Page 58 of Filthy Little Secret

I set my laptop beside me.

“Come here,” I say.

He shakes out of his thought and approaches me, slumping down on the couch.

I take his hand, interlocking our fingers.

“I’m here, regardless of what you need to do,” I continue. “I got into this relationship with a drug dealer, and I know what that comes with.”

The way he eyes me, it’s clear he knows better. That I don’t know the half of it.

“You know what I mean,” I add.

“Yeah. No, I appreciate that. When I got into this business, I kept saying I’d be careful. I’d keep it small-time. I don’t want to get in over my head. That happens to a lot of guys in this business, and then you can’t really ever turn back. The money gets good, and this shit becomes your whole life.”

“You’re not going to do this for the rest of your life,” I say.

He smiles, and even though I detect his skepticism, I can tell he’s just glad to have someone here with him right now.

And I’m happy to be the one.

“God, it’s weird as fuck having a guy that I’m talking to about my business. I’ve always kept that to myself.”

“I’m just glad you’re talking to me about it.”

“Now I’m monopolizing the conversation. How’s waiting tables going?”

I roll my eyes as I launch into my own frustrations about closing the place on the days I work, but always having to work when people call out, bussing tables by myself. I’m amazed when he listens to me complain about my stupid job when his issues are so much more serious, but he’s attentive and even laughs as I fuss about my coworkers. And I notice as we chat, neither of us lets up our grip on the other’s hand.

19

TIM

Jesse stuffs my bag with my goodies for the week, chatting me up about some renovations he’s doing on the house. When he takes a breather, and I can get a word in, I go for it: “So those runs that you were telling me about.”

“Ah, suddenly seeing the ka-ching that you could be making?” he asks.

Jesse’s dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and a button-up shirt with no sleeves. He smiles like he’s proud that I’ve finally come around.

“Whoa, whoa,” I say. “I’m not saying I’m all in right now. I’m just curious about what it would entail.”

“I have my list of clients around town. There are two other guys on runs, but I still handle a few because these are for my top-level clients, and I don’t trust my other guys with this shit. I trust you.”

“But what would I be doing?” I ask.

“I have a list I give you and what to drop off. You head over. Drop off. Collect the cash. That’s it. That’s the whole gig. You do about nine of these stops throughout the week, and you get paid. It’s much easier than what you’ve got going on now.”

“I know, but I’m not sure I’m ready to go into all that.”

“You cut out the risk of keeping your own clientele,” he says. “You do the runs and make a good commission off the cash you grab.”

“I like having my own clients. Deciding who I trust. I’m not so sure about some of these bigwigs that you’re working with.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’re obviously talking about guys who are running around with gangs and prostitution.”

“You make it sound classy,” he says, and I can tell he’s being serious. “I’m not going to play around with you, Tim. With these guys, we’re talking trafficking, arms-dealing, some foreign interests.”

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