” she asked. “Did you forget to pay the gas bill or something?”

  Fuck. I pulled my hands away from Piper's face and placed them over mine instead.

  “I'll handle it, Emily.”

  “We don't have any hot water and I need to shower – ”

  “I'm sorry, not much I can do about it tonight,” I said.

  I thought I had at least a couple more days to scrape together the cash, but I'd been wrong. Obviously. Shit. I hated that happened right in front of Piper too. Nolan and Emily started shouting at each other. Emily was pissed at me, Nolan was defending me. It seemed like it was an endless cycle of arguing, no matter what I did these days.

  “I think that's my cue to get going,” Piper said softly. She gave me a quick peck on my lips. “But call me. Maybe we can meet over at my place next time.”

  “That would be nice,” I said.

  She ran her hands through my hair as she walked through the dining room, and I stood, following behind. Her tight little ass swished in the dress as she walked, and I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was stunning. Every bit as beautiful as she'd been back then – if not more so.

  When she glanced over her shoulder, it hit me that no, she was definitely hotter now. The new, curvier Piper was more gorgeous than I could have ever imagined. She smiled, knowing I was checking her out from behind. I just shrugged and gave her a smile.

  “Call me,” she purred as she stepped through to door.

  “I will.”

  ***

  “You're sure there's nothing available?” I asked. “I mean, I'll do anything. No job is too small, right?”

  I paced the living room of our shitty little apartment with the phone pressed to my ear, looking through the dirty, cracked window, to the parking lot below. More specifically, at my not working car sitting there taunting me.

  “I'm sorry, Mr. Jackson,” she replied. “We don't have anything available as of this moment. Maybe try us back in a few weeks and see if we have anything open then.”

  I sighed. “Okay, thank you.”

  I didn't have a few weeks – I was quickly running out of days. With the cupboards bare, the rent coming due, and the stack of bills on the table only getting thicker, things were looking bad. We'd already crossed grim and were quickly approaching dire.

  Back in the day, I thought I knew what desperate was. I needed a new pair of jeans. I needed that girl's number. I needed a car. I needed – things that now, with some perspective and hindsight, seem entirely frivolous. Stupid, even.

  Yeah, the troubles of my youth in no way prepared me for that trials and tribulations of adulthood. Now that our parents were dead and I was tasked with caring for two young kids – trying to keep a family together, a roof over our heads, the electricity on, and food in our bellies. – I knew what real troubles were.

  Now, I knew what real desperation felt like.

  I tossed my phone onto the table and let out a growl of frustration – which seemed to echo around the apartment about as loud as the growl in my belly. We didn't have much, but what we did have food-wise, I had to make sure to feed Nolan and Emily with. They came first. I'd figure out something to eat for myself later.

  The problem was that I had nothing to give them for dinner. The thought of sending them to bed hungry simultaneously broke my heart and filled with with a rage I knew was entirely impotent. I didn't even know who to be mad at. Should I be mad at myself for not being a better provider? At my siblings for being entirely dependent upon me for everything? My parents for dying and leaving us in this position in the first place? Who should I be mad at?

  It was a shit situation that none of us had asked for. There was no way I was going to willingly send my brother and sister back into the system. I would keep doing whatever I could do to make it work. There was nothing to do but keep moving forward. One foot in front of the other.

  I stood in the middle of the living room and ran my hands through my hair, letting out a long breath. My mind was spinning in a thousand different directions and I was having trouble holding on to just one threat of thought. Everything just seemed so utterly overwhelming at the moment.

  As I stood there thinking, I smelled the unmistakable odor of pot. Tim. As the odor grew stronger, I thought back a couple of days to his job offer. Well – pseudo-job offer. When I'd turned him down, it was because I knew he was asking me to do something illegal. To mule drugs for him. I'd been a little self-righteous about it. Maybe even a little uppity.

  Part of it was that I didn't want to be mixed up in any trouble. I didn't want to do anything that would jeopardize my family. The last thing we needed or wanted, was for me to get arrested hauling drugs and sent to jail. Nolan and Emily would end up back in the system in a heartbeat if that happened.

  But, that day, I'd also been sure I'd find a new job without a problem. I'd been full of confidence. Turns out, I was only full of shit. And now, looking at an empty refrigerator, not knowing how I was going to feed two hungry kids tonight, my thinking had been forced to change a bit.

  Now, I truly was at the end of my rope and desparate.

  I let out another long breath and walked to the door slowly, giving myself time to think of something else. Time to think of some way out of doing what I was considering doing. By the time I'd opened the door and stepped into the hall though, nothing had come to me.

  “I've got no choice,” I muttered to myself.

  Closing the door behind me, I walked down the hall and came to Tim's place. His front door was open, music was playing, and the odor of pot was stronger than ever. It was so strong, it smelled like he was burning it on an open grill in there. I waved a cloud away and knocked on his door.

  “Hey Tim,” I called into his place as the door swung open.

  “Hey, man,” he said.

  “You – uhhh – you got a minute?”

  “Yeah, man,” he replied. “C'mon in.”

  I stepped into his place and felt my head swimming. Good thing I hadn't gotten a job because I didn't know if I'd pass a drug test because of the contact high. Jimmy was reclining on his couch in nothing but a pair of black shorts. He had long, blonde hair he kept tied back in a ponytail and a full beard. He was thin, almost gaunt, and had dull green eyes and pale skin. He was kind of a greasy looking guy – the type of guy who just looks like he sits around smoking pot all day.

  “What can I do for ya?” he asked, offering me a hit of his joint.

  I shake my head. “Pass, but thanks, man,” I said. “Listen, the other day, you said you might have some work and wanted to know if I was interested?”

  He nodded, his wide smile flashing a mouthful of yellowed teeth. “Yeah,” he said. “I remember.”

  “Yeah,” I said, my stomach feeling queasy – though, I didn't know if it was from the pot or just plain nerves, “I was kind of hoping you still had some work that needs to be done?”

  Grabbing the remote off his stomach, he shut off the music and sat up, his eyes more alert than I think I'd ever seen them before. They narrowed a little bit as he looked at me, and that smile of his became a little more predatory. I suddenly felt like I'd made a mistake and my brain was telling me to turn and run – though everything else in me told me to stay. That I needed to be able to feed my siblings.

  “Yeah, yeah, man,” he said. “I always need good men – discreet men – to help me out with some small errands here and there.”

  “Well, I think I'd be interested in it,” I said. “I kind of need some work.”

  He nods as if he understood. “Yeah, it's a tough job market out there right now.”

  A tough job market that's only worse in a small town like Walter, where there are only so many jobs to go around in the first place. Not that I thought Tim knew much about the job market out there to begin with, given the fact that he sold dope.

  “Right,” I said. “I kind of need to make some quick cash, so I was hoping that offer still stood.”

  He looks at his wa
tch and nodded. “Yeah, you have great timing, actually,” he said. “I was just about to call another courier, but since you're here, I might as well give you a test run.”

  “I just need to make a little cash until something else comes through,” I said, letting him know I wasn't in this for the long-term. “I'm still trying to find a regular job.”

  Tim waved me off. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, man,” he said. “No problem.”

  “So, when do I start?”

  Tim let out a bark of laughter. “Eager beaver. A real go-getter,” he said. “I like that.”

  I shrugged. “I've got a brother and sister to feed.”

  Tim nodded, giving me a look that said he understood. I really doubted he did. He got up off the couch and walked into the bedroom. I heard him rustling around in there and a couple of minutes later, he came out holding a black backpack. He tosses it to me. It was heavier than I expected.

  “Okay, before we get started, there are a couple of ground rules here,” he said.

  I nodded, waiting for him to lay out the rules for me. The weight of the pack in my hands was heavy and sent an ominous chill rolling through me. I was really doing this. I was going to be a drug mule. I couldn't even believe it.

  Standing there in Tim's living room, with a bag full of drugs in my hand, I gained a new understanding of the phrase, desperate times call for desperate measures.

  “First, you need to make sure this bag stays with you at all times,” Tim said. “Do not leave it anywhere. Not even in your car if you stop to take a piss. This bag goes with you everywhere. It's like a part of your fuckin' being now, man.”

  “Got it,” I replied.

  “Second, you are to get the bag to the location within two hours of when I hand it off to you,” he said. “The customer will be waiting and watching the clock.”

  “Two hours?”

  Tim nodded. “That gonna be a problem?”

  I think about my car sitting out back. Granted, Walter wasn't that big of a town to begin with. You could probably walk from one end to town to the other in two hours. But, it might be close.

  “It could be,” I admitted. “My car's not working right now.”

  A frown creased Tim's face. “Got a bike?”

  I wanted to kick myself for not thinking of it sooner. Buried in the garage downstairs was my old mountain bike. I nodded.

  “Yeah, I do,” I said.

  “Then, you'll have no problem working in that time frame.”

  “Nope,” I said. “Shouldn't be a problem at all. Anything else?”

  “Yeah, one more thing,” he said. “Under no circumstances are you to open the bags I give you. None. You are to take them from me and drop them off where I tell you. Clear?”

  I gave him a thumbs up. “Crystal.”

  I had no desire to look into the bag in the first place. I'm muling pot. Big deal. I mean, it is a big deal if the cops stop me and find out what's in the backpack. But, I've never been in trouble and haven't ever been on the radar of the police around here, so the likelihood of me getting stopped was probably pretty slim. To them, I'd probably just be another guy riding his bike through town. Which suited me just fine.

  “Okay, the last thing I'm going to need,” Tim said, “is for you to take a drug test for me.”

  My mouth fell open and I stared at him, not sure I'd actually heard him correctly. There was an awkward silence between us for a moment and then Tim erupted in laughter. He laughed long and hard, doubling over and slapping his knee. A nervous chuckle escaped me, though I wasn't sure what was so funny.

  “I'm kidding, man,” he said. “I'm just yanking your chain. A drug test? Seriously?”

  An awkward grin touched my lips and I suddenly felt stupid for not catching on to it sooner. A drug test from a guy I was going to be muling drugs for. Yeah, great. Maybe I had to be high to appreciate the attempt at a joke. Or, maybe I was just so twisted up and high strung about what I was doing that I wasn't going to find anything funny at all.

  His laughter finally faded away and he wiped at his eyes, shaking his head. “You should've seen your face, man.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Funny.”

  Tim clapped his hands together. “Okay then,” he said. “Time to earn your money.”

  “Speaking of that – ”

  “Relax, man,” he said. “I'll take care of you. I'll make sure it's worth your while.”

  “And worth the risk?”

  He nodded. “Absolutely,” he said. “Trust me.”

  Trust wasn't something I typically handed out all that easy. I've learned the hard way, that you can't really trust people. Especially somebody who deals in the shady side of things like Tim. But, it's not like I had a lot of options at the moment. Not if I wanted to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies.

  “Okay,” I said. “Two hours.”

  He handed me a slip of paper with an address written on it. “Take the bag here,” he said. “Make sure you give it to Harry – and nobody but Harry.”

  “I'm on it.”

  ***

  It was another scorcher of a day and sweat was rolling off of me in sheets. My shirt clung to me uncomfortably and I was a nervous wreck. My breath caught in my throat and my heart thundered inside of me when I cycled toward a cop, standing there, leaning against his car drinking from a bottle of water.

  As I drew even with him, he eyed me up and down. Eyed me a little too closely, which made my heart thump even harder. I was sure he could hear it.

  “Afternoon,” he said.

  “Officer,” I replied.

  “Make sure you stay hydrated, son,” he said. “It's hotter than Hades out here.”

  “Will do,” I said. “Thank you, sir.”

  As I cycled past, I let out a long breath of relief and wiped the sweat from my brow. It took me a little more than an hour to find the place. It was on the far side of town – the literal wrong side of the tracks. It shouldn't have surprised me that the bag was going to somebody down there. Crime and drugs were rampant in the area.

  Even though I'd memorized the address, I checked the paper one more time before stopping my bike in front of a run down house. It had once been a cornflower blue, but the paint was sun bleached and peeling. Thick bars were fastened over every window, the yard was overgrown with weeds that reached my thigh, and there were several cars in various states of disrepair in the driveway and nestled among the tall weeds.

  I leaned my bike against a wooden fence that was missing more boards than it had left, and wondered about the wisdom of leaving it there. After a brief second thought, and not wanting to find it gone when I got back, I wheeled it up and leaned it against the cracked, broken column that stood on the porch.

  Stepping up to a thick metal security door, I fought back a wave of nervous energy, and knocked. A dog somewhere deeper in the house barked, a deep, angry sound that sent chills along my skin. The deep woofing drew closer and I started to grow even more nervous. Getting mauled by a big dog was not on my to-do list for the day.

  From behind the door, I heard a man's voice yelling – probably at the dog – and the barking stopped. A moment later, the door opened and from behind the metal bars of the security door, a tall, fat man with long, greasy gray hair and a goatee stared back at me.

  “The fuck you want, preppy?” he snapped.

  I looked down at my jeans and black t-shirt, feeling like anything but a preppy. But, considering he was only wearing a pair of cut off blue jean shorts, his large belly hanging over the waist band, I suppose I was dressed to the nines.

  “You Harry?”

  His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. He took a long drag of his cigarette, pinning me to my spot with a hard gaze. He didn't speak for a long moment, just blew a thick plume of smoke into my face. I exhaled, waving the cloud of smoke away and tried to not cough.

  “Who's asking?” he finally said.

  “Tim sent me,” I said, hacking just a little bit. “I have a delivery f
or Harry.”

  Immediately, the man's face brightened and he smiled, showing me a mouth full of rotting teeth – or rather, what was left of his rotting teeth. He only had three or four left.

  “Well, why the fuck didn't you say so up front?” he said.

  I shrugged. “New at this, I guess.”

  He opened the door a crack and stuck his hand out. “Lemme have it.”

  I stepped back a step and looked at him. “You are Harry, right?”

  A dark look crossed his face. “You want to see my fuckin' ID, kid?”

  I was a little hesitant to hand it over. The last thing I needed was to be wrong and hand the bag over to the wrong person. Given the fact that I was new at this, I didn't know Tim's regular customers – didn't know anything, really. I should have at least asked for a description before pedaling off.

  “If it wouldn't be too much trouble,” I said. “Yeah, can I see some ID?”

  The man gaped at me for a long moment and then started to laugh. “Fuckin' newbies,” he muttered.

  He turned and walked back into the house and returned with his wallet though. He took out a driver's license and showed it to me – two years expired. But, the picture was him and the name, “Harold Raymer” was clearly visible. It was him.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I appareciate – ”

  “Great,” he cut me off. “Gimme my lunch and get the fuck outta here, newbie.”

  I held up the bag and he snatched it from my hand, then slammed the door in my face. I suddenly felt really sorry for any pizza delivery guy who came by Harry's place. Walking my bike back out to the street, I climbed on and took off. Not having that albatross of a backpack around my neck felt great. I didn't have to worry about getting stopped in the street and hauled off to prison.

  Now, I just had to hope Tim held up his end of the bargain and paid me well.

  ***

  “Excellent work, Shane,” he said. “You're back in under two hours. That's got to be some sort of a record with the little shits I usually deal with. Nicely done, man.”