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“Oh, keep your zipper up,” she said. “I’m just enjoying some interesting conversation here with Bill. You got a problem with that, Gary?”
“You’re drunk, Rhonda. I’m taking you home.”
“I ain’t going nowhere with you, Gary. I’m sick of this shit. You ain’t my husband after all,” she slurred, turning her attention back to Bill.
I grabbed a hold of her wrist, pulling her towards me. Bill shoved my wrist away and I acted like a wounded pussy.
“Watch the way you touch the lady,” Bill said, giving me the evil eye. “Are you alright, honey?” he asked, turning his attention fully to her. She looked behind him at me and I gave her a quick nod.
She turned the tears on telling Bill what an awful fuck I was to her, bitching and shoving her around all the time. He leaned in to comfort her giving me a chance to toss the small, self-dissolving ampoule into his tall glass of draft beer.
I needed a few moments for the ampoule to fully dissolve with a substance that was going to render poor Bill totally nauseous within five minutes after drinking it.
I stuck my finger in her face.
“You know what Rhonda?” I said quietly, but firmly. I didn’t want to draw attention from the other patrons. “You are absolutely right, we aren’t married. I guess I am the royal shit you say I am. I’ve had it. It’s not fucking worth it to me. You, Bill - is that your name?”
He was watching me. He nodded his head affirmatively.
“Bill, can you see that she gets home? I’ve had enough of her for one lifetime.”
“Uh, well,” he stammered, looking over at her tear-stained cheeks. “You see the thing is Rhonda, I go on the clock in about twenty minutes over at the loading dock.”
“Please don’t make me leave with that bastard,” she sobbed quietly.
“I only live five minutes’ drive from here, but it’s just not safe in this neighborhood for me to be walking. It sure as hell isn’t safe for me to get into the car with him,” she spat, pointing her finger at me.
“Okay, sweetie-pie,” he said. “Let me down this beer and we’re outta here. I’ll drop you before I go on the clock.”
“Thanks, Bill,” she crooned, as he turned and gulped down his beer.
“Lots of luck, Bill,” I spat walking out the door.
Perfect execution of task at hand. Yes!
I hoofed it over to the line of shrubbery on the empty lot next to the well-lit dock and waited. There was only one longshoreman that was in the on the deal, not knowing that Hatfield and Simmons were feds. That was sweet.
Hatfield had been making this trek to Philly with Bill once a month for the past four months. He had his CDL issued under his undercover name of “Jeremy Haskell.”
He and Bill took turns driving the goods from Baltimore to Philly and back. No one would notice anything odd about Hatfield, a.k.a. Haskell, pulling the first stint of the run.
Come on, come on, Diana.
We needed ‘Bill’ to show up in some way shape or form on his shift tonight so that the loaders wouldn’t get suspicious. He was approximately the same height and weight as me. The clothing would do the rest.
Then I saw her with five minutes to spare. She had Bill’s jacket and wallet. I quickly donned the jacket with the name of the OTR freight company with name tag “Bill” sewn on the outside. I shoved his wallet into the pocket of the work pants that exactly matched the one’s Bill had been wearing. I knew they would.
I pulled the black knit cap out of the pocket; also a signature “Bill” accessory. As long as I didn’t get too close to the loaders, there was no way they would not think I was Bill.
“Where is he?” I asked, pulling the knit cap on to cover my hair.
“His car had an unfortunate accident as he was driving me to my fake apartment. Poor guy hit a hydrant as he was trying to pull over to the curb so he could puke. I lifted his wallet and grabbed his jacket from the back seat. The locals were on it just as soon as I beat the block. We’re good. He’ll be sleeping it off in the Baltimore drunk tank for a while. The locals know not to give him his one phone call until after we give them clearance.”
“Good job, Diana,” I said, giving her a slap on the shoulder. “Now, get your ass back to the hotel and sit tight until tomorrow morning, got it?”
“Yes, Special Agent Matthews,” she whispered. “Good luck with the rest.”
She turned and broke into a jog back towards the bar and the hotel that was just around the corner. Dee Dee would do all right getting back. She had proven to me that she could hang tough.
