by G. K. Parks
When I arrived home, there was no sign of Steele. The usual gangbangers were still at the corner, but they pretended that I didn’t exist. So I returned the favor. Once inside, I changed into a sweatshirt and jeans. It wasn’t impressive, but Nicholson’s closet only consisted of two styles – lounge and party wear.
The sudden rapping at the door made me jump. It was followed by Steele’s voice requesting that I open up. When I complied, he looked anxious.
“Grab your keys, we’re going,” he insisted.
“What? Where?”
“Keys.” He reached inside and snatched them off the table, flipping the lock, and grabbing my arm.
Barely managing to grab a hold of my parka on the way out, everything of any use was still inside the apartment. The hollowed out lining was empty. My cell was inside my purse with my arsenal of self-defense tools. Right now, back-up and a support team would have been a reassurance. Why was I so stubborn?
I didn’t like being unprepared. The fact that my nine millimeter was inside my locked apartment made my stomach clench, but Francisco didn’t hear any of my protests or questions as he dragged me out of the apartment building and into the frigid night. A half a block later, he came to an abrupt halt and released his grip on my arm.
Scanning the area, the street was empty. “Am I missing something, y’know, besides my purse and phone and everything?”
“Listen,” his voice was low and gravelly, “don’t mouth off inside. Shakespeare likes respect and silence. Do what he says.”
“Shakespeare? Seriously? What kind of name is that?”
“It’s a nickname. And that’s exactly what I’m talking about. Quiet, got it?”
I pantomimed zipping my lip and throwing away the key. So I was getting to meet Bard for the first time completely outmanned and outgunned. This wasn’t what I envisioned happening. Francisco snorted in amusement and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. Opening the latch on a metal gate, he led us down a walkway to a hidden staircase. Two gang members were stationed near the stairs, and another stood in front of the doorway to the basement apartment.
“Yo, Steele,” the one at the door said, bouncing slightly, “you gotta stop by, man. I just got number six, and damn, we be blowing some shit up.”
“Yeah, later,” Steele said. “Maybe you need to ease up on the caffeine chasers.”
The guard laughed hysterically. Based on the way he looked, I’d guess his heart would probably give out within the year from two much speed, but I wasn’t a doctor. And my current concern was aimed more toward discovering exactly what was being blown up. Making a mental note to question Francisco about it later, I followed him into the darkened basement, colliding against his back when he came to an abrupt stop.
He chuckled. “Afraid of the dark, chica?”
“I’m only afraid of what happens in the dark.”
“Good answer,” a voice said from a few feet away, and a second later, the lights clicked on. DeAngelo Bard sat in a chair in the middle of the living room. Another man stood silently in the corner. From what I gathered, the rest of the apartment extended outward from the two doorways to the left and right of the fireplace. “So this is your solution?” Bard asked Steele, who had stepped away and was now blocking the opening to the foyer. “She doesn’t look like much.”
“She has an attitude problem, but we can use her,” Steele said.
Being trapped and unarmed caused a feeling of nakedness and claustrophobia to settle in the pit of my stomach. But I wouldn’t show fear. Instead, I assessed the room, Bard’s minions, and glanced uneasily at the automatic weapon sitting atop the mantle. There were ways out, but escape wouldn’t be easy.
Bard got out of the chair and approached. He smelled of aftershave, metal, and something chemical and toxic. “My boy says you can fight,” he said, circling. “Why’s that?”
“Have you ever walked around the neighborhood in nothing but stripper heels and a trench coat? It leads to plenty of unwanted attention. A girl needs to be able to take care of herself.”
“Or maybe you should just wear something underneath the coat.” His eyes blazed. “Do you have anything under that jacket?” I unzipped, letting my parka fall open. It was hot inside on account of the fireplace. “Damn, I was hoping.” His gaze darted off to the side, and Steele pulled the coat free from my arms and handed it to Bard’s minion who began sifting through the pockets and feeling the lining. For the first time, I was thankful there was nothing hidden inside. “Now take off your sweatshirt.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s either this or being submerged in the bathtub. You decide.”
“What? You think I’m wearing a wire? Are you insane?”
“Alex,” Steele whispered huskily, “do what he says.”
“Fine.” I pulled the sweatshirt over my head, and Bard made a circle with his finger, indicating that I spin. “I feel like I’m modeling. Are you planning to take a few glamour shots too?”
“Just like you said.” Bard spoke to Steele as if I were an inanimate object. “That scar looks pretty nasty, and that feistiness could lead to unwanted attention. You’re taking on the risk, Francisco. You got me? I’m not shouldering your blowback this time.”
“No sweat, Shakespeare. I can handle her,” Steele said.
“What about the other one? She started causing trouble and tried to jam you up. How are you taking care of that?” Bard asked. “Because I’m not dealing with it when your whiny ass comes back here, looking for help.”
“Already handled,” Steele said, watching as the other KXD member yanked some stuffing from the rip in my coat. “Are you finished playing with that, Seth?”
Bard nodded, and the man shoved the stuffing back in place and handed my coat to Francisco. “When’s the last time you used?” Bard asked me, studying the faded bruise patterns on my arms.
“A few days.” Mentally, I made certain to keep the level of fidgeting the same so as not to tip him off that it was only due to the power of suggestion. “Francisco disappeared, so I had to wait longer than I wanted.”
“You must be pretty hard up for a hit.” Bard went to the coffee table and picked up a packet. Licking my lips, I focused on the item like it was a million dollars. How the hell was I going to make this look convincing? Thoughts ran through my head, and the only thing I could come up with was a little ridiculous. “How ‘bout I cook it up for you?”
“I don’t use strange needles. My kit’s at my place. I would have brought it if Francisco told me.”
“Too bad. Make an exception.” Bard was not one to be argued with.
“If it’s pure enough, I’ll snort it.” My only option was the straw trick, but I hadn’t practiced it that much. If I didn’t pinch at the right time, I’d either end up inhaling that shit or Bard would realize it was a ploy. But it was the only thing I could do.
“Excellent.” Bard dropped a small pad of paper on the table next to the drugs. “Sorry, but I don’t trust you with a rolled up hundred. Too many people have sticky fingers.”
Laughing, I went to the table and knelt down. “So what’s this costing me?”
“Francisco covered it. You’ll work that out with him.” Bard’s words were ominous, and I cocked my head up at Francisco as I unzipped the baggie and dropped the powder on the table. Bard smiled. “Are you that anxious with everything?”
Ignoring him, I took the edge of the paper and made a neat line. Then I tore off the top sheet and started rolling it into a tight tube. My heart rate kicked up three notches, and my mind ran through the possibility of getting out of this room alive if I didn’t continue with the ruse. The odds of that weren’t great. My life, career, and the crux of this case rested on a sheet of paper and my ability to create a temporary vacuum within the makeshift straw. Everything might be over in the blink of an eye.
“Cheers.” I bent down, letting my long hair obscure my actions from view. Tilt, inhale, pinch. Don’t try this at home, kids, the sarcastic voice in
my head said as I leaned back, dropping the paper to the floor and rubbing the back of my hand against my nose. Something burned, and panic shot through me. How much did I accidentally snort? It was imperative I play it off, and I shut my eyes and let my head fall back. Tilting forward, I made sure the powder that collected in the paper was dispersed into the carpet, and I swept my knee over it to grind it deeper into the fibers as I struggled to stand up, intentionally wobbly. “Damn,” I exhaled, keeping my eyes partially closed to help my pupils appear to be dilating.
“You passed. Now get dressed and get out,” Bard commanded. Tugging on my sweatshirt, I intentionally lost balance and slumped against Francisco who offered my parka and put a hand on my back to guide me to the door. “And Alexia, if I regret this, you will too.”
What was up with people and making threats tonight? Sheesh.
Thirteen
“Your blood work came back clean,” Mark said, and I exhaled a long sigh of relief. “Any particular reason you wanted another drug screening so soon?”
I didn’t tell Mark exactly what happened at the meeting with Bard since he was a supervisory agent and needed plausible deniability. Instead, I gave him the condensed version and focused on my ever-changing position of favor with Francisco. After leaving Bard’s, Steele came back to my place, and I spent the rest of the night in a faked euphoria while he spoke about dealing ecstasy out of the strip joint.
“I’m in close proximity to a lot of this shit. It’s best to make sure I’m clean and not accidentally getting high off residuals. Plus,” I rolled up my sleeves, “if we keep this up, I won’t need those tattoo artists to airbrush the bruises and lines anymore.” Checking the time, I sat on the bed and pulled my legs to my chest. There was no reason to pace when I’d be spending the rest of the night walking around in stripper heels while serving drinks. “It looks like I’m an honorary member of the KXDs. Alexia Nicholson, low-level dealer at your service.”
“When is he giving you the product?”
“He’s bringing it by the club tonight. We’re planning on doing a handoff in one of the private rooms. He said it won’t be more than what I can move in one evening, but he didn’t say exactly how much that is.”
“I’m not fond of his overly vague attitude.” Rubbing his face, Jablonsky flipped through a few pages of notes the analysts had given him. “You said you spotted a couple of the girls dealing already. Are they working for the KXDs?”
“I don’t know. What did their profiles say? The only one who admitted to having a connection with Francisco was Veronica, and clearly, she’s never been my biggest fan. She was adamantly opposed to my alleged drug use, but last night, she let the cat out of the bag about her former addiction.”
“We’re still digging for deeper connections, but the majority of the dancers have records for solicitation and possession. Lucca is still looking, and Cooper is reviewing the files. But none of the girls have connections to the KXDs or the neighborhood that we’ve found.”
“So what’s the link between Francisco and Veronica?” I asked, even though he didn’t know.
“Your guess is as good as mine, but maybe you should just ask.”
“Might as well.” I took an uneasy breath. “Am I seriously distributing narcotics tonight?”
“Steele’s paranoid. He keeps testing you, and it seems he picked up this annoying habit from Bard. So you don’t have a choice. But we’re tapped into the club’s security system, so once we know what’s going on, you’ll pass the product to our people without anyone being the wiser.”
“Great.”
Jablonsky glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “Get going. It takes an extra twenty minutes to get to the club from this motel, and you don’t want to look suspicious.” Climbing off the bed, I slipped on my parka and grabbed my bag. “Be careful, Alex.”
“Always.” I tossed him a smile and went out the door. Tonight would be interesting.
Arriving at the club, the locker room was filled with a flock of scantily clad women in the midst of exchanging gossip. Not paying much heed, I unlocked my locker and began stripping off the extra layers of winter clothing. Just as I was shoving my bag inside, something caught my attention. The locker three away from mine no longer had a lock, and the masking tape label was gone.
“Who are we missing?” I asked, turning to Sasha who was rubbing oil on her legs.
“You didn’t hear?” she asked, horrified.
“What?” My radar was pinging, and a quick scan indicated the missing label belonged to Veronica.
“Last night, Vee was mugged. She’s in the hospital.”
Quickly turning back to my locker in order to compose myself, I swallowed the bile and anger before facing Sasha. “Is she okay?”
“She won’t be spinning around the pole anytime soon.” Sasha closed the tube of oil and fastened the straps on her heels. “From what I’ve heard, she’s not coming back. So Cindy cleaned out her locker and brought her stuff to the hospital. Vee was cut up pretty badly in the attack. It’s no wonder she quit. Scars don’t equate to tips.” Sasha pressed her lips together, unsure of what else to say, gave a slight shrug, and left the locker room.
If this was how Steele handled that situation, I’d hate to see what he’d do if he found out who I really was. However, if Veronica was out of Francisco’s good graces, there was a chance we could flip her. Tabling that thought, I took a moment to fall back into character. Alexia Nicholson had too much to worry about without focusing on Alex Parker’s dilemmas. Right now, the only thing that needed my attention was Steele and selling some E.
It was business as usual at the Black Cat. Focusing on serving drinks and flirting a little more than usual, I made sure not to pay attention to the few private rooms. Joe was giving me the cold shoulder, and I wondered if he thought I had something to do with Veronica’s assault. Obviously, I worked all night, so there was little reason for him to suspect me. If he suspected anyone, it should be Francisco.
“Alexia,” one of the other waitresses said my name, and I spun, “the guy in the side booth is looking for you.”
“Thanks.” Leaning across the bar, I caught Joe’s attention. “I have a frequent flyer. You might need to get someone else to cover my section for twenty minutes. I’m not sure yet.”
“Wow, your first lap dance.” He chuckled, pouring a vodka tonic. “If things get out of hand, the security call button is next to the light switch. Have fun.”
Sauntering over to Steele, my cover persona snapped into place. I was Alexia Nicholson. Smirking, I leaned against the table. “Can I get you something, sugar?”
“Someone’s in a good mood.” His eyes twinkled. “Are you ready for this?”
“Absolutely.” Taking his hand, I pulled him away from the booth, leading him toward the row of rooms on the side. Each one was fairly small, enclosed by only a curtain. Inside was a free-standing pole, a chair, side table, and a security camera planted in the upper left corner. “Did you want a drink before we get started?” I asked, pushing him down into the chair and reaching for the curtain.
“Not yet.” He was enjoying this take-charge stripper attitude. And once we were obscured from view, he grabbed the belt loop on my boyshorts and yanked me to him. “However, I would like a lap dance.” His eyes darted to the camera, and I understood his unspoken message.
Kneeling on the chair over him, I did my best to mimic the movements the other dancers and waitresses occasionally used. Unfortunately, this was uncharted territory, and Francisco seemed to pick up on it. Adding to the awkwardness of the situation was the fact that he hoped to be obscured from the surveillance camera, and I wanted everything to be caught on tape. Finally, he grabbed my hips, forcing me into the position he wanted.
“Sorry, I’m a bit nervous,” I whispered in his ear, running my hands from his neck down his chest.
“It’s okay.” His hands were still on my hips, and he slipped something into my pocket. “We’ll start with twenty. You should
be able to handle that. Last night, we talked about how to move it. Do you remember?” Nodding, I leaned back, continuing the gyrating motions. “I’ll meet you outside the apartment building when you get home, and you’ll give me the cash.”
“What about a little something for my troubles?” I asked. Our words had been quiet, not loud enough to be overheard or caught on tape with the pulsing music raging in the background.
“Let’s see how you do first.” I stepped backward, but he grabbed my wrist. “Now finish the dance.” For the next ten minutes, I grinded and danced against him, feeling his fingers play across my skin as he lined the waistband of my uniform with dollar bills. “I’ll see you tonight,” he whispered in my ear once the music stopped, and he disappeared through the curtain and out of the club.
Now that he was gone, the façade was slipping. Feeling slightly nauseous, I went back to refilling drinks. At my break, I went into the ladies’ room, counted the pills, calculated how much cash I would need to cover the street value, and returned to the bar. It was time to start dealing.
Considering my dancing left something to be desired, I expected the same to be true of my drug dealing skills. Oddly enough, that wasn’t the case. Steele’s system was simple. While waitressing, I’d take drink orders, ask if they needed something to make things more fun, and hint that some items weren’t listed on the menu. Apparently word was already out on the street, probably since at least two of the other girls had been dealing, and if a customer wanted a hit of E, he’d tear off the corresponding number of corners from the coaster to indicate how many pills he wanted.
On my next trip to the table, I’d deposit the pills into a front shirt pocket or carefully leave them on the table underneath a napkin or new coaster. The money was slipped into my waistband, and I’d continue working with no one being the wiser. The scary fact was the system was already established which meant this had been going on for a while. And despite my best efforts to remain in the moment as Alexia Nicholson, I still couldn’t shake my years of training and investigative tactics. What were these already horny men doing with drugs that would further exacerbate the situation?