Perfect For Me

by Lexy Timms

  It makes Grady want to cringe.

  “My name is Brandon, by the way. How about we find a nice place to sit and talk?”

  “That sounds great.”

  The two men walk side by side to a small table in the corner of the café. Taking a seat across from one another, they take a look around the coffee shop, making sure that no one is going to eavesdrop on their conversation. Once both men agree that all is safe, Baxton drops the creepy fake smile.

  Grady cannot help but grin at the foolish disguise the commissioner has decided to wear.

  “So, tell me, how do you like the New York life so far?” Commissioner Baxton speaks with his usual rough dialect.

  “It’s a bit busier than back home, I’ll give you that.”

  “So how’s the new line of work going?”

  “All right, I suppose.” Grady shrugs. “Working on fitting in… making a few friends.”

  “Any leads on Dean?”

  “Nothing concrete. I’ve barely started.” Grady thinks of Lara lying in his bed. He shifts in his seat.

  “Well, I was hoping to hear more than this.”

  Grady looks at him skeptically. “You can’t expect me to just waltz in and be Miles’ best buddy in a few days.” He forces himself to lower his voice. “Trying to rush it is the best way to get myself killed. No, I think I’ll take it slow.”

  “I know you’re right, kid,” Baxton says. “Just frustrating knowing that bastard is out there.” He looks around, taking stock of the crowd. Satisfied there’s nothing to worry about, he continues. “Is there anything else transpiring you want to report?”

  Grady bites his tongue as his thoughts turn to Lara. He averts his eyes down and to the left as he tries to think of anything. She appears again, naked, legs spread. He has to physically shake the thought out of his head. “No, nothing more to report, sir.”

  “All right,” Baxton says, as he grabs something out of his pocket. “You know we can’t continue making these meetings. They’re too risky for this kind of case.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “That’s why I am giving you this.” Baxton slides a piece of plastic across the table. Picking it up, Grady sees that it’s a plastic disk no bigger than a checker piece. Protruding from the center is another cylinder, though this one is red. Setting it back down, he hears the commissioner explain, “That is a GPS tracker that’ll allow us to keep an eye on you wherever you go. We’ll be able to monitor your movement. And if you ever get into a predicament that requires help, press the red button. A SWAT team will be at your location in a matter of minutes.”

  Grady puts the tracker in his pocket. No more words are needed from him, so he decides to take his leave. He nods at his sponsor and exits the café. Again, he finds the heat brutal without the comfort of cool air pouring down on him. While it’s only a few blocks away, he’s drenched in sweat by the time he returns to the townhouse. He jumps up onto the stoop before bursting through the front door.

  In the living room, Lara is sitting comfortably on the couch with her cellphone in hand. She looks at him, clearly disgusted. However, this hate is not directed at Grady, but whoever’s on the phone.

  “What’s up?” he asks, feeling the tension.

  “Miles has another job for you. He says to get down to the pier as fast as you can. It’s a big job.”

  A part of Grady wants to groan, knowing that he has to walk back out into the heat.

  “Fuck. Okay. Where?” She shows him the address. Despite his unwillingness to do so, he begrudgingly walks back out the door. It seems that the sun has somehow gotten hotter. Grabbing his cellphone, he looks up the address that Lara had shown him. He groans when the map shows it is five miles away from his location. The journey feels like he’s walking on the surface of the earth.

  After twenty minutes of walking, a cool breeze blows across his face. There’s a strong smell of salt in the air. Overhead he hears the song of seagulls. He’s not far from the water. A tugboat is pulling a barge past him as he walks down to the pier. Going past a few fishing boats, he manages to find Miles standing next to one such ship with a pickup truck parked right next to it. Two dark-skinned men are standing on the boat while Miles is upon the shore. Before Grady can see the men clearly, they are already at the controls and speeding away.

  “Ah, Grady my new, clever boy!” The greasy little drug dealer waddles over with a big yellow grin on his face. “You came just in time. The guys were kind enough to load the stuff on the truck.”

  “What is it?” Grady tries to peer in the truck without looking obvious.

  Miles laughs, walking over to the tailgate. He shows Grady the back is filled with white blocks that are about the size of a sack of flour. Like flour, there is a white substance heavily wrapped in thick plastic. These bricks are stacked five high and cover the length of the bed, five deep.

  “That, my friend, is pure Colombian,” the fat man says and continues to grin. “I need a big strong guy to unload it for me. Get in.”

  In broad daylight? Fuck, Miles is either shitless or stupid.

  Climbing into the truck is an easy task for him, but much harder for the man who issued the command. Miles flails himself into the driver’s seat. Once he closes the door, he turns the key. The truck growls to life as it manages to move despite the grinding sound Grady hears. Once they are away from the pier, the truck slows to a snail’s pace due to the traffic. Thankfully, the little Italian man hates the heat too, and has the air on full blast.

  Grady sits there compliantly until he catches a smell coming from Miles. It’s a strong, musky smell. Grady crinkles his nose and tries his best to ignore it.

  Miles is completely ignorant to Grady grimacing next to him. Turning to the undercover cop, he grins. “Grady, my man, I envy you, you know that right? You don’t have any women trouble.”

  Grady turns, only able to nod, trying to breathe through his mouth, not his nose.

  “Yeah, I got some advice for you: Don’t go and fuck someone who works for you. It’s bullshit! Can you believe that bitch broke up with me? After all the shit I gave her.” He shakes his head, sweat hitting the passenger’s arm.

  Grady can, but does not say it aloud.

  “Yeah, I bet that no-good slut was going around banging a bunch of other guys around my back anyways. You can’t trust a blond-haired whore. Probably a good thing I never stuck it in her, my dick might’ve melted off.”

  Grady nods, but turns to stare out the window. Next to his leg, his hand has balled into a fist.

  “You don’t talk much, do you Grady?”

  “I keep mostly to myself. Keeps me outta trouble.”

  “I like that about you, my man,” Miles carries on. “Not like that fucking bitch. She just fuckin’ talked, never shut up. Then she was back-talking to me about some shit. The only time I ever got her to shut up for more than a minute was when I broke her jaw.” He shakes his fist and pretends to swipe the air. “I got to tell you, man, that was a peaceful month. Never get a strong-willed bitch. I should’ve known she was trouble when her father showed up.”

  “What do you mean?” Grady asks, finally interested in the conversation.

  “Fuckin’ big shot.” Miles scoffs and then clears his throat. “Well, I never actually met the guy, but shit… I just know he’s a big shot. Except she’s too fucking stupid to just mooch off her old man. A stupid whore like that isn’t good for nothing, am I right?”

  “Right,” Grady responds, but can taste blood in his mouth after biting the inside of his cheek. “You said she dumped you?”

  Miles stares at him with a long hard look. “No. I said I broke up with her.”

  “Oh,” Grady says, taking a small enjoyment out of Miles’ realization. “I thought you said she dumped you.”

  Miles continues to complain about Lara. Grady has to block him out before he loses his patience and punches the fat grease-ball. The truck makes a few more twists and turns, picking up speed. They go through a red ligh
t, horns beeping behind them as the intersection shrinks away.

  Grady glances over his shoulder, somewhat hoping a police car would have spotted them. Only an irate taxi driver witnessed the breaking of the law. The middle-eastern man pokes his head out the window, shaking his fist behind them. For a while, Grady sits there in the truck, but then goes into his pocket. He feels the tracker still in his cargo shorts. His thumb circles the red button.

  Miles has the truck make a sudden turn behind a small warehouse. The vehicle grinds to a stop before stalling out. A cloud of noxious smoke oozes from the tailpipe and filters into the cab.

  Grady swears out loud as he feels the tracker slip out of his shorts. It falls somewhere behind him but he can’t turn around and look for it, Miles will see. He’ll have to figure a way to get it later.

  Coughing, Miles steps out of the truck and Grady follows him. Standing at the door of the warehouse is a man, probably the same age as Grady. He’s suave looking, dressed in a white suit and matching white fedora. A feather from some sort of large bird is tucked under the pink band of his hat.

  The man strolls over, a pair of circular sunglasses block out the intense rays. Despite the heat, he does not seem to sweat.

  “It’s good to see you, Dean!” Miles walks over with his flabby arms outstretched to hug. The suave man sidesteps out of the way and approaches the truck. He obviously has his eyes on the merchandise, and the guy standing beside it.

  Grady can hardly believe this guy is Dean. He’s the one the cops are after? This is a huge opportunity. If he plays his cards right, he can catch him red handed and have the dickhead locked away longer than guys on death row. He presses his mouth tight, making sure not to blurt anything that will blow his cover. Playing the part of the faithful henchmen, he follows Dean to the truck and opens the tailgate.

  The man in white inspects the product. Sliding out of his coat sleeve is a switchblade, which he uses to jab one of the bags. Bringing the blade out of the bag, he licks the steel. “This is good stuff.” He tosses a brick to Miles. The fat man fumbles the pass, but manages to keep it from hitting the ground. Dean twirls a finger in the air. “Go ahead. Unload it.”

  Grady and Miles do as the man says. They take turns grabbing blocks off of the truck, carrying it into the open warehouse. Being the stronger of the two, Grady carries three bricks at a time. It takes several minutes of walking back and forth to empty the drugs into the building.

  When they walk outside, Dean is waiting for them with a suitcase in hand. Miles is almost drooling over the sight of the silver briefcase. The drug lord kindly opens it for the little man. Inside there are stacks of hundred dollar bills. Obviously it is payment for the drugs.

  Grady pretends to look away. It’s not that hard. Miles is a lap dog. A big, stinkin’ fat one.

  “Grady,” Miles calls to him. “I need you to deliver this money to Lara. That fuckin’ bitch was supposed to be here by now.”

  Grady looks at him, perplexed. He’s not sure he should bring this up in front of Dean. The guy’s going to question Miles’, and his, ability to move drugs. He thinks of Lara naked in his bed and the words tumble out before he can stop them. He doesn’t want her here. Not with this kind of shit. “I thought you said you didn’t trust her.”

  “Eh, I did, but the bitch is good with money.” He shrugs and looks at Dean and rolls his eyes, like Grady’s the idiot. “Just go and do it!” Miles barks at Grady.

  Grady takes the briefcase from Dean and briskly walks away. How the hell is he supposed to get to Lara? Miles doesn’t know she’s in his bed. She still has the thousand he gave her yesterday also. He nods to himself. She’s good with money. If she told Miles she had the cash, he wasn’t going to push her to bring it to him. Miles hates Lara, but he trusts her not to run or snitch or cause problems.

  The drug dealer and drug lord stay behind to talk some more. Taking a walk down the block, Grady tries to look inconspicuous, but the case has him stand out. While businessmen on the street carry similar cases, he looks out of place with his attire.

  A block later, he turns a corner. Someone grabs him by the shoulder. He’s about to turn and nail the person with the briefcase, but stops just before following through.

  It’s Lara.

  She’s dressed in tiny shorts and a turquoise blue tank top. A backpack is slung over her left shoulder.

  “What’re you doing here?” he hisses, glancing back to make sure Miles or Dean aren’t following him. Miles is an idiot. Why would he give Grady, a guy barely working for him, this much cash… unless it’s some kind of test. Grady hesitates. How well does he know Lara? The cop part of him wants him to double-check the facts. The other part of him sees something in her that tells him she doesn’t belong here, in this mess.

  “I’m here to transfer the money.” She holds out the empty pack.

  “Fine,” he looks around. Maybe Miles and Dean were both testing him. “Let’s find somewhere to do it first.”

  She looks at him slyly a moment.

  He realizes what he just said. “That’s not what I meant.” Though the image in his mind is not that all unpleasant.

  She rolls her eyes. “Here’s fine.”

  “What? Are you crazy?”

  “No. Come on, Grady. Just do it. Nobody around here gives a shit.”

  Grady looks to either side of them to make sure no one will notice. Naturally, the streets are flooded with people. He’d been too caught up in seeing her to notice anyone else. He sighs and opens up the briefcase and then starts shoveling the stack of cash into her backpack. He does it quickly to avoid suspicion. Which seems nearly impossible. When the briefcase is empty, he tosses it into a nearby trash can.

  Lara takes him by the hand and starts walking.

  Staying side by side, Grady notices she left the pack open. He reaches over with his free hand for the zipper, but she smacks his hands away. “I’m just trying to close your bag!”

  “Don’t!” she snaps.

  “Huh? What’re you doing?”

  “Giving the cash some air,” she answers with a grin, her face still looking forward. “So what if we have some onlookers.”

  Indeed they do. People on either side of them make double and even triple takes, no one believing their eyes when they see a backpack full of cash. It’s beyond obvious and yet no one is doing anything. Not even trying to jump them. It’s crazy.

  Grady doesn’t get it. “Are you an exhibitionist or something?” With her body, she could be.

  “No, just fearless.” Something about the way she makes a face reminds him of something, or someone. He just can’t tag it.

  The heat seems to get only more intense, and Grady can see it’s getting to Lara. Sweat soaks through her clothes. Her cream-colored flesh turns a shade of white and she starts to shiver despite the heat.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Lara waves her hand and the bag falls off her shoulder.

  Grady grabs it and slips it over his shoulder. He zips it up, not comfortable with carrying that amount of cash but feeling better with it over his shoulder, not Lara’s.

  Lara doesn’t argue. For once, she lets him lead her.

  “Do you need to take this, uh, stuff anywhere in particular?”

  She shakes her head. “Miles’ place, but it’s no rush.”

  He slips his hand in hers and takes her to his townhouse, which is closer than Miles’ apartment. They hurry up the steps, knowing the air conditioning will give them the relief their bodies are begging for. He sits Lara on the couch and walks over to the thermostat, cranking the temperature to the high sixties. He grabs two water bottles from the fridge and exhales as the air conditioning kicks it up a notch. Cool air blows from the vents.

  He sits beside Lara on the couch and pushes the bag of money off the coffee table. Grabbing the remote, he decides to see what is on the television.

  The screen lightens to breaking news coverage. The camera follows a familiar portly man as he is being
led by police officers into the back of their car. Lara recognizes Miles the same time Grady does and sits up in her seat. The scene shows dozens of SWAT team members standing outside the warehouse that Grady was just at. Both Miles and Dean are in handcuffs and are being helped into separate police cars. Members of the NYPD are walking out of the warehouse with the large blocks of cocaine.

  Oh shit! Grady mutes the volume, making it impossible to hear the reporter talking. Nevertheless, the message is clear.

  “Shit!” Lara shakes her head. “That could be you. Or me.”

  Grady stares at the television, with no idea what to say. He must’ve pushed the red button on the tracker when it fell out of his pocket. That’s why SWAT was there.

  Lara takes his silence as shock. She moves closer to him and runs a finger down his neck. “It’s okay, baby. We’re okay.”

  It’s over, he thinks to himself. Miles is in jail. Dean’s caught now too. Just like that. He slowly turns his neck and smiles at Lara. “We’re freakin’ lucky.” Now Lara can finally get out of this forsaken business. It’s over…

  Just like that.

  Chapter 7

  The sun rises, poking a ray of light into Grady’s eyes. Along with the morning is a familiar buzz of his cellphone sitting on the nightstand. Without opening his eyes, he reaches for the phone and brings it up to his ear. He doesn’t bother saying a word, he’s too tired to speak. Instead, he lets whoever is on the other line talk first. While he waits, he glances to the spot next to him to find Lara still sleeping. Cradled in her arms is one of his pillows. She nuzzles her face into it as if it were a teddy bear.

  “Grady, Grady, are you there?” the commissioner calls out in his usual gravelly voice.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” he whispers so he won’t disturb Lara. “What’s going on?”

  “Well first, I want to say it was ballsy using the tracker to make that drug bust.” He laughs. “Thanks to you, we were able to stop $200 million worth of cocaine from being sold on the streets of New York.”

  “Anytime, sir,” he smiles. “Without getting caught.” He glances at Lara and decides even though she’s still sleeping, he should have this conversation in another room. He slides out of the bed naked and heads out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen. He needs water.