by Jerry Cole
None of this was new to Sherman however, seeing as he’d been coming here once a week for the past month. He directed his car to the center of the lot, right in the middle, pulled up, turned it off and waited. He was right on time but the person he was meeting was late, so he had a little time.
The time was spent sending off a quick little text to Bradley. Every time he did this, Sherman felt infinitely guilty about it – worse than guilty! He felt like he was spitting in his boyfriend’s face. To try and tip the scales back in his direction, he quickly wrote ‘Hope you have a great day.’ It wasn’t much... but it was something.
It was just as the message sent that Sherman heard the sound of a car engine approaching the lot. He looked up and spotted a black SUV headed straight for him. It was the same he met every week, which was expected. Sherman took a deep breath, climbed from his car and prepared for his first ‘meeting’ of the day.
The driver of the car was actually an old friend of Sherman’s, and when the SUV pulled over and he climbed out, the two men acted as such.
“Maaaaaaate.” The driver’s name was Andy, a half-Chinese half-Scottish pilot from Hong Kong. His skin was tanned, his face was squashed and frog-like, and his hair was styled in a top-knot that made him look like a Samurai. Andy slapped Sherman’s outstretched hand, and then pulled him into a hug.
“Hey, mate.” Sherman returned the greeting as the two men hugged and then separated. “Nice of you to make it.”
Andy blew through his lips. “Whatever — I thought the aim of the game was to not draw attention to myself? Like, I could have sped all the way here but —”
“I’m just joking,” Sherman assured him, holding his hands up in surrender. “But if Curly asks, I’m throwing you under the bus. Just so you know.”
Andy shuddered. “Fuck that dude gives me the creeps – I don’t know how you go seeing him every week. I can’t think of anything worse.”
“You get used to it,” Sherman shrugged.
“Yeah, the same way POW’s get used to torture, I’m sure.” For a moment, Andy laughed silently at his joke, shaking his head at the thought. Then, as if suddenly struck by lightning, he straightened up and clapped his hands together. “Well, shall we?”
“I didn’t come all the way out here to look at your ugly mug.”
“Nah, that’s just a bonus, hey.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, mate.”
Andy rolled his eyes and started his way back toward the car, but to the trunk this time. As he popped it open, “I do love this little back and forth we share, you know? It makes the whole thing that much easier to bear.”
Sherman strolled up beside him, looking into the trunk, but already knowing what to expect. “Oh yeah? You don’t mind breaking the law, so much as you get the odd laugh out of it?”
“Something like that.”
Inside the trunk were two black suitcases, laying down flat, looking like they were just about ready to burst. Without asking for permission, Sherman unzipped the two cases and was unsurprised to see them stuffed full of men’s clothes, Andy’s clothes. The clothes weren’t what Sherman was after, it’s what was underneath them...
“Do I just...?” Sherman dug his hands into the suitcase and prepared to heave a pile of the clothing from the case and into the spare space in the trunk.
“Go for it,” Andy shrugged. “They’re just my cousins' old clothes anyway. He won’t mind.”
“Does your cousin know what they’re being used for?” Sherman started emptying the clothes out.
“Do I care?”
“Good point.”
With all the clothes out of the cases and stacked in the trunk, they looked like empty, regular old suitcases. Sherman knew this wasn’t the case. Grinning to himself, he felt around the seams of the cases, inside, until he found the hidden zippers. Next, he proceeded to unzip them, revealing a hidden compartment in the base of both the suitcases. When he saw what was inside the compartments, his grin widened.
“Hello,” he beamed.
“You like?”
“Me like.”
Cocaine. The suitcases were filled with large bricks of premium, uncut, very hard to smuggle into the country cocaine. Well, it would have been hard to smuggle into the country, were in not for Sherman... and, fairly, Andy too.
Sherman had become a drug smuggler. There was no pretty way to say it, so he just had to state it as fact. Although, if he were pressed, he’d refer to himself as a drug connect; he didn’t actually smuggle the drugs into the country. Nor did he sell them. Rather, he was a middleman between the smuggler and the seller. It was a fine line, but one that Sherman happily walked. He had no choice!
It had started with a simple phone call. That was all. Curly wanted Sherman to make a few calls and put him into contact with a pilot or two that might have been struggling and could use the extra cash. The caveat being that this pilot flew internationally on a regular basis, even during COVID. In payment, Sherman would get his small supply of cocaine for free... oh, and he also got paid a shitload of cash too. Yeah, there was that.
Well, Sherman had made the calls, he’d found the pilot and he thought that would be it. But then Curly wanted him there at the first meeting. Then Curly wanted him there at the first drop-off and pick-up. And then Curly wanted him there the second time, ‘just in case.’ It was a slippery slope that Sherman had stopped trying to fight.
“Anything else, bro?” Andy asked jovially as Sherman finished packing the large bricks of cocaine into his own car. “Should we take some of this and hit the town, maybe? I know a place...”
Sherman slammed the trunk closed and spun to face Andy. “Seriously?” He made sure that his tone was as ‘what the fuck’ as possible.
“Fuck no!” Andy burst into laughter. “You think I want the fucking Hades Angels coming down on me – no siree Bob, I do not. Fuck.” He gave his head a shake and wandered back to his own car. “Same time next week?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“All right. Laters!” Andy climbed in his car and took off.
A moment later and Sherman was alone in that parking lot; just he, his car and what amounted to roughly three kilograms of cocaine. How the fuck had he gotten here?
With the package secured, Sherman got about finishing the job. Unfortunately, the pick-up was the easy part. Dropping the cocaine off was where it got hard. And that wasn’t because it was particularly difficult to do, not at all. It was simply because he had to deal with Curly, face to face.
When Sherman pulled up outside the alleyway where the Hades Angels clubhouse was located, there were already two large bikers there waiting for him. It was the same two every month; large, mean, perpetually angry. Sherman didn’t know their names. He didn’t want to know their names. He was happy just doing his job and getting out.
He popped the trunk and the two men scooped up the cocaine. Then, the three of them took the short walk down that alley and into the clubhouse. Sherman was in the middle, with the two bikers flanking him like he might try and escape, although the idea of that was laughable too.
As they walked down the alleyway and descended into the clubhouse, for some reason, one that Sherman couldn’t comprehend, he felt as if something were wrong. Were the two bikers angry with him? Were they more tense than usual? It felt like it... but maybe Sherman was just imagining things. This was most likely, as seeing Curly always put him in a weird mood.
“Mr. Hass.” Curly stood in the middle of the room as if he were waiting for Sherman’s arrival. “Nice of you to join us.”
“Yeah well...” As Sherman walked down the steps and into the clubhouse, he took note of the five or so other members that populated the room. It was always emptier during the day, which he was grateful for. “... you know how much I like coming here.”
“I’ll bet.” Curly indicated for the two men carrying the cocaine to ‘get to work.’ It was a short nod of the head which saw the two men dumping the cocaine bricks onto a
nearby table and weighing and measuring it themselves, as if Andy or Sherman might have skimmed off the top.
As soon as the two men started up, Sherman saw his chance to leave. “Well... if that’s all you need me for —”
“Not quite.” Curly didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to raise his voice. Just the act of him speaking had Sherman frozen to the spot. “I have some good news.” He walked the final few steps to where Sherman stood so that again, he towered over him as he always did. “Do you want to hear it?”
Sherman gulped. “Ah yeah. Sure. Love to.”
“My contact tells me that restrictions are easing. Isn’t that good?” He offered what might have been a smile, but it was hard to tell under all those burn scars. Even after all this time, Sherman still wasn’t used to them.
“In Sydney? Yeah, it’s been gr —”
“No, not Sydney.” Curly chuckled; a dry, harsh sound. “The borders,” he confirmed. “For flights. Word is that soon, a lot of them will be opening back up. At least in regard to certain laneways.” He paused for Sherman to speak.
“Oh... what does that —”
“It means that my old supplier is back in business, which means by extension that this —” he indicated to the bricks of cocaine on the nearby table, “— will no longer be required. This, I’m afraid, will be our last exchange.”
“Seriously?” Sherman blinked back his surprise.
“Seriously,” Curly responded with his usual calmness.
Sherman never thought he would smile while in the presence of Curly. He couldn’t imagine a situation where he would want to! Yet there he was, trying not to beam his relief at what he could only consider to be good news. It had been a wild ride, this last month or so, but Sherman wouldn’t miss it. Really, he was just glad to be getting out before things got any worse.
“So...” Sherman clapped his hands together, but not too hard. “Does this mean – I'm ah... I’m done here?”
“You are,” Curly nodded.
“And Andy?”
“He’s done too.”
“Great — I mean... well, good – but not like that. This was... yeah. It was fun.” Sherman had no idea what to say. Should he say anything? Probably not. He gave Curly a final, tight smile and then spun on his heel and headed for the staircase.
But then he stopped. Although that was just because two large bikers stood in his way.
“Um... excuse me...” Sherman tried to step around them, but they wouldn’t budge.
“We have a problem.” He could feel Curly approach from behind. Even though the room was perpetually dark, the large man’s shadow grew over the two bikers and himself. “And you’ve found yourself smack bang in the middle of it.”
Sherman spun back around. To his relief, Curly didn’t look angry or upset or mad... but then again, he never did. “Pr — problem?” he stammered.
“I hate loose ends.” His right hand landed on Sherman’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “They’re messy, and never end well.”
“Loose ends?” Sherman’s chin wobbled. “I’m not a — are you talking about me? I’m not a lo – loose end, Curly. I’m a tight end. A tight, well tied, not even a little bit loose —”
“The problem with loose ends is that you never know where they’re going to end up.” Behind Curly, Sherman could see the other five bikers standing now and begin to crowd around him, as if for support. It was almost laughable. “Now you say you’re fine and won’t say anything. But what about next week? Or month? Or year?”
“Curly... I... I...” Sherman shrank back as Curly seemed to take up the entire room.
“I can’t take the risk.” He gave Sherman’s shoulder a squeeze. “But truly, Sherman. Know that this isn’t personal.” And then, a friendly smile as if that would make everything all right.
And as for Sherman? He froze where he stood, unable to move, unable to breath, unable to even blink. He was a lamb that walked itself into the slaughter. And his biggest regret? That Bradley would never know what happened to him. That was saddest of all —
“Police!” A single voice rang out from the top of the stairs. “Nobody move!”
Despite the orders given, everyone in that small room moved as if a fire had been lit under their feet. The men weighing the cocaine scooped the bricks up as quick as they could and hurried to behind the bar. The men flanking Curly fell back and spread out. The two men blocking Sherman stepped to the side and tried to sink into the walls. Even Curly took a quick step back and released Sherman. Fuck, Curly might have even looked a little worried.
And as all this happened, a single pair of feet hurried down the wooden steps and into the basement. It was no SWAT team, or large arresting force. Just the lone police officer. When Sherman saw who the police officer was too... fuck if he didn’t struggle to hide his surprise.
“Don’t anybody move.” Bradley’s strut was full of confidence and strength. The way he walked into the room, gazed around it, eyed Curly up and down, one might actually think he was a cop.
“Good evening off —”
“Shut the fuck up.” Bradley spun himself onto Curly and glared daggers at the man. “You can speak when I tell you to. Not a moment before.”
Curly clenched his jaw and smiled for Bradley; it was a deathly smile though, one that spoke volumes to how Curly must have been feeling.
But Sherman didn’t pay that too much attention. All of his was directed onto Bradley, now standing less than two feet from him but acting like he didn’t even know who he was.
What the fuck was happening? What was Bradley doing here? How had he known where to go? Did he know what Sherman was doing? Did he know he was in trouble? And most of all, was he crazy?!
Sherman tried to get Bradley’s eye, tried to warn him to flee before they realized he wasn’t who he said. But Bradley didn’t give it. He sneered as he looked the room over, wandering through it as if he owned the place. It was both terrifying and electrifying at the same time.
“I’m sorry officer, but is something —”
“That’s Detective.” Bradley swung back on Curly. As he did too, he pulled out a badge and flashed it. Sherman gulped when he saw the badge, knowing too well that it wasn’t real. He just hoped Curly didn’t notice. “Detective Ambrose – and you will call me as such.”
Curly looked as if it was taking all his self-control not to squash Bradley right here and now. “Right... Detective Ambrose. I know my rights and you can’t just come barging into my place of... residence without —”
“A warrant?” Bradley chuckled to himself. “Try reasonable cause. Or were those two men carrying large bricks of cocaine I saw earlier not the same two standing in the back there.” He pointed to the two bikers trying to hide behind the bar. “I’ve called back-up, they’re on the way.”
“Detective Ambrose. Surely, we can —”
“Don’t move!”
Curly had taken a step toward Bradley. Bradley, seeing him coming, took a hurried one back and then reached to his belt like he had a gun. The act saw Curly freeze, and the rest of the room take a collected breath.
“I wasn’t. I just wanted to talk.” Curly held his hands up to calm the room.
“I’ll bet.”
Bradley kept the same hardened sneer on his face as he looked the room over again; the whole time, his hand remained on his belt, by his non-existent gun. He paused on each biker, eyeing them off individually, letting them know he knew where they were. And then, for the first time, he looked at Sherman.
Sherman looked for some sign of recognition. Anything to indicate that this was his Bradley and not some look-a-like. Indeed, not once so far had he even bothered glancing at Sherman like he knew him. This time was no different, as the look he gave Sherman was one of pure and utmost disgust.
“Back-up will be here in a second.” Bradley gulped. It was small, barely noticeable, but it was there. “You.” He then pointed right at Sherman. “What’s your name.”
“Me?”
Sherman blinked. “It’s... it’s... it’s —”
“Spit it out – no. Wait.” He grabbed Sherman by the arm. “You’re coming with me.” Then, without warning, he yanked on Sherman’s arm and dragged him toward the stairs. When he reached the base, he spun back to face the room. “This room only has one exit. That exit will be guarded by me until back-up arrive. Don’t even think of trying to make a fucking move.” He then glared down at Sherman. “Hurry the fuck up!”
Sherman just about shat himself as he hurried up the stairs behind Bradley. The whole way up, he worried that any moment now the spell Bradley had woven would wear off and Curly and the others would snap out of it and realize they were being duped. Surely, it had to?!
But no. A few moments later and Sherman was breathing that sweet, fresh air that he never thought he would again. A moment later and he was safe... well, relatively.
Really, he couldn’t believe that Bradley’s plan had worked. It turned out that Bradley actually was a pretty good actor after all.
“Bradley!” Sherman gasped the moment they were free of the alleyway. “How did you —”
“Don’t say a fucking word.” He was still in character. Or maybe he wasn’t? Really, he was probably just angry. He pushed Sherman toward Sherman’s car and pointed for him to get in. “Get in, start it up and meet me back at my place.”
“You’re place?” Sherman confirmed. “As in —”
“The apartment that I pay rent for. My place.” And that was it. Bradley stormed across the road toward his own car and didn’t once look back as he climbed on in.
As for Sherman? He was torn. On the one hand he was beyond grateful that he’d gotten out of that situation alive. If it wasn’t for Bradley... he didn’t even want to think what might have happened. Well, he knew what would have happened and it wouldn’t have been good. Not even close to that.