I pulled up in front of the cigar shop, and despite being well after six o’clock, found that it was still open. I could see the old man standing behind the counter looking bored, a magazine on the table in front of him. As I pulled open the door, however, he looked up and immediately grew nervous. I’d been expecting more of his staring like before, but his eyes were wide, and he folded up the magazine and darted behind the curtain and into the backroom.
Alone in the shop, I looked around at the shelves. Before, when I’d been in with Gary, everything looked shiny and on display. Upon closer inspection, though, I could see years of dust surrounding every cigar box, and most of the windows to the display cases were coated in grease and grime. It looked as if it had been ages since anyone had dusted or, for that matter, even opened one of the cases. No one had bought a cigar here in a long time.
Suddenly, the curtain pulled back and out stepped Zico. His face slipped easily into a smirk, and he raised his eyebrows at me. “Back so soon? Perhaps you couldn’t resist the chance for a taste of a Brancati cigar?”
His double meaning was all too clear, and I lowered my head, looked up at him from under my eyebrows, clearly not amused. “My partner left something behind earlier after your fight. A black notebook. I came to pick it up.”
“No foreplay,” he said, raising his hands. “Okay. I suppose I’m into a woman who knows what she wants.” His sexual references were obvious, and I tried to ignore them, not letting him shake me. Finally, after a short staring contest, Zico added, “It’s in the back room.”
He gestured for me to follow him, so I stepped behind the counter and ducked underneath the musty purple curtain, trying to keep my heart beating at a normal rhythm. I’d imagined a stock room. Perhaps boxes of cigars in bulk. Instead, I was met with a fluorescent-lit kitchen, the whole room doused in a yellowish light, with a table and chairs in the middle.
Shelves lined the back wall, but the boxes were non-descript, and there was no way to know what was in them. On the wall opposite the cabinets and sink were a few other doors and a set of stairs leading to what I assumed was a second-floor apartment. The room was empty. Which, for some reason, was a relief. At least I couldn’t be outnumbered.
“Take a seat,” Zico said, pulling out a chair for me.
I shook my head and decided to stay standing. I didn’t want to be there long. He pointed to a pot of coffee, and I once again refused. He shrugged and moved to the shelves, searching briefly for something, and removed a manila envelope from between a few boxes. He sat it on the table and slid it towards me, the smirk still on his face, his eyes daring me to take it.
I reached for it, not wanting to show my fear, but Zico didn’t let go. Instead, he used his other hand to grab tightly to my wrist. Surprised, I tried to yank my arm back, but he only gripped me tighter, and then pulled me in close to him until I could feel his breath on my face, in my hair.
“Do you want to know what’s in it?” he asked, his eyes pointing to the envelope.
His grip loosened and I pulled my hand free, standing straight. My heart was pounding, and I still felt the warmth of his fingers around my wrist, but still, I tried to keep my cool.
“Of course I do,” I said, though I didn’t know if that was actually true.
Zico stared at me, and I felt him reading my body language, registering my lie. Still, he nodded and opened the envelope, never once taking his eyes away from my face. He reached his hand inside and so slowly it was painful, removed Gary’s black notebook.
I was tempted to grab it and make a run for it, but before I could, Zico’s hand dove back into the envelope, and he pulled out two thick rolls of cash bound in large rubber bands. He held each of them up in the air, as if there was any way I could have missed them, and sat them on the table next to the notebook. Still looking at me, he picked up the notebook, flipped to a seemingly random page, and began to read.
“D drop with Gino - $6k, cash. D drop with Louie - $3k, cash.”
He read on and on until I felt dizzy. The entire book was page after page of names, dollar amounts, dates, times, drops, and pick-ups. Misinterpreting its meaning was hard.
Zico flipped to the final page and read, “Joey B. photo exchange, pending - $10k.”
When he was finished, he closed the book and slid it back into the envelope. Before, I’d been so anxious to grab it and return it to Gary—anything to earn his respect. Now, though, it felt like touching a hot poker. Would touching it make me complicit? Was I committing a crime by simply being in the room with Zico Brancati?
“Your man is a very diligent accountant,” Zico said.
“He isn’t my man,” I snapped back.
Zico raised his hands in apology. “Sorry. Your partner is a very diligent accountant. He keeps great notes. I wonder if his police work is this thorough.”
Something about his phrasing sounded like a threat, and I just wanted to get out of there. I grabbed for the envelope, but Zico wrenched it away, his finger wagging in the air.
“Not so fast,” he said. “This will cost you.”
“Keep the money,” I replied. “All I want is the book.”
Zico laughed. “You were never walking out of here with the money. Getting the book back will cost you.”
“It’s not even my book,” I said, standing up to leave. I’d wanted to do Gary a favor, but he could come back and get the book himself. I was tired of dealing with Zico.
“But it is your partner’s book, and it details all of his transactions. Every last one. This is a dangerous thing to just leave lying around,” he said, his mouth pulled in a half-smirk.
“What will it cost?” I asked, indulging him.
Zico slid down in his seat, bit his lip, and pointed to his crotch.
I raised one eyebrow. “You know I’m a cop, right?”
He smiled. “A cop with a very dirty partner. You know, when a department discovers a dirty cop, they almost always fire both partners. It’s cleaner that way. They spend so much time together that it seems impossible that the other partner could have no idea about the other’s shady dealings. Do you really want to take the wrap for Gary Unwin?”
“I just started. We haven’t been working together for years. They wouldn’t blame me.”
“True,” Zico said, bobbing his head. “But then you run the risk of looking like a snitch. Cops like to watch out for one another. How would it look if the new girl got her partner fired her first month on the job? You’d be a pariah.”
As annoying as it was to admit, he was making a good point. No matter what, I lost. Suddenly I felt the urge to kick Gary. How had I been unlucky enough to get paired with a dirty cop? Then another thought occurred to me: what if Gary wasn’t so unusual? What if half the cops in the precinct were dirty? What if I was the only one who wasn’t? I tried to shake the thought from my brain. I needed to focus. What was I going to do?
“It’s your choice,” Zico said. “But if you ask me, one BJ is a small price to pay to keep your job and your friends. I’d consider it if I were you.”
I stared at him. At the way his jaw clenched while he waited for me to decide. The way his large hands gripped the arms of his chair, the muscles in his arms flexing against his tan, smooth skin. He was beautiful. There was no denying that. However, he was also strong. Much stronger than I was. He could overpower me, so grabbing the book and running wasn’t an option. I was truly left with only one choice if I wanted to keep my job.
Slowly, I peeled off my coat, laying it across the back of a chair, and took a step towards him.
Zico smiled, once again biting his lower lip. “Looks like we might have another dirty cop,” he said.
I paused. “If I’m going to do this, I’m going to need you to knock it off with the puns and the innuendoes. This is terrible enough without your lousy jokes.”
Zico’s smile flattened into a serious line, and he nodded in agreement, though I could still clearly see the excitement in his eyes.
I dropped to my knees in front of him, placed my hands on his thighs, and waited.
“Well?” I asked, gesturing to his zipper.
“That’s your job,” he said, winking at me.
I sighed and reached for his zipper. The sound felt like it was coming through a blow horn, as if everyone on the city block had just heard a man’s pants being unzipped and would know exactly what was going on in this back room.
“Is anyone else here?” I asked.
Zico shook his head. “Just me and you. The shopkeeper left when you showed up.”
That was a relief. At least no one would witness my lowest moment.
I pulled his jeans back, and quickly, like ripping off a bandage, stuck my hand into his pants and pulled him out. My lips fell apart when I saw him.
He was huge.
I’d dated weightlifters and football players and all manner of beefy men in my life, but none of them had ever been this big. Without thinking about it, I glanced up at Zico’s face and saw him staring at me, his eyes animalistic and dark, but his smile a knowing smirk. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time someone had marveled at his member. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction, I arranged my face into a calm mask and tried to pretend I wasn’t surprised. Then, taking a deep breath, I took him in my mouth.
Immediately, he rested his head back and closed his eyes, gave himself over to the sensation of it. Me, on the other hand—I was trying to send my mind somewhere far far away. This was a physical act, not an emotional one. I imagined I was filling my car up with gas or washing the dishes. One of life’s mundanities.
My lips stretched around him as I bobbed up and down, occasionally licking from base to tip to give my mouth a break. I placed my hand at the base of him and massaged, working him from both ends, meeting in the middle. I could feel him stiffening and growing with my touch, and I couldn’t help but wonder how it was possible he was getting even bigger.
I cycled through these moves, switching it up so he wouldn’t get bored, and so he would hopefully finish faster. Zico moaned as I sucked and pulled on him, but he wasn’t showing any signs of being finished anytime soon, and my mouth was starting to hurt.
Truthfully, I’d been holding back. I didn’t want to do my best work on a mafia member I was only blowing to save my job, but I also didn’t want to be here all night. So, swallowing my pride, I opened my mouth even wider and slid him further into my mouth until I felt him at the back of my throat.
My nose touched the soft skin of his abdomen, and he groaned, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the arms of his chair. Within seconds, he pulled out and finished on the floor.
I stood up quickly, retucking my shirt, and looking away, not wanting Zico to see me blush. Though, he had just seen me do something much more embarrassing.
Zico stood up and zipped up his pants, the veins in his neck bulging from his skin. “Wow. You are a real talent,” he said.
I shot him the dirtiest look I could muster. “Can I go now?”
He nodded. “Oh, yes. You more than paid for that silly notebook. Send my regards to Gary.”
With that, he turned and headed for the stairs, and I rushed out of the back room and back to my car.