by G. K. Parks
“Please,” I said, pulling my hands free, “I just want to go upstairs and crash.” His hands explored my torso, feeling for a wire. Underneath the thin material of the tank top I wore, he felt every curve, but the only wire he discovered was part of my bra. “Please,” I begged, my mind occupied with the various methods of inflicting maximum damage with minimal effort, “don’t.”
“I wouldn’t,” he replied, reaching down and lifting my coat off the ground and putting it back on me. “Like I said, in this neighborhood, it’s important to know who can be trusted.”
“Sure.” I scurried toward the door.
“Chica,” he called, just as I stepped inside, “you ever need something to make you feel better, I can hook you up.”
Turning, I opened my mouth as if surprised, shut it, and proceeded to the stairs, making sure to keep the smug look off my face until I was locked inside the apartment and positive that I was alone.
“I hit nothing but green lights on the way home,” I said once Mark answered. It sounded stupid speaking in code, but it never hurt to be cautious, particularly since I just found a way inside the KXDs.
Six
Remaining at the apartment the rest of the day, I was too keyed up to sleep, and it was too bright to risk setting up the surveillance equipment in the windows. Instead, I replayed my encounter with Steele over and over. Obviously, he must have noticed me and spoke to the neighbors about the building’s newest tenant. Of course, my rent was paid in dirty one dollar bills, one month at a time. And my lease agreement didn’t disclose an occupation. This wasn’t exactly your typical housing arrangement. Rent was cheap, and the roaches came in two varieties, six legs and rolled in cigarette paper. Based upon my outfits, late nights, and party hardy attitude, it would have been easy enough to jump to a few conclusions. But the lack of johns knocking on my door probably meant I wasn’t a hooker, particularly since my parole officer liked to make random checks, so random in fact that I didn’t even know about them. Sighing, I tried to let that go. There must have been a reason Jablonsky failed to disclose ahead of time. Maybe it wasn’t a surefire thing or still in the works during my debrief. Who knows?
As the sky dimmed, I gave the place a final glance to make sure nothing incriminating remained, and then I left. My days and nights just flipped, and there was a good chance I’d have to make an appearance in the early morning hours, based on this new schedule. Heading out the door, I spotted a group of adolescent men huddled near a trashcan they had set on fire. They made a couple of catcalls and lewd comments, providing the perfect reason to glance in their direction. Memorizing as many of their faces as possible, I continued on my way.
Half a block later, their voices began to grow louder. They were following me. Think, Parker, my mind urged as I forced rational thought to keep the panic away. The taser was still in my pocket. My nine millimeter was in my purse since I was afraid that carrying it in a holster would blow my cover. Unfortunately, my purse was zipped underneath my coat because I didn’t want to make myself a target for muggers. Real brilliant, my mind berated as the footsteps sounded closer.
There was a good chance I could outrun them, but they were from the neighborhood. And I’d be back eventually and so would they. I could call 911, but that seemed utterly pointless. By the time anyone bothered to arrive, the situation would be resolved in some fashion. A thought crossed my mind. Maybe it was asking for trouble, but with limited options, it was worth a shot. Turning around, I faced them directly.
“What?” one of them asked, surprised, while the others exchanged confused looks and the occasional grin as they slowly surrounded me. “What’s a matter? Cat got your tongue?”
“Dammit, that’s the second time today I heard that. Did you ask for permission to use that line?”
“We don’t need permission,” one of them hissed, pawing at me. I elbowed him in the chest then dropped to the ground and performed a sweeping leg kick, rising and stepping back into a defensive stance. With the icy patches, the first guy went down easily, landing on his ass. Two of his buddies laughed, and the other two lunged. “Teach that bitch a lesson,” said the guy on the ground.
One of them grabbed me from behind, and I screamed, catching the attention of everyone else on the street. It was a little after seven. Traffic was fairly heavy, and making a scene was the smartest course of action. The worst thing someone can do is hide in a secluded area. The more populated, the better.
The punk tried to clap a hand over my mouth, and I jerked my head back, hitting the side of his jaw hard enough to rattle his teeth. Disoriented, he let go, and I pulled the taser, giving the second guy a jolt that immediately reduced him to a quivering blob.
“Now who’s the bitch?” I snarled, kicking the original asshole hard enough in the jewels to greatly decrease his chances of ever procreating. He let out a high-pitched yelp, vomited, and perhaps passed out. Spinning to face the remaining two guys, I took a breath, reestablishing my stance. “You want to keep going?”
Their focus shifted elsewhere, and a voice sounded from behind. “Take off. We’ll discuss your behavior later.” Swallowing, I turned and came face-to-face with Francisco. He yanked the taser from my hand and studied the dial. Adjusting the setting to the lowest possible choice, he handed it back. “You said you weren’t looking for trouble,” he stated in a tone that gave nothing away.
“I’m not.” The five guys I just fought off were clowns, and from the way Steele carried himself, it was apparent he could fight. It was also apparent he could probably inflict quite a bit of damage before I could escape or subdue him. “But that doesn’t mean I’m down for getting gangbanged. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Do you turn tricks?” he asked, his voice as hard as his name implied.
“No.” I made sure to dart my eyes off to the side. Maybe I was lying, or embarrassed, or selling my cover identity. There was no way for him to know.
“Hmm,” he continued to look down at me, “not ever?” His eyes grazed my covered arms. “So I won’t find you selling yourself on the corner in my neighborhood?”
“Hell no.” His neighborhood? What would his boss have to say about that?
“If you were to change your mind, you’d need someone to protect you from the creeps.”
“I’m not a whore.” Plus, why would I need protection? Didn’t I just demonstrate how well I could protect myself? “God.” The guy I kicked was crawling away. “I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this. What are you? Some pimp? That’s why you were offering to hook me up, isn’t it? Shit.” I fidgeted, letting the nervous energy show. Forcing the adrenaline-induced tremors to appear more pronounced than usual given the circumstances, I still wasn’t sure what he was thinking or what he planned to do. “Just because I’m an exotic dancer doesn’t mean I turn tricks. That’s what those bastards at work think, and that’s what…” I shook my head. “That’s not something I want to do anymore.” Giving him my best damsel in distress look, I begged, “Please, just leave me the hell alone. Don’t force me into this. I can’t. I can’t go back to that. I can’t go back to jail. I just…I can’t.” I let out a loud, pathetic gasp, as if tears might spill at any moment. “My PO’s already snooping around. He probably realizes I can’t get clean and now this.” Gesturing at the sidewalk as if it explained everything, I wiped at my nose and bounced on the balls of my feet.
“Chill,” Steele said, and something passed behind his eyes. “Get going. It’s fine. They won’t bother you again. No one’s gonna bother you. Just forget this happened.” The way he said those words made the situation feel like a test designed to see how I’d react. Would I offer services for a fee? Call the cops? Or curl into a ball and wait for it to be over? My reaction had been none of those things, and I wondered if I passed. “You’re okay. They were just messing around with the new girl in the neighborhood. Don’t give it a second thought, chica.”
“How am I supposed to do that? They…almost…” I stuttered and shook, cl
awing at my arms and jacket like I was being attacked by fire ants.
He stepped closer, dropping a tiny baggie into my pocket. “That’ll take the edge off. Now go on. You’re off limits, and I’ll spread it around. Like I told you before, I take care of the people in this neighborhood. You got a problem, just tell them Francisco said to back the fuck off, understand?”
“Ye-yeah,” I said, sounding unsure before darting down the street toward the arriving bus. Taking it all the way to the main terminal, I got out and found a restroom, locked the door, and dialed Mark. “We need to meet.”
I wanted to go to the federal building, or home, or even to Mark’s. But none of those things were options for appropriate meeting places. Instead, I found myself sitting in the back corner of some horrible dive bar near one of the universities. No one from the neighborhood would venture this far out or want to deal with the uppity, barely legal smartasses that thought they knew everything there was to know about the world. God, I was getting old.
Washing up in the tiny restroom, I couldn’t manage to shake the look of death warmed over. Lack of sleep could do that to a person, not to mention fending off a group of men who may or may not have planned on committing a violent sexual assault. Burying the thought away, I returned to the bar. As soon as the booth in the back corner became vacant, I slid into the seat, rested my back against the wall, and waited for Mark. He arrived fifteen minutes later, attempting to hide the cheap suit underneath a down jacket and baseball cap.
“You look like an idiot,” I said when he sat down.
“And you look like hell.” His eyes searched for possible threats or familiar faces. “This isn’t how we’re supposed to do things. What’s going on?”
“Go order us some dinner, this might take awhile.” Jerking my chin at the bar, he gave me another cursory glance and went to order whatever was on the menu. The best thing about college bars was they always offered food and cheap beer. He returned a few minutes later with a platter of cheese fries and two longnecks. “Am I off duty?”
“You tell me,” he said, taking a swig and pushing the plate across the table.
After shoving a handful of fries into my mouth, I slipped out of my coat and used a napkin to pull the baggie from my pocket. I laid it on the table in front of Mark, and he picked it up with the same level of care, examining the single pill inside.
“I told you not to push for a buy.”
“I didn’t buy it. If it was cash, I’d call it hush money. But it’s not, so I don’t know what to call it. Maybe a happy pill to make the horrors go away.” My eyes must have shown something disconcerting because Mark suddenly looked uneasy. “I’m okay. Nicholson’s still in play. Green lights, baby. Green lights.”
“Alex,” he watched me uneasily, “what happened?” Snorting, I picked up another fry and explained the last twenty-four hours in extreme detail. My story ended before the fries did, and I continued to eat while Mark mulled over the ramifications of my words. “Do you want out? I can pull you.”
“No. Frankly, it might have been staged. After my early morning encounter with Steele and his declarations about keeping things in the neighborhood, taking care of the community, and not calling the cops, I think it was a test. It sure as hell seemed like one with the way he appeared and told the guys to get lost.”
“Yeah, and maybe he also wants to use you to make some money. And this,” Mark pointed to the napkin that was keeping the baggie out of sight, “was just the incentive to get you started.” He glanced around the room again to make sure no one was paying any attention to us. “I don’t like the fact that he searched you for a wire either. What would even make him think that you would be wired?”
“He’s paranoid.”
“Are you sure that’s all it is?”
“Perhaps. What does Steele’s history look like? Oh, and I need to run through Bard’s known associates and the KXDs’ lineup again to see who I can pinpoint. Depending on their priors, it might prove that Steele staged it.”
“That’s a lot of ifs.” He stood, going to the bar to get another beer and his order of boneless wings. “You need a partner,” he said when he returned.
“No.”
“Alex.”
“No,” I repeated. “That’s a deal-breaker, especially now. Francisco’s either suspicious or paranoid. He barely trusts me, and he won’t trust anyone else who starts hanging around, especially after today.”
“Dammit,” Mark growled, viciously stabbing a piece of chicken. “This is why I warned you not to approach any of the top dogs. You were supposed to work your way up from the bottom.”
“I didn’t do it. Didn’t you read the report? He approached me. What was I supposed to do?”
Mark rubbed his face. “Fine. Stay away from there until everyone’s up to speed and we get the rest of your background solidified. I need to figure out a way to get eyes on you without anyone knowing.”
“Okay, just say the word, boss, and I’ll go back in.”
He was used to my flippant attitude, but he softened. “No one’s gonna bat an eye if you want to be pulled. I’ll say it was my idea. After all, I’m your handler. The decision falls on me.”
“I’m all right. I can take care of a few creeps.”
“Are you sure?”
Nodding, I speared one of the wings from his plate, and we ate in silence. When we finished, he closed the tab at the bar, and I put my coat back on and rummaged through my wallet for some cash to cover a taxi home. Whatever drug Steele slipped me would be analyzed by the techs, and I was scheduled to show up to that drafty office building again tomorrow for a more thorough debriefing.
“Can I bum a twenty?” I asked when Mark returned to the table. “All I have are singles, and it annoys the cab drivers when you hand them a fist full of dollars.”
“It’s the least I can do.” He handed over some cash, pocketed the baggie, and jerked his head at the door. “Ladies first. You had a long day.”
“Night, Mark,” I said, not needing to be told twice.
Exiting the bar, I scanned the vicinity, didn’t notice anyone noticing me, hailed a cab, and went home. When I unlocked my front door, the tension left my shoulders, and I relaxed. Alex Parker was safe and sound, and a part of me never wanted to go back to that horrible neighborhood and be Alexia Nicholson ever again. Too bad I still had a job to do.
Seven
“Those three,” I said, pointing to the mug shots, “but I don’t see the other two.”
“It’s a start,” Jablonsky said, rummaging through the stack of files for the corresponding rap sheets. “Assault, B&E, armed robbery,” he skimmed the pages, “nothing domestic or sexual reported.” He met my eyes. “You do realize not everything gets reported.”
“True, but I’m choosing to believe they were told to scare the crap out of me. Steele was watching. He wanted to see how I would react.”
“Which means either he thinks you’re undercover or that you might cause trouble for him and the KXDs in the future.”
“Well, now he knows. Plus, if he thought I was a cop, why’d he slip me a little something to take the edge off? Wouldn’t I have busted him right then and there?”
“He didn’t sell it. It’s harder to make a case unless an actual transaction occurs, but I agree. It would be stupid.” He pulled another folder from the stack. “That little pill is classified as a Schedule I controlled substance. It’s some designer concoction, think some seriously souped up version of Xanax meets opium. Talk about calm. You’d practically be in a coma.”
“Great way to advertise,” I muttered. “So when do I make another appearance?”
“Are you sure about this, Parker?”
“Yes, Agent Jablonsky, I’m positive.” I narrowed my eyes and lowered my voice in order to prevent the support team from hearing our conversation. “Would you be asking this question if it were someone else, like a full-fledged agent?”
He rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to say something t
hat we’d both regret. Instead, he glanced across the room. “Lucca, you got a minute?”
A man I didn’t recognize approached the conference table. Clean-shaven, close cropped hair that screamed military wannabe, and a crisp white shirt underneath a black suit and skinny black tie. Maybe he was the poster boy for the FBI. He practically stood at attention, waiting to be given orders. As I studied him, aghast at the brainwashing and horrified by the thought that that’s what I used to be like, he glanced in my direction, offering a slight nod and smile.
“Who’s the boy scout?” I asked, suspecting this OIO agent was my new partner, despite my protests.
“Eddie Lucca, ma’am. Nice to meet you,” he replied in a rehearsed, perfunctory manner.
“Give it time. I’m sure you’ll rethink that last statement,” I said.
“Parker,” Mark snapped, and I took a breath, “he’ll be your on-site support. The two of you will never have to interact, but in case you need additional eyes or ears, he’ll be positioned close enough to respond within minutes should you need him.”
“Fine.” Running a hand through my hair, I forgot how horrible it was to be forced to take orders, follow orders, and have no free will in most matters. The private sector ruined me. “Welcome aboard. Sorry about the bitchiness, and fair warning, it happens frequently.”
“Lucca’s been picking up your reports from the drop site,” Jablonsky continued. “He’s also been compiling the intel and analyzing the changing trends in the neighborhood. He’s up to speed on the key players and pertinent facts.”
“Great.” I forced myself to stop grimacing at the thought of working closely with another agent. “What’s your take on what happened yesterday?”
“Steele’s feeling you out,” Lucca replied. “He needs to know you’re not a plant and you’re not a tattle. From what I’ve read, it seems you handled the situation masterfully. That was unexpected.” His right eyebrow twitched slightly, and the corner of his lip trembled, amused by the dig. Apparently the boy scout could dish it out just as well as he could take it.