Only You by Jerry Cole (the top 100 crime novels of all time TXT) 📕

of the cellar were very dark. Most either played poker or pool, a few stood about talking, and a couple more stood by the bar. Each to the last was bearded, large, covered in denim and tattoos, and looked as if they’d physically be able to eat Sherman for breakfast. It was a tough scene.

At the center of it all was Curly.

Sherman recognized him from the news. Oddly, he was the only one in the room without a beard or any hair to speak of... although Sherman also knew why that was. He was as big as any man there, twice as mean looking, and watched Sherman with a keen eye; the way he sized Sherman up made him feel like a commodity to be used.

“Sherman?” Curly asked. His voice was appropriately harsh; sounding like he’d spent a lifetime eating gravel and drinking cement.

“Ye — yes. That’s me.” He took a few quick strides through the room and toward the bar. On the way, he did his best to ignore the daggers that were being glared at him by every second set of eyes. “Hey there.” Sherman cursed under his breath. What a dumb thing to say.

Curly remained silent as he finished pouring his beer. There was too much foam, so he overpoured and allowed for it to just fall from the mug and onto the ground. The room had been wildly noisy when Sherman had entered, now it was filled with a dull mutter as the gang spoke in a whisper among themselves.

Meanwhile, Sherman had just reached the bar, giving him his first close up look of Curly. He did his best to ignore the horrible burn scars that covered his scalp and face... but he was pretty sure he wasn’t being subtle about it.

“Mad Dog tells me you work in travel,” Curly eventually said. It wasn’t a question.

“He — what?” Sherman blinked back his surprise.

“Travel.” Curly walked around the bar, beer in hand, and toward Sherman. He walked right up to Sherman in fact, standing over him like a mountain. “Travel. Said you work with DreamLine?”

Sherman took a nervous step back. “A-huh.”

“That a yes?” The scars on his face were even more pronounced this close up, under the light. Sherman had no idea how it had happened... but it must have hurt.

“Y- yes,” he stammered.

“Good.” Curly indicated to someone over Sherman’s shoulder. A second later and a small package was being shoved into his top pocket. Sherman was so nervous he barely even noticed. “That’s what you’re after, isn’t it?” He indicated to Sherman’s pocket, now bulging with said package.

“Ah...” Sherman hurriedly fished it out and his eyes widened when he saw what it was. Cocaine! ... a lot of cocaine. “Yes, but – didn’t ah, Mad Dog tell you how much I usually —”

“He did.” Curly took a long sip of his beer. “But this one is on the house. Think of it like a gift, from me to you.”

Sherman hesitated. “A gift? What for?”

“No reason,” Curly said with smile that suggested there was a very specific reason to why he had just given him a large amount of cocaine for free. “All I ask is that from now on, you do business with me. Understand?”

“Right, yes,” Sherman agreed quickly. “Same number?”

“The same.”

“Good... good. Great.” Sherman nodded a few times at Curly, who suddenly looked bored. So, he looked around the room and smiled for a few of the bikers, who all looked more like a pack of lions surrounding a gazelle than anything else.

“Well?” Curly began after a few moments.

“Yes?” Sherman asked stupidly.

“We’re done here.”

“Oh! Right.” Sherman shook his head and started for the door. “Thanks, um Mr. Curly... yeah.” He gave his head another embarrassed shake and then got about getting the heck out of there.

He kept his head down as he scurried, feeling the eyes of the Hades Angels on him the whole while. It wasn’t until he was free of the cellar, breathing in fresh air, that he finally felt safe again.

But now that he was safe, what the fuck had just happened? He’d just met the leader of the Hades Angels bike gang. Fuck, he’d just bought drugs off him! No, not bought. Given! Curly had given him drugs. And why? Sherman had no idea. Curly had grilled him about his work, but what did that have to do with anything?

Sherman decided to try and not think about it, a sort of ‘out of sight out of mind’ situation. It had been a stressful day, followed by a stressful start to the night. But that was in the rearview now. That was the good thing about doing drugs, it was hard to stay in anything but the present.

So, Sherman would head home. He would send off a quick message to Bradley as he did most nights, then he’d rack some lines, have a drink or two and cruise through the weekend without a care in the world. As much as he hated to admit it, he could not wait.

Chapter Thirteen

“And that’s a wrap, everyone! Well done! Seriously, good work today!” The director was already halfway across the set, making his way toward where the cameras and viewing screens were set up, a man on a mission. “On the way out make sure you see your point man!” the director continued loudly to the room. “All questions about payments, release dates, etcetera, can be answered by them!” When he reached the cameras and viewing screens, he and the cameraman put their heads together and devolved into deep conversation for their ears only. The rest of the crew might as well not even exist.

But Bradley didn’t care. In his short time spent as a working actor, he’d come to realize that all directors were different, each with their own process