by T Gephart
“I wasn’t insinuating you wanted to fuck me, I just really prefer to sleep on my own,” she mumbled in the dark, my eyes already closed as I tried to ignore her.
“Well, you’re shit out of luck then.” I kept my eyes closed, hoping she’d take the hint and knock off the noise so we both could get some sleep.
I’d never been entirely comfortable sleeping—too vulnerable—opened you right up to bad things. But I hadn’t managed to find a reliable way of getting around the bodily need. Sure, there were drugs I could take. Cokeheads could stay awake for days at a time, but it was also hard to run a reliable business when you were snorting Colombian candy.
“Are we going to be here awhile?”
Surprise, surprise she had a question. Seriously, I’m not sure why I assumed she’d just go to fucking sleep.
“For now.”
“Until when? Are you waiting for something?”
“You’ll be here until you’re not. That’s all you need to know.”
Truth was, I had no fucking idea how long she was going to be hiding out. All depended on what her father had planned. Originally it was going to be at most a couple of weeks, but if Jimmy were smart he’d get her out ASAP.
And while I knew she was probably churning a million variables in her head, she did us both a favor and kept them to herself.
It took a while, but she finally drifted off, her breathing evening out and the grip on the comforter loosening. It was only when I was sure she was out for the count that I allowed myself to relax.
It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t out of some deep-rooted need to protect her either. Short of locking ourselves into Fort Knox, we weren’t going to be any more protected than we already were. Besides, I could count the number of people who knew about my connection to this place on three fingers—two of them were in this bed and the other was buried in Rosehill Cemetery.
No, the real reason it was hard for me to power down was I didn’t sleep with anyone.
Ever.
After I fucked, I left and no girl was ever invited back to my house. That was a complication I didn’t need. So having another human beside me, conscious or otherwise, was making my skin feel too tight.
Such bullshit. If I could watch a man bleed out from a stab wound, I could lay beside a fucking human being and go to sleep. In the end, biology took over; my eyes unable to resist the long blinks I had going on. And whether or not I was comfortable with the situation, my body unplugged from my brain and went lights out.
***
My phone buzzed, vibrating beside the bed demanding attention. Sofia stirred a little, but if she was awake she kept her eyes tightly shut as she rolled over onto her side. It was better to be honest; I wasn’t the friendliest in the mornings, even less so if I had to deal with a face-to-face.
“Yeah.” I lifted my ass off the mattress and walked toward the bathroom on the other side of the room.
It wasn’t my concern about her getting enough sleep that ejected me out of the bed, whether she was disturbed by my voice or not didn’t bother me. But I had no idea who was on the other end of the phone. Not that the walls between the two rooms were thick enough to block out my conversation, but it would afford me some sense of privacy.
“Michael, it’s been too long, my man.”
Yeah, not long enough.
Brendon Chambers was a special sort of crazy. He dealt heavily in H and Meth and liked to sample his product. Which meant he was unreliable, and high most of the time. And I was also fairly sure he’d fried whatever was left of that brain of his too, so talking to him was like conversing with a two-year-old.
“I’ve been busy.” It was my generic response that translated loosely to, I-don’t-give-a-fuck-so-cut-to-the-chase.
“Yeah? Anytin’ interesting?” He coughed out a ridiculous laugh that sounded more like his lung was trying to eject via his throat.
“What do you want, Brendon?” I assumed I was going to have to be literal with this juiced-up motherfucker, because I had no interest in shooting the shit with him or anyone else this early in the morning. Scratch that, make that ever.
“I was just tryin’ to make conversation, yo. Bein’ polite. You lose your manners, dawg?”
Was it the drugs talking or was he really just trying to piss me off? Either way, I’d never been known for my patience, so high or not, this was coming to a very quick finale.
“You know I never had manners, and I’m allergic to conversation, so spare us both.”
“You on your period, dude?” He had the fucking nerve to sound surprised. “Okay, okay. So, I need a favor.”
“I don’t do favors, Brendon.”
“Fine, fine. I have a job then.”
Considering I was still ass deep in my last one, I wasn’t exactly looking to extend my services elsewhere. Especially not to a junkie who last I heard had cash flow problems.
“I’m not currently in the market.”
“Bullshit. You’re always in the market.” More maniacal laughter, the dipshit completely missing that the only joke here was him.
“Don’t tell me what I am, asshole. I’m not in the mood.”
“So the rumors be true den, huh? You holed up wit Jimmy’s little girl? You fucked her yet? I heard she was a nice piece of ass.” For someone who a few seconds ago was giggling his ass off for no reason, he sounded surprisingly lucid.
“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Brendon,” I deadpanned, sounding almost bored.
Sure I could have denied it, flat-out lied, but last thing I needed was more complications. And given that I wasn’t in the habit of telling anyone my business at the best of times, the response he got was one hundred percent what he would have expected.
“Maybe I heard wrong then?” He tested the waters, seeing if I wouldn’t give up a little more than the nothing I’d already given him.
“Maybe.” He was getting jack shit.
“But the job part was legit, though. Like I have something for you.”
“What is it and how much?”
While it seemed dumb to even entertain the idea, maybe this little side venture might actually help me out. See, the fucktard on the other side of the phone had a big-ass mouth.
Huge.
Couldn’t keep it shut unless he was unconscious.
Which meant if I did this job for him, he would blab to anyone who would listen, which might inadvertently take some of the heat off my ass. After all, if I was guarding Jimmy Amaro’s princess, I wouldn’t leave her to do some tweeker’s dirty work, now would I?
“Two K.” He blew out a slow breath. “I need you to deliver somethin’.”
“I’m not UPS. Stop wasting my time.” My finger hovered over the end button on my phone, wondering if the moron had anything else to say. Because what he had said so far hadn’t wowed me.
“I know that, M but this shit isn’t the kind of stuff I can FedEx.” His voice suddenly turned serious. “I got one hundred pills—Oxy—I need you to drop them off for me. That’s it. Easy. And the two grand is yours.”
Awesome.
Drugs.
No need to ask how he’d acquired them, the less I knew the better.
“It’s a hundred pills; why not drop them off yourself?” I mean, really? He was going to pay me two grand to essentially be a runner? Not that I gave a shit either way how anyone spent their money, but surely getting off his ass would save him a hell of a lot of cash. And time. He could have already delivered them by now.
“Because it’s my ex-wife, and she has a restraining order out on me. I’m not worried about the cops, they can suck my dick, but my old lady is packing. I go anywhere near her place and she is going to shoot me. She’s done it before, she’ll do it again.”
I literally shook my head. What the fuck was I listening to? It was like a bad ghetto drama.
“Why the fuck do you want me to deliver Oxy to your ex-wife?”
Not sure why I asked, call me curious.
“Alim
ony. She doesn’t get those pills and all hell will break loose. Come on, dawg. Do me a solid, will you?”
Alimony? I guess paying someone a monthly check for food and rent was a little outdated these days.
“Fine. I want the cash up front.” Seriously, I needed my head examined. “No fucking surprises, Brendon.”
“No surprises. All good. She’ll probably give you a blowjob for free.”
“I’m not interested in your ex-wife blowing me.”
“Your loss, man, she has skills. One thing I miss about the fucking bitch.” He almost sounded sentimental.
“Whatever. See you in two hours.”
It had been a tough call. Take the job, leaving Sofia on her own and possibly walk into a trap, or refuse and have the dip shit confirm what he suspected—that I had her. It was a gamble either way, but I wasn’t going to sit on my hands. Hopefully getting back on the streets would give me a better feel for the situation, maybe even yield some intel. As long as I kept my eyes open and my senses sharp, the outcome would be favorable.
Considering I was already in the bathroom, I figured I’d jump in the shower. My fingers cranked the faucets, the cold water hitting my skin as I entered the stall. I never really bothered waiting for the water to heat up—just get in, get clean and get out. Besides, I still had the other problem to deal with.
The one that was still in my bed.
She wasn’t the kind of girl to sit still and wait, which meant that me leaving brought up a whole new set of problems. Tying her up could always works as a solution, but the warehouse didn’t have a basement like the Brownstone did.
Shutting off the faucet, I toweled off and slung the towel around my waist. My clothes were in the other room, which meant the redress was going to have to happen with an audience. And it wouldn’t be the first time.
Sofia was sitting up in bed when I walked in, her hair mussed from sleep while her knees were up tight against her chest. From the look on her face, I was confident she’d heard part of my conversation, which is why she probably looked like she wanted to run. Smart girl. And me leaving meant . . .
“I have a job to take care of today.” I grabbed my jeans from the floor and pulled them on, not bothering with boxers or to look at her. The towel fell from my waist as I yanked them up. I didn’t bother flashing my cock this time. There wasn’t time to play games, and to be honest; I was short on the motivation. “Not sure how long I’ll be gone. You’re staying here obviously.”
“Are you going to lock me up?” To her credit her voice didn’t wobble, just asking me the question we’d both been considering.
“Nope.” My fingers zipped up my fly. I didn’t bother with a shirt, knowing I could grab one on the way out.
“Nope?” she echoed, no doubt not what she’d expected to hear.
“The way I figure it, you have had enough opportunities to run and you’ve been smart.” I turned to look at her. “If you do decide to go, know that I won’t try to follow you. We both know you probably won’t make it twenty-four hours on your own, so your best chance is to stay with me. Now, if I leave and you decide that plan doesn’t sit right with you, then that will be on you. But I won’t lock you up.”
It was another gamble, but I was giving her the choice. If she ran, then that was on her but I wasn’t going to tie her up. Maybe some sick part of me was curious, wanting to see if she’d prefer to be with me than an unknown alternative. Can’t say if I were her that I wouldn’t take my chances. But we weren’t the same type of person. And maybe it was a good time to remember that.
“Thank you.” I watched as her body relaxed, her eyes filled with what looked to me like gratitude. Not what I wanted from her.
“Don’t thank me, Sofia. I’m not your fucking savior.”
I didn’t give her a chance to answer, the gratitude making me uncomfortable as I stalked from the bedroom to where I dumped our bags near the computers. Then it was a quick pull on of a shirt, check my weapons and out the door. The sooner I met with Mr. and Mrs. white trash the better.
There was no way I was taking the car we boosted last night out in the daylight. I had meant to dump it and wipe it down when we got home, but it became less of a priority. Information and sleep took precedence.
Instead, I walked around to the back of the warehouse where I had a beat up Chevy Cavalier parked. The car was at least twenty years old and had come with the building, but the POS still ran, so I kept it serviced and made sure there was gas in the tank. It served its purpose on occasions just like this, and having it on the lot added to the rouse. Also it helped that it looked like a million other cars on the road, so cruising the I-90 meant I wouldn’t even get a second look. Perfect.
The keys were kept in a meter box not far from the car, then it was simply get in, hit the ignition and hope the thing turned over. It had been a while since I’d last driven it.
It spluttered and protested, needing more gas, but eventually it got where it needed to be and didn’t stall out. And once it got started, it ran like a charm. Things were definitely looking up.
Brendon lived in South Shore. He rented a room from another drug dealer, Ramón, who actually was doing pretty well for himself. R-man kept his inventory purely to prescription pharmaceuticals, dolling out Xanax and Vicodin like it was candy. And unlike his buddy Brendon, his clientele was more refined.
The Chevy didn’t have a working stereo, which meant the drive was done without a soundtrack. It was what I usually preferred and also gave me the opportunity to listen to my handheld police scanner and see if there was anything of interest.
The Camaro had been discovered. Prints came back to a Sofia Concetta Amaro and Clive Maxwell—a person unknown to police. There was a BOLO out on both of them, Mr. Maxwell being five eleven, blue eyes, grey hair and seventy-five from the information they’d pulled from his driver’s license. And if they dug deep enough they’d find that it was the same Clive Maxwell who died five years ago. I even sent flowers to his widow the day I stole his social security number. Who said I didn’t have a heart?
“Hey, homie!” Brendon was sitting on the front stoop, his ball cap angled to the side like a bad version of Vanilla Ice.
“Not your homie, asswipe.” I yanked open the car door and stepped out onto the curb. “Give me the cash, the package and address.” I may have agreed to do the job, but I still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t a set up, so sitting around waiting for the cavalry wasn’t happening.
“Whoa, my brother.” Brendon climbed to his feet, holding his hands up defensively. “We can’t do this shit out in the open. You gone cray-cray. You is wacked.”
Brendon was white. I’m talking milky white skin, blond hair and blue eyes. Any whiter and the dude would glow in the dark. But for some reason every time the dumbass got high, his heritage got a little messed up, crossed somewhere between African American and Puerto Rican. He liked to mix things up and be an equal-opportunity stereotype.
“Have you checked out these streets? No one is looking, and anyone who is gets a nice fat paycheck from Ramón. So, let’s get moving, shall we?”
Ordinarily there was no way I’d do business on the street. I liked any exchanges to be done with as few eyes on me as possible, but here, no one blinked an eye. Everyone was either on the take or under Ramón’s protection. No one was calling the cops, and they gave even less of a fuck about the village idiot with whom I was currently engaged.
“You best watch yo’ mouth when you’re talking about the boss man. Sh-it, he’ll pop a cap in your ass.” Arms flailed in front of him for added theatrics.
“Can we do this now before I put a cap in your ass?” I lifted the front of my shirt to show him I wasn’t kidding. This job was far exceeding the time I wanted to be spending out on the street and the two grand I was going to be paid.
“Relax M-man, we’re doin’ it.” He nodded, climbing to his feet and going back into the house he’d been sitting in front. “Here.” He tossed me a colorful backpack, some
thing like you’d see a kid wear on their first day of school. “Money and address are in the in front pocket.”
My fingers pulled across the zip from the front pocket and sure enough there was a white note with an address and twenty hundred dollar bills.
“You gonna count them right in front of me, dawg?” Brendon laughed, his eyes so bloodshot I was surprised he could even see what the hell I was doing. “Like you don’t trust me?”
“I don’t trust you.” I slipped the hundreds into my back pocket and turned to get back into the car. “Give Ramón my best.” I gave a half-hearted wave as I started the Chevy.
Jury was still out if the pick-up had been half of the rouse and the real work would happen at the drop off point. Of course, there was no way to know, but so far nothing had flagged as suspect. All good things.
Brendon’s ex-wife lived in Hyde Park, right next to Lake Michigan, so I didn’t need to spend too long in the car. The drive ended when I pulled up on a set of row houses with a neatly manicured lawn out front.
Not what I was expecting.
Ejecting from the car, I grabbed the kid’s backpack and climbed the two stairs to the front door. I was already pissed off I’d agreed to do this job in the first place, but keeping up appearances could only help my cause. After all, someone had to know I was involved; the Audi wasn’t a coincidence. So eyes were on me whether I wanted them or not, and how I used those eyes is what was important moving forward.
“Hello?” A thin brunette answered the door, her face made up like she was about to head out to a fancy dinner. “Can I help you?”
“Are you Kerry?” I looked down at the note dumbass had stuffed into the backpack with the address.
“Sure am.” Her red painted lips spread into a smile. “Brendon send you?” Her eyes dropped down to the bag in my hand.
“Yep, sure did. I believe this is yours.” My hand lifted, passing her the bag.
“Our son must have left it behind when he was with his dad.” She winked as she accepted the backpack. “Danny is always forgetting things.”
