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

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