by Ammar Habib
I look up and see Bryan standing on the other side of the desk. His arms are crossed. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. I was just looking for you.”
“Normally when an office door is closed, it means that you shouldn’t go in there.”
“Sorry.” My gaze focuses on his left hand. There is a small mark where the wedding ring would be. It’s all starting to make sense.
His eyes follow mine. “Ana?”
Suddenly, I don’t feel the same about him. “I wanted to talk to you about something, Bryan.”
“What?”
“Seems I was wrong last Friday. I had no reason to be mad at you. It was my fault that we lost a suspect. You were right… and I apologize.”
A part of me can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. And I don’t think he can either. For a few long moments, he blankly stares at me before he finally musters a reply. “…it… you’re not the one who should be apologizing, Ana. I was wrong to be that hard on you. Your life is more important than catching any punk. This job… I guess it makes you impassive sometimes. Sometimes we get too caught up in trying to catch the bad guys that we forget to watch the backs of the good ones.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
“No hard feelings.” I hold out my hand. “It’s a new week so let’s just start fresh. Maybe we can actually get to know each other this time.”
Bryan slightly smiles. And this time, it is a genuine smile—the same kind he had in the photos. He takes my hand and firmly shakes it. “Deal.”
For a moment, I start to think that we’ve got a chance.
***
“So what do they call you, champ?”
I already know what his name is from his file, but I have to play the part. Seeing his expression, I think he’s about to say it. However, his eyes suddenly show a change of heart as he gets second thoughts. “You gotta be a loyal customer before I give you that.”
“And what’s your definition of loyal?”
He thinks to himself, still wearing the same cautious expression that he’s displayed since Bryan and I started speaking to him a few minutes ago. Probably wondering why this strange couple is being so friendly to him. But I bet deep in his heart he knows exactly why we’re talking. “…three buys.”
“So what do you want me and my boyfriend to call you until then?”
His gaze darts to Bryan and then comes back onto me as if he’s trying to figure out how we could be a couple. I wouldn’t blame him for that. “Why’d you need to call me anything?”
“I wanna see if you got work?” I really am starting to feel like a drugee with all this lingo.
The target’s eyes widen for a moment. Standing in the uncovered parking lot, Bryan and I are on the other side of the car from the man. To him, this is just a random conversation; however, it is anything but that. This morning we got a tip that this man—known on the streets as Damian—would be in this part of town. And after a rather long stakeout in my Avenger, we spotted him pulling into this parking lot only minutes ago.
Damien’s dark skin is covered in sweat. His rough beard and hair are unkempt. His eyes, which would have been bloodshot a few hours earlier, still have remnants of the drugs he was taking this morning. On top of his skinny figure, he wears a dirty t-shirt that’s two sizes too big and a pair of rugged shorts. There are two reasons people dress like this. One is because they think it’s stylish. The second—and the more important reason—is because it’s easy to pack heat under the loose clothing.
Even from here, I can smell the stench of his foul breath. And it tells me that he hasn’t brushed his teeth in days. His dirty yellow Toyota Corolla is just as filthy as he is, outside of the expensive and polished rims decorating its wheels. Just like him, it smells like a skunk is in there.
The target finally replies. “…why you think I’m sellin’ what you think I’m sellin’?”
Placing both hands on the hood of his dirty car I lean in a bit. “Look, I know you sellin’ stones.”
“How?”
I roll my eyes annoyingly. Please don’t make me beg. “Because you drive a shitty-ass car that has ten grand rims like every other dealer I’ve bought from, and because your eyes bug’n and I can smell it all over you.”
Damien is silent for several seconds. These mixed signals I’m sending are doing a number on his brain. “Ya’ll ain’t cops, right?”
“Do we look like cops?”
“I dunno. But you definitely don’t look like a couple.”
“We’re new in town. Our neighbor sells, but he’s a rip-off.” Just as those words leave my mouth, I realize that I just put myself in a corner.
“Your neighbor?”
I nod. Whatever you do, don’t ask me his name.
“What’s his name?”
Think fast. “Can’t tell you that until you’re a loyal seller.” Good recovery there, Ana.
“Loyal?”
I smirk as I playfully wink at him. “Sold three times to us.”
After a long moment, the man slightly smiles. “…name’s Damian.”
Finally.
Bryan takes the reins of the conversation. “Oliver is our neighbor. So you sellin’ stones or not?”
Damien scratches the top of his head with his long index finger. “I… it depends.”
Bryan let out an annoyed sigh. “Look man, my girl and I are easy money for you. But if you ain’t got the guts then—”
“Hey! I got the guts.”
“Then we good?”
He takes a deep breath, knowing this is his last chance to turn away. But like all other dealers, he’ll never say ‘no’ to an easy score. “…how much you want?”
“100 grams—how much will it be?”
He looks over at me and smirks. “For ya’ll? Well ya’ll get the pretty girl discount.”
***
First thing I do as we pull out of the parking lot is jot down everything I need: name, physical description, license plate, and the place we’re meeting Damian for the transaction tomorrow. And right after scribbling it all down, I blast the A/C on full in a vain attempt to counter this endless heat. It’s hotter in the car than it was outside. Even at its maximum speed, the A/C is not working fast enough. This is something you never get used to no matter how long you’ve lived in Texas.
Not long after we’re out-of-sight, Bryan speaks to me. His voice is back to normal and is as genuine as its been all day. “Looks like the tip was good. Good eye spotting him, Ana.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ve never heard of the ‘pretty girl discount’ before.”
“Well, I doubt you get that kind of deal often.”
He looks over at me with a small grin. “Well… there was that one time.”
I lightly laugh. Was he actually trying to be funny? I could get used to this. “I don’t think even a blind man would give it to you, Bryan.”
Bryan’s eyes go back onto the road. He leisurely grips the steering wheel with one hand as the other relaxes on the arm rest. “You did good, Ana. Quick thinking—assertive—controlled the conversation and pulled on his strings.”
“I have a pretty great partner backing me so of course I’d do well.”
“Even still… but I can’t believe he’d hit on you like that in front of your ‘boyfriend’. But you saved the police force some money so I’m sure Cap will be proud of your charms. The only thing my charms have ever done is get the price raised.”
I smile again before replying. “By the way, why’d you say our neighbor’s name was Oliver?”
“I always use that name. Oliver Wayne if they want the full name. What name would you have used?”
“I actually don’t know. Right when I mentioned the neighbor, I was afraid of what to say if he asked for a name.”
“You played it well when he asked, but this is something to remember: no matter what name you say, it doesn’t make a difference. When a dealer asks you who you’re buying from already, all the
y really want to see is if you’re lying or not. If you can tell them with confidence and make them believe that you know what you’re talking about and are what you say you are, they won’t ask any more questions.” Coming to a stop sign, the car rolls to a halt. He falls momentarily silent before looking at me. “How good of a liar are you, Ana?”
“I didn’t practice it much growing up.”
“But how good are you?”
I glance out the side window before turning back to my partner. I’m finally starting to feel the A/C’s effects, but at this point the conversation has me hardly thinking about it. “…seeing that I’ve been lying every day since I got this job and nobody has caught me yet—I’m afraid that I may actually be a natural.”
“You’ll be happy that you are.” Bryan’s eyes focus back on the road. He pushes onto the accelerator as we make a right turn to come onto the highway’s ramp.
I slightly nod. “You want me to be there tomorrow?”
“Just in the vicinity in case things go south.”
“Okay.”
There is another silence as Bryan navigates onto the highway. It’s still an hour before rush hour and we’ll make it back to the station before the heavy traffic hits. “So you grew up in South Houston?”
“Close to Hobby,” I reply. “Yourself?”
“Born in Cypress but grew up in Galveston. Which explains my love for fishing.”
“Are you any good at fishing?’
“Well, I love it. But last time we went fishing, my six-year-old nephew caught more fish than I did, so I’m far from an expert.”
I let out a light laugh. “I see. And what brought you into our glamorous profession?”
“Well I originally wanted to play for the Houston Oilers?”
“What stopped you?”
“Two things.” He looks at me with a smirk. “Talent and ability.”
I smile back in amusement.
“But after that dream was killed, I decided I wanted to join the police force. My daddy was a police man and so was his daddy. I guess it’s a family trade really.” There is a pause. “But what makes a nice gal like you end up in a car with me?”
I look out the side window. “Family—but not in the way you’re thinking.”
“Then how?”
“I had something—someone taken from me. And… I guess doing this is the way that I can keep myself from losing them.”
***
My heart is racing when the time for the deal arrives. I wasn’t even this nervous on my first day when I had to get rid of that dreaded five-hundred dollars. Maybe it’s because the naivety I entered this job with has all but shriveled away. Or maybe it’s because last time I took part in an arranged deal, I nearly got killed.
But this time I’m not alone.
The vacant, worn down parking lot is completely empty. The cemented ground is cracked up, the painted lines hardly visible. The meeting spot is surrounded by trees and natural Texas vegetation. I’d imagine that there are plenty of raccoons and possums sleeping in the bushes and tall grass. It’s only a quarter-mile off Beltway 8. However, it’s out of view from anyone on that highway. I live only a few miles away but have never even seen this place. I imagine this is the perfect meeting spot for this kind of exchange.
My partner puts me in position in the shrubs right outside the lot’s southern edge. After getting me situated, Bryan gives me a slight nod before turning away and heading to his spot. His gesture is so simple that I almost don’t catch it. There’re no valiant words like the hero of a movie says before charging into a life-threatening battle. This isn’t a moment taken from the pages of Braveheart. It’s such a simple gesture that—for an instant—the whole situation almost feels anti-climatic.
I stay crouched down in the midst of thick greenery. From here, I’m completely undetectable to the casual eye, but will be close enough to all the action. Dressed in a pair of rugged jeans and a dark top, my radio remains strapped to my waist and my gun is in hand.
We got here an hour before the scheduled time, but Bryan told me not to lollygag around as we prepared everything. Dealers usually show up very late for the first deal—normally as a show of power—but every once in a while they roll up way too early, typically if they’re suspicious of the buyers.
And they never show up alone.
The sky is cloudless and the air is still while the sun mercilessly beats down on me. The endless humidity only makes it worse. I feel drenched in my own sweat. The one thing I forgot to bring was a water bottle, and the cynical part of my mind tries to convince me that I’ll dehydrate before Damian ever even arrives.
No matter how long you live in Texas, you never get used to the heat. I guess it’s the same way a soldier never really gets used to war. There’s not a bird in the sky; the only thing here other than us are countless flies buzzing around.
Bryan certainly wasn’t lying about them showing up late. It’s an hour ‘til noon—an hour past the meeting time—and there’s still no sign of Damian. Bryan is patiently sitting in his running vehicle while I impatiently drown in my own sweat. I’ve lost count of the number of mosquitoes I’ve swatted by now. A part of me despises Bryan for being in the A/C while I’m dying out here. However, the other part of my mind is thankful that he’s putting his life on the line more than I am.
But before I can grow too envious, Damian’s yellow Corolla shows up. And as predicted, he’s not alone. Damien shows up with two lackeys. Or as dealers say it—Damian is rolling three deep. God, I’ve got to stop thinking in all this dealer lingo.
The car stops a few yards away from Bryan’s vehicle before both parties step out almost simultaneously. Even from here, I can feel my partner’s confidence and can see it in his step. He possesses this aura that seems to suddenly appear when he is in his alter ego. The grip around my Glock tightens even though I don’t have a clear shot from this position. But if things start to go south, Bryan will signal me by looking to his right. I’ll only have to dart a few yards to get off a shot. And I can easily do that before any of those punks know what’s coming.
The air is tense. Even more so because I can’t hear what they’re saying. From their body language, it seems that they don’t suspect a thing. But Damian and his crew are not being overly friendly either. Bryan has the money in a brown paper bag and the dealers have the stones—I mean drugs—in a similar bag. Everyone’s expressions remain straight, not giving anything away. But I suddenly see Bryan slightly smile as he says something. And after a long, awkward moment, all three thugs break into friendly laughter.
Moments later, the exchange is made. Bryan’s charms stop Damian from even bothering to count the money. As quickly as the deal began, it ends. Within five minutes of pulling onto the lot, Damian shakes Bryan’s hands and leaves.
And by next week’s end, Damian will be locked up.
***
The week goes by faster than any I’ve ever experienced, drawing to an end in the blink of an eye. By the time Friday rolls around, Bryan and I have completed three successful deals with two more set up for the coming week. Apparently, two successful exchanges in a week is considered a ‘good’ week, and we blew past that counting the deals we’ve set up for the following week. We use each deal as an opportunity to tag the dealers and figure out where they’re staying. Within a week to two weeks of each exchange, the dealers will be busted and brought in. By then, they’ll have sold to plenty of other clients and won’t even be thinking of us as the ones who busted them. The drugs we buy off of them, along with anything that’s on them when they’re arrested, will be the primary evidence used to lock them up.
Bryan says it’s been some of the most productive days he’s ever witnessed, and Cap is more than pleased with how we’re working together now. The only downside to all the deals can be summed up in one word: paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork—nearly eight hours for each case to be exact. But knowing the difference we make with each deal and bust is worth it. Each dealer we p
ut away is one less criminal out on the streets. And if it means that we’ve saved even one life down the road, then it’s worth it.
I find myself in the break room an hour before quitting time on Friday. As I sit at one of the tables, Bryan stands above me and looks at the crowd of people listening to his tale. For all his attributes, I never imagined him to be a captivating storyteller. Maybe it’s a trait he’s picked up after reading all those novels on his bookshelf. Seems I learn more and more about him every day.
Maybe a time will come when I can actually call him a friend.
“So the dealer tries to raise the price on us right before the buy,” Bryan tells the other officers. “I’m about to try and negotiate it back down all nicely—but Ana had other ideas.”
The small crowd hinges on his every word.
“Before I can do anything, Ana stares the dealer in the eyes and—without blinking—she shows the dude that she’s packing a gun.” Bryan lightly lifts up the tail ends of the shirt to demonstrate what I did. “And with all the conviction in the word, she says ‘Keep talking like that and I’ll put so many bullet holes in your body that you won’t know which ones to breathe from and which ones to shit from’.”
“Holy crap,” one of the officers utters.
Bryan looks in that man’s direction. “And do you know what the dude does? After nearly wetting his pants, he almost gives us the drugs for free!”
The audience bursts into laughter.
I feel a couple of pats on the back, but keep my gaze on my partner’s face. Bryan laughs along with the rest of the crowd. I can hardly imagine that a week ago I thought I hated the man. It’s amazing what difference a few days can make. Feeling my gaze, he glances down at me and shoots me a friendly wink.
However, there is one man in the break room not enjoying the story: Mark Davidson. In fact, as I catch him leaning against the far wall, his expression is the opposite of everyone else’s. The more people laugh, the more disgusted his face grows. When the laughter begins to die out, he starts to gradually make his way towards the crowd, eyes on Bryan.
