by G. K. Parks
I nodded, and he turned an icy eye on Derek. “Do you have something to say?”
“Maybe later, when we’re alone,” Derek growled, maintaining his status by not cowering. Sometimes, it paid to have brass ones, but unfortunately, that wasn’t my role. Thankfully, it was Derek’s. “But if you hit her again, we’ll be exchanging more than just words, chico.”
Twenty-seven
When we arrived at Bard’s fortress, the normal guards weren’t stationed outside. The door was locked, and it was the first time I noticed the high-tech security system being implemented. Biometric locks, scanners, and keypads were positioned at the various entry points. Francisco keyed in a number and led us inside. I didn’t spot a single KXD member, but voices traveled from a back room, deep inside the apartment. On the plus side, no one was around to pat us down, which meant the blade wouldn’t be detected or questioned; although, I still wanted to ask Derek why he felt it necessary that I be armed with such an impractical weapon. We continued down a back hallway that had been hidden from view on my last visit, and the voices grew louder.
“Help him,” Bard snarled, growing frustrated. At the moment, I still couldn’t discern which room he was in or precisely where we were. The apartment was a labyrinth that spanned the entire basement of the apartment building. “If he dies, so do you.”
I swallowed and glanced at Heathcliff, but he remained facing forward, exuding complete neutrality. Francisco stopped in front of a doorway, knocked twice, and then pushed the slightly ajar door completely open. Bard shot a glance in our direction and cracked a smile. It was disconcerting.
“Did Steele tell you what happened?” Bard asked, and before I could even fathom who he was speaking to, Heathcliff replied.
“Not in so many words. The police are breathing down your necks. It sounds like vice raided your club,” Derek surmised, jerking his head at the downed gang member. “Did they do that to him? The Irish said the cops have been raining hell down on drug runners, guns, and girls for the last few months. Frankly, I didn’t mind being otherwise occupied and missing out on that shit.” He snickered. “But it looks like the fun’s getting started again.” He rubbed his palms together. “What do you need from me, Shakespeare?”
Had I not known who Derek Heathcliff was, I would have thought he was one of the KXDs or some psychopath. His familiarity with Bard, Steele, and members of different criminal organizations made me draw into question exactly what he had done in the past and what he was about to do now. Remaining silent, I shrunk back against the wall. It was tactically advantageous to limit the angles by which one could be attacked, but it also allowed me to maneuver around Steele and get a better look inside the room.
“Stitch my guy up before he bleeds out,” Bard ordered. “Rocco’s gonna end up killing him by the time he figures out how to thread the needle.” Bard rolled his eyes. “Idiots.”
Heathcliff nodded and crossed the room. Taking the first aid kit from Rocco, he pulled out a few items and set to work. Most law enforcement agencies required first responder training. But how did Bard know Heathcliff possessed such skills? And why was Bard confident that Heathcliff could do a better job than Rocco?
“Alex,” Steele hissed my name, and Bard snapped his fingers in front of my face, “who the hell attacked you after I left the coffee shop?”
“Don’t you know? You said you took care of it, and no one would hurt me again. I thought you promised to protect me,” I said accusingly.
“I did.” Steele glowered, annoyed. “But who were they?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes. You do,” Bard said, approaching and putting an arm around my shoulders and pulling me against his side. “Let’s go someplace less chaotic and talk about this. Just the two of us,” he added for Steele’s benefit. The weight of the knife in my back pocket was the only assurance I had that he wasn’t about to take me into another room and kill me for being an undercover agent. “Don’t be afraid. Just tell me what I want to know, and you’ll be rewarded.” Heathcliff glanced up, but with four of the KXDs standing by, we were out of options. It was a good thing I could handle myself. “I have just what you like.”
“I really don’t know what I can tell you. I already told Francisco what happened.” I tried to sound meek and afraid. Normal people would be upset by a man with a few bullet holes. Then again, the KXDs already knew I had experienced my fair share in the past, so it wasn’t like Alexia was exactly normal either.
“Relax,” he purred, “you’re thinking too much.” He kept a firm grip on my shoulder as we went down another darkened corridor. Stopping at a thumbprint reader, he pressed his finger to the screen, waited for the light to change from red to green, and opened the door. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
The room was large, brightly lit, and actually felt homey. It had large couches, a counter and kitchenette, a television and gaming system, and another doorway that led to some other room. He released his hold and went to the fridge and came back with a can of soda.
“Your house is insane,” I said, appearing awed. “So many hallways and rooms. What is this? The man cave?”
“No one comes in here without my permission,” he said, as if I should be impressed or thrilled to be invited. “This is where I come to silence the voices.” He opened the can and took a sip. “You need to silence the voices.”
Hopefully, he was speaking metaphorically. Then again, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he had some diagnosable mental disorder. People who sought power and control and would go to such extremes to achieve that grandeur often did. However, it could be argued that was just ambition and drive. But in Shakespeare’s case, it might be more accurately depicted as ambition and drive-bys.
“There were four of them. They dragged me down this dark street. They wanted the blow that Francisco picked up.” I licked my swollen lip. “One of them looked really rough, like he had the shit knocked out of him one too many times.”
“I don’t care about them. I want to know about the SUV.”
“It was black, I think.”
“Who was inside?”
“I didn’t see. I was pinned behind the dumpster.”
He looked annoyed and pushed me onto the couch. “How were you pinned?” He sat uncomfortably close. The handle of the knife pressed against the small of my back, giving me another option for escaping the room, but I didn’t take it.
“The gunfire terrified me, and I froze. By the time I decided to make a run for it, the SUV crashed into the side of the dumpster and pushed it against the wall. It nearly crushed me.” He looked confused, so I continued. “My leg got caught.” And suddenly, I realized what the point of this interrogation was. He couldn’t care less about the SUV. He thought I talked to the police, and that’s why they raided the Black Cat.
“And then what happened?”
Playing dumb, I continued with the story about the paramedics and escaping the hospital and calling Francisco for a ride. When I was done, he scrutinized my facial expressions, looking for some sign of a lie. I’d been trained to hide any obvious tells, but the body still had its own responses which could be mitigated and tricked through other means.
“I didn’t talk to the cops. A couple of them questioned me, but I wouldn’t even give them my name. You can’t seriously think that I’d turn on my girlfriends at work or Francisco. That’s ridiculous.”
He squinted. “But you’d turn on me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He stood, towering over me, and leaned down, placing his palms on either side of my face. “So what did you say?”
“I’m loyal to them. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt myself or my friends. And I’d be a fool to cross you. You control this neighborhood. When you were gone, the place went crazy.” My answer must have pleased him because he smiled. “Are you satisfied?”
“We’re good.” He stepped away, downing the rest of his soda. “But there’s just one more thing I’d like to know.”
“What’s that?”
“How do you know Hotshot?”
Dammit. If our stories didn’t match, we’d both be dead. “I don’t really know him. He picked up the brick at the club.” Furrowing my brow, I cocked my head to the side. “Why didn’t he just come to the neighborhood to get it? You guys seem tight.”
“We are.”
“That’s not an answer,” I replied, still too flippant for Bard’s liking. Unfortunately, my personality had bled through Nicholson’s exterior a time or two, and I couldn’t completely play the cowering damsel in distress or he might realize it was just a ploy.
“You’re not asking the questions,” he snarled. Falling silent, I waited to see what would happen next. “And for someone you don’t know, why was he still inside your apartment this morning?”
“We were finishing what we started at the club.” Looking away, I hung my shoulders in defeat. “He’s a smooth talker and a good tipper.”
“It didn’t look like there was much left to finish,” Bard retorted, sounding sleazy and aroused. “Maybe I need to stop by and give you a nice, large tip.”
My voice went hard as nails. “What happened the other night doesn’t mean I’m willing to turn tricks for you or anyone.” I stood up. “So are we done here?”
“I say when we’re done.” He shoved me back onto the couch and stormed a path across the room, muttering to himself. It was about power and control, so I shifted back into submissive mode, watching him from the corner of my eye as he considered what I said. “Get out of here and stay out of our way. If I so much as hear a murmur that you spoke to the cops about my enterprise, then god help you.” He opened the door, holding it and waiting for me to walk out. “Go before I change my mind and put you out on the street where you belong.”
My only course of action was to leave. And I hurried down the darkened, zigzagging hallway, back to the foyer, and out the door. Leaving Heathcliff inside wasn’t ideal, but obviously, he could handle himself. The KXDs saw him as a comrade, whereas I was a wild horse that either needed to be put down or broken. Maybe lack of sleep was impairing my judgment and rationality, but despite the dozens of agents and police personnel that were working this case, I felt exposed and alone.
Once outside, I ran across the street and up the stairs to the apartment. When I opened the door, I found the place ransacked. The contents of my duffel were on the floor next to the air mattress. The handgun was on the bed, and I checked the magazine and went into the bathroom to make sure the intruders were gone. Then I opened the closet door, afraid of what I would find. The false back was still secure, and aside from a few towels being crumpled on the floor, it didn’t look like they discovered the surveillance equipment. My burner phone was on the table. The encryption app looked like a game, and my call history and text messages seemed like innocent chatter to innocuous numbers. I’d have to thank the tech department for their genius as soon as I had the chance.
Aside from the most damning pieces of evidence, the phone and gun, I was relieved to remember my credentials were still at Martin’s. If they had found those, it would have been game over. The only thing left to worry about was my kit, and I opened the small box, finding the clean syringes, a vial of saline, and a rubber tourniquet. Thankfully, the items weren’t anything odd for a junkie to possess.
Far too worried to take anything else with me for fear that it was bugged, I examined the gun, ejected the clip, removed each bullet, cleared the chamber, completed a full field strip, then reassembled it, grabbed my keys, and took off at a run out of the apartment. Panic clouded my senses, making clear thought difficult. By the time I made it down the steps, the federal agent instinct had kicked in. I needed to contact Jablonsky. Running away would make me look guilty, and Heathcliff was still with them. If Bard believed I was a rat, he might take action against anyone I was close to. And Heathcliff was the only one that came to mind.
Stopping at the door, I peered through the glass, but the only familiar faces I spotted were the two lookouts that were resuming their normal post. I couldn’t leave, but I couldn’t stay. Remembering the bugs that had been planted in the building, I went down the dilapidated corridors, assuming the usual locations had been utilized to maximize surveillance.
Hunkering close to a floor-level air vent, I began talking to myself. No one was around, but if someone showed up, they’d probably just assume I was a crazy lady. And if the KXDs and their high-tech security gear were set up somewhere inside this crappy building too, they’d also assume I was nothing more than neurotic and unhinged. Quietly rambling about the man being shot, Hotshot having to sew him up, and Bard not trusting me, I hoped the message would be received and someone would find a way to advise on the current recommended course of action. After a few deep breaths, I trudged up the steps.
The cell phone that I didn’t want to use for fear it had been cloned flashed a new text message. Girl, just wait until tonight, we have the most amazing party planned. I’ll text you the details later. The good news was my handler got the message, but the bad news was I had to wait until someone found a way to make contact.
Blowing out a breath, I slumped into the chair and removed the knife from my back pocket. Turning it over in my hands, I thought about Heathcliff, hoping he was okay and wondering how deeply implanted he had been five years ago. He had a history with these gangbangers and numerous regrets to go with it. It was my fault he ended up roped into this mess. Now we both had to figure out the best way to collect enough evidence and information to make a case and still get out alive.
Twenty-eight
I remained silent and motionless most of the day. My eyes were glued to the building across the street, but no one ever came out. And if they did, I didn’t see them. Replaying Bard’s questions and threats, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had seen the security cam footage from the private room at the Black Cat. Did Heathcliff or I slip up? We tried to make it look real, and we kept our voices low when we were inside the private room at the club. Surely, someone at the PD or OIO would have intervened if they realized we’d been compromised. No, the reason Derek was still inside that basement apartment was because Bard thought he was a vital asset. At least that’s what I kept trying to convince myself.
Glancing at the time, I couldn’t remember when I slept or ate last. My stomach growled, but the thought of eating was sickening. How could anyone expect me to remain undercover when the gang I was sent to infiltrate no longer trusted me. There had been too many close calls and questionable absences. Maybe I’d moved too quickly or been too eager to help out Francisco.
Reconsidering every action and conversation that occurred since my arrival, the one glaringly obvious mistake was confronting the group of men on the street. The only problem was they didn’t give me a choice, and Steele took me under his wing and vowed to protect me after that. But maybe I’d fought too hard.
A car parked illegally in front of my building, and someone wearing a pizza delivery outfit stepped out. From the angle, I couldn’t make out any other details, but a minute later, there was a knock on my door. Cautiously opening it, Agent Lucca was holding a cardboard box with grease stains.
“That’ll be eighteen dollars,” he said evenly, but his brow furrowed in concern as his eyes darted around the apartment.
“Hang on, I have to find some cash. Can you just set that down on the table?”
He stepped inside, but before he could ask a question, I shook my head. Grabbing my purse, I pulled out a pen and wrote on a napkin. Bugged? Finding a twenty, I handed it to him.
“Did you get my order right?” I lifted the lid and found a plastic baggie with another disposable phone and a handwritten note taped to the inside lid above a mushroom pizza. “Looks like it.” I swallowed, wishing he could stay. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks, ma’am.” He winked. “Have a nice night.”
Once his car pulled away from the curb, I took the pizza box into the bathroom, shut the door, and turned on th
e faucets. Then I examined the room for signs of a hidden camera or surveillance equipment. As soon as I was positive the room was secure, I opened the box, took out the phone, and read the note.
Exterminators will be stopping by in the morning to check for any bugs. Your misplaced mobile phone has been a real eye-opener. We’ve found a few places to move on. Meet at our usual rendezvous tomorrow before work. If something happens, you have my number. Despite the vague nature of Mark’s message, I had my orders. All I had to do was wait until tomorrow.
Returning to the main room, I opened my kit, removed the lighter, and burned the note over the sink. Then I choked down a slice or two of pizza, waited at the window until it was too dark to see across the street, changed into a ratty t-shirt and sweats, and lay on the mattress. As I stared through the dark, looking for any indication that Bard had put my apartment under surveillance, I couldn’t help but worry about Heathcliff. This was why I didn’t want a partner.
When morning came, I climbed out of bed, showered, dressed, and drank so much instant coffee the Surgeon General probably should have issued a health warning. But it was the only thing keeping me upright. From my perch at the window, things looked normal. The typical weekday street activity commenced. A smattering of KXDs were taking up their usual positions near the dumpsters and trashcans, and Steele was on the front stoop of my building.
A knock at my door signified the arrival of the “exterminator”, and when I opened the door, I was relieved to see the OIO tech, Agent Lawson, in coveralls and carrying a huge container of insecticide. Letting him in, he began in one corner of the room, sweeping the entire apartment with a RF reader. After examining the fixtures, cracks and crevices, and even going so far as to check my belongings and me, he shook his head.
“Looks like our last visit cleared out the infestation. But it’s policy for us to follow up once a month to make sure nothing returns,” he said as we stepped into the hallway. “I’m sure it’s a relief to know your place is free of critters.”