Cabin In The Woods

by Kristine Robinson

  I notice the slip of our, and scowl.

  “However, unless I get help, he'll likely track me to the ends of the earth and kill me. I could use a cop on my side. A good one. Someone to help me infiltrate them and put an end to their operations, once and for all. Because I do have inner knowledge. I have been sitting around on it for the past few years. And it's about time I did something good with it. He's not a nice man, Jenn. They're not nice people.”

  “I should be reporting you to the police. In fact, I'll call my boss. You shouldn't have called me.”

  “Please!” Andrea's voice comes out stricken. The tone makes me pause. “I need your help. I can't do this alone. I'll die.”

  A sliver of sympathy wriggles inside me at the idea of this beautiful woman dying. But she's just as well has admitted she's a criminal. A stab of irritation courses through at her blatant attempt to emotionally manipulate. I hang up on her before I can change my mind, and I'm on the verge of calling my boss, when the swaggering man with the steel gray eyes and bald head approaches me.

  Oh, fuck, I think.

  “Look at you, you're a pretty thing, ain't you?” He examines me up and down lecherously, and I tuck my phone away in alarm. Of course I don't have my gun on me. Because I'm smart like that. However, drawing it on a civilian without precept is bad as well.

  “Go away. I'm not interested.”

  I can't help but notice there isn't that many people in the park. Would this guy actually try it on? Surely he wouldn't be so insane. He looks pretty insane, come to think of it.

  He stalks close to me. “Pretty clothes. Expensive. Wonder how you get your money, eh? Bet you put out. You like to give all the men your hole. Want to give me some, too? I'll pay good. I'll pay so you can have some nice new shoes, just for a bit of sexy Chavo's meat pounding in you.”

  Thoroughly disgusted, I walk away from him, but he's not finished yet. “Come back! Don't you walk away from me, you whore.”

  I feel his arm grab my shoulder, and I spin and knee him in the nuts, causing this despicable slime of a human being to double up in pain and clutch his balls. “You bitch! How dare you!” He gasps at me, spittle flying from his mouth. “You're dead! You're fucking dead!”

  I jog away, though I find it amusing and upsetting at the same time that he threatens a cop like that. Even if I don't technically look like one at the moment. I keep jogging, and it just occurs to me that he had called himself Chavo. Chavo, like the name Andrea had literally just mentioned to me.

  I'm trembling a little from the adrenaline rush. I hesitate on calling my boss. After long deliberation, I call back Andrea. She picks up almost straight away.

  “Hello? Jenn?” She sounds panicked and relieved at the same time.

  “Does Chavo have gray eyes and no hair on his head, and he's sort of built like a gorilla?”

  She pauses on the other end. “Yes. Why?”

  “I just kicked him in the nuts.”

  “Wow.” Andrea pauses. The silence there is rather pregnant. “Please be careful with him. He's a nasty piece of work. I'm not kidding. He's exactly the kind of person who holds grudges. Like, if you're still in the area, get away right now. That Columbian hates everyone except himself.”

  “I can see he might be a bit of a grudgy type. So. You say this guy is after you?” I speed up, creating a longer distance between me and Chavo.

  “Yes. I need your help.”

  “I want to go to my boss with this information. Especially if he's dangerous. We don't have him on our list yet.”

  “Sure. But first. Please let me meet up with you first. Okay? Then you can tell your boss.”

  I consider this a moment, even as I glance back, much like Andrea did in our last date together, and see Chavo glaring daggers at me, murderous rage in his eyes.

  “Okay,” I reply. Mind set, I take a deep breath, and walk out of sight of the angry Columbian.

  Just like the cops in the shows, it seems, I might be getting my first undercover case.

  Chapter Three

  Although I agree to meet up with her before contacting my boss, the next morning, I'm yanked away with other cops to reports of two violent bank robberies. By the time we get there to check both scenes, the robbers seem to be long gone. They have, however, left a ghastly mess at each location. Although we tape off the crowds and the forensic teams come on hand, I catch close up glimpses of the dead in the banks. The first one's a horror sight. Several civilians and bankers have been killed, execution style, likely just kneeling on the floor, pleading for their lives, before being shot and having their brains splattered on the floor by what looks like a fucking shotgun at point blank range.

  I've never seen blood, bone and matter mixed up and congealing on a floor before, and it makes me want to vomit. I'm then carted to the next robbery, two blocks away, and it's equally disgusting. People have lost their lives so casually, so callously, that I can't understand it. I can't understand why and how someone would do something like this.

  As forensics enter the scene of the crime, and I'm left patrolling the tape border, trying to keep last night's meal inside me, I spot someone in the crowd. I do a double take.

  The someone looks remarkably like the Chavo that I kneed in the balls the other day. The Chavo that Andrea insists is chasing her, and has a propensity towards violent bank robberies. Much like the two that have just occurred. The man appears to be watching the commotion in smug satisfaction, and I push my way through the crowd to go and confront him. He sees the cop uniform moving, and starts shrinking into the crowd. I pick up my pace, trying to keep eyes on him, but it's not long before he's swallowed up by the crowd and disappears. I spend a few fruitless moments trying to relocate him, before giving up.

  This is too much of a coincidence. I decide to take a leap of faith and inform Excelsior about the man called Chavo, intending to leave Andrea's name out of it.

  My boss is sceptical, since a robber wouldn't stick around the scene of a crime long enough to risk being captured. But I insist he's the mastermind. The shadowy puppet behind a robber gang, and it might be worth putting him on the watch list, or trying to find out more about him.

  Humoring my suspicions, the chief calls his researchers to scour the crime database and net for “Chavo,” and also looks for Andrea Jones at my prompting. I want to get to the bottom of the mystery. I want to know as well if Andrea truly is as free and uninvolved as she insists, or whether somewhere, somehow, she's still in tight with this gang. If she's trying to worm into my confidence to turn me into a dirty cop.

  They find nothing, though Excelsior promises to keep note of my suspicions.

  I return home, frustrated, nauseous, and exhausted. I'm meant to be meeting up with Andrea at a designated place later, but for now, I just want to relax, and scour out the memory of those blood strewn corpses on the bank floors. Such needless violence. The kind I want to stop.

  Halfway through my first glass of wine, and an episode of Lie to Me, there's a knock at my apartment door. No buzz – the person has made it inside, suggesting it's a neighbor. Surely not to complain about my sound level?

  I absently strap my gun belt on and head to the door. When I open it, I see Andrea Jones standing there, unannounced. I glare at her. She's just as beautiful as I remember, tall like a Valkyrie in the dim light of the corridor. However, I'm annoyed.

  “This is my rest time. And how do you even fucking know where I live?”

  “That doesn't matter. We need to talk.”

  Without further prompting, she muscles her way past me, and I have to resist the urge to shoot her, instead screeching, “You can't do that. I haven't invited you in!”

  “I don't want to be standing outside in plain view of the window and for any of Chavo's gang to get a good pot shot at me. They have people trying to tail me.”

  This information incenses me.“And you lead them to my apartment?”

  “I shook them off. I just don't want to give them a chance to pick me up agai
n. Okay? Now. Let's talk.” She makes herself at home without further ado, sprawling on the sofa. A vein in my temple twitches. Andrea ends up talking very fast and desperately, always holding up her hands in that pleading manner, as if will somehow mollify my irritation. She looks beautiful of course, which irritates me further, because I'm meant to be mad at her, not drooling over her as she sits there, with those sexy legs and that wonderfully angled face and high cheekbones.

  Fuck sake.

  “You saw what happened with the bank robberies earlier. You saw the kind of violence Chavo condones. He replaced my old boss. The old man was still a criminal, you know, but he at least never murdered anyone during his tenure and command. Chavo, however, is an animal. He has no such limitations. Murder is like bread and wine to him. He likes to cause civil unrest, and he's been the terror of Columbian streets for years.”

  I fold my arms, glaring at her as she races to explain, to persuade. “He wants me dead because I'm an unknown element. I faked my death under him, but he's found out. He knows I'm a threat. And he's right. I have a good idea of where he plans to strike, the type of people he's hired. I still have contacts on the inside. People who I got along with. And I'm pretty sure I can extract the information to stop him. If you're willing to help. We can't have big police involvement, though. Chavo's goonies smell police a mile away. They scamper like rats into the sewers.”

  Her argument, as much as I hate it, appeals to me on a fundamental level. I blame the shows I've watched, the desire to do good. I don't feel like she's lying to me. She shows no deception, only desperation. She obviously wants me to understand. To help. I don't know why she's fixated on me, though. Because we've dated? Because I'm a cop?

  Or, because we like each other, and things would have worked out if she didn't have the shadow of Chavo lingering over her? Or, dare I think – all of the above? I chew my lip, staring into her ocean dark eyes. She's presented me with an explosion of information, the promise of more – along with the implication that I'll likely need to go rogue if the precinct doesn't accept her facts. It's likely. We already have so much to handle, enough crimes on our plates to investigate and deter, without the fragmented names of some obscure organization, without any clue to their base of operations or how to track them, unless I turn in my source.

  And, if I turn in Andrea, it's highly likely she'll be arrested. I wonder how many crimes she's been involved in. I wonder if turning her in will mean a lifetime's imprisonment. Could I do that to her?

  Maybe. But I feel like I should give her a chance. Let her convey everything, explain her past, and not leap to conclusions. And also, because part of me still sees the potential for more in her. A possible relationship. A chance for us to fish for happiness.

  If I'm prepared to deal with this huge ass mess on her plate.

  “No promises. But I'll see what I can do to maybe help you. I can try accessing our database for any names you give me. And I won't drop yours.”

  A smile of utter relief goes over her features. It makes my heart stop for a moment. Jesus Christ, why does she have to be so pretty? “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  She gives me a list of people she knows within the organization, though she states a few of them are part of the old wave, the people who don't condone violence. The rest have connections to Columbia and Chavo's old ring.

  She hesitates as she says Alison Ford's name.

  “She's my ex,” Andrea confesses. “She's still in the circle. I might be able to... extort her for information. Though she seems to think she might have a chance of getting back together with me.”

  “Oh,” I say, less than impressed by this.

  “She's cruel, though. There's something broken inside her. So rest assured that won't be happening again. There's A-Ron – tech guy. Alison tells me my replacement is called Greg Holden. A nervous wreck of a man, nowhere near my caliber. There's Chavo – last name debatable. He doesn't really write it down. There's his favorite muscle, Tonio Morua. Likes his shotguns.”

  I hastily jot down her information, wondering if she's stupid or trusting of me to give this out, and wondering if I'm stupid or trusting to accept it, to listen to her, to be willing to help.

  We promise to meet up again, and the glimmering hope in her eyes makes me pause and think. She really is pinning it on me. She really hopes I can scoop her out of this mess.

  My heart twinges. I still think she's beautiful. I like her smile, her easy manner, her charm. I don't like the darkness she seems to be tugging around with her – a darkness she is now sharing, instead of keeping it to herself. She puts herself into a vulnerable position by letting me know. I'm still too eager to prove myself as well. I haven't taken any major cases, or solved them. I know that will put me on the fast track to promotion. I want a chance to show the precinct what I'm truly capable of. Andrea seems to promise this. We touch hands briefly before we part, and it sends a thrill of delight to my core. I want there to be more contact. More touching. Lots more touching.

  I watch her disappear, and I wonder if I'm making the biggest mistake of my life, or the best decision ever to help her out.

  When I go into work the next day, I take my spare time to research the names on the database, and ask our techie to do the same, bribing them with Starbucks coffee.

  My chief, however, catches wind of my investigations, and asks me to stop, because the names I'm researching are unrelated and irrelevant to what we already have. Plus, a few of the names appear to have squeaky clean records. Suspiciously clean, in my opinion.

  “I don't understand where you're getting these names from. Who is your source?”

  “Someone reliable,” I shoot back, though doubt slithers in me. I hope Andrea is. I want her to be reliable, but I know that just because I want something, doesn't make it any better than it is. It just makes me hope harder.

  “If it's someone within this organization itself, you're obligated to tell me and to bring them in for questioning.”

  I hesitate. “It isn't,” I eventually say. “Just someone who thinks they have seen Chavo before.”

  “Hmp. Well, stop this for now. You're reaching for something that isn't there. People with no track records at all, a drain of time and resources. Focus on actual work, Jennifer. We've got a huge backlog of requests to wade through without this personal quest of yours as well.”

  “Yes, sir,” I mutter. My face reddens in frustration.

  Two days later, I apply for emergency leave, and it's accepted. I used the classic excuse of my grandmother dying back in Venezuela. Though I know Excelsior is suspicious of my timing, he dismisses it, wishing me his condolences and sympathies, along with my colleagues.

  My grandmother, however, died years ago. It's a lie.

  It's all so I can go rogue. So I can embark on my first great undercover venture, and achieve something, like my heroes in the shows.

  And I'm looking forward to it.

  Chapter Four

  I spend the first day of my emergency leave to meet up with Andrea, and we get a hotel together. Partly to discuss what the hell we're going to do, and partly so I can finally find out about the woman I'm planning to potentially risk my career for.

  Being a social justice warrior sure can be exhausting work. I must be insane, of course, to jeopardize my career by dropping the dead grandma story and plunging into whatever mess Andrea seems to be in, but you know, just fuck it.

  Life's too short to be boring.

  Andrea sits opposite me now, wearing a low cut top that reveals a scandalous amount of cleavage, and we've both been enjoying the hotel's Sauvignon Blanc, all whilst discussing important things, of course.

  The more I talk with her, however, the more attractive she becomes. I mean, seriously, even without those killer curves she's knocking, she's got ocean eyes I could die for, and soft, incredibly touchable hair that I have to physically resist the urge to reach out and stroke, just so I can give her the proper amount of verbal attention.

  I may
be wearing some pretty revealing clothes myself, such as a mini-skirt that has no right to even be called a skirt, since it covers basically nothing, and a top that ties into a knot at my belly button. All formerly hidden underneath my favorite raincoat. Andrea's eyes had almost popped out when she saw me revealed for the first time in all my feminine glory, and I couldn't help but hold a smug smile of triumph. I feel like I've gained bonus points with the way her eyes have snapped over to my breasts.

  “You can't be serious,” I say to Andrea, after she confesses that she liked to see herself as a Robin Hood of the criminal world she associated with.

  “I am,” Andrea says, smiling, but without a hint of mockery in her eyes. I'm temporarily mesmerized by her expression, and I lightly sip my wine. The wine, of course, serves to help turn me on further than what Andrea is already achieving by herself. “I wanted to make a big difference in the world. I grew up with a mother and father who did everything they could for me, but they had nothing. My mom would literally starve herself to make sure I had food on the table. My dad broke his back with the long hours in that stupid factory he worked in, for pennies.”