Undercover Tales

by Blayne Cooper

  Undercover

  Tales

  Blayne Cooper

  KG MacGregor

  Susan X Meagher

  Undercover Tales is a trilogy of complimentary works penned by three authors with very distinctive styles. Stories range from melt-the-pages erotica, to humor-laced romance, to twist-filled adventure... all with a touch of mystery.

  From Blayne Cooper, author of Unbreakable, The Last Train Home, Madam President, and many others, comes Quicksand, a story about sinking into trouble so deep, there’s no way out. Deceit, betrayal, and resisting sexual temptation were never part of private investigator Belinda Blaisdell’s daily life. Until now.

  KG MacGregor, author of Shaken, The House on Sandstone, and Malicious Pursuit, presents Stolen Souls is the tale of Vonne Maglio, who signs on for a two-week vacation at a working ranch in the Colorado canyons. Nothing at Sky Ranch is as it seems–but then, neither is Vonne.

  SX Meagher, author of I Found My Heart In San Francisco, contributes Narc. The dark side of Chicago is a cauldron of crime. Drugs, sex, blackmail, bribery and corruption so deep you can swim in it. And that's just the cops. How does an honest detective wade through this muck to do her job?

  Narc and Narc Redux © 2005 by Susan X Meagher

  Quicksand © 2005 by Blayne Cooper

  Stolen Souls © 2005 by KG MacGregor

  ISBN 978-0-9770885-9-1

  Publisher: Brisk Press, New York, NY

  Cover Design by Carolyn Norman

  ISBN 0-977088-52-9

  This electronic original is published by Brisk Press, New York, NY 10011

  First Printing: June 2005

  Second Printing: October 2005

  Third Printing: August 2007

  This collection of short stories is a work of fiction. names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to acknowledge and offer my gratitude to those behind-the-scenes technicians whose assistance with matters of grammar and proofing was greatly appreciated. I bow to your superior knowledge and keen eyes.

  SX and KG, it’s an honor to share a book cover with you.

  Finally, this story is dedicated to my Aunt Charlotte. Your support and love have always meant more than you’ll know.

  Blayne Cooper

  I thank Tami for her excellent story notes, and Jenny for her sharp eye. A big thanks also to my co-conspirators in this endeavor for letting me play too. I’m saying yes already to doing this again.

  KG MacGregor

  I owe a massive debt of gratitude to my partner, Carrie. She’s an integral part of my writing career, and neither my books nor my life would be the same without her.

  Contrary to popular opinion, it’s not always a bad idea to work with your friends. It was fun doing this, and we’re all still speaking!

  Susan X Meagher

  Table of Contents

  Narc

  The Set-Up

  The Bust

  After The Bust

  Quicksand

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Stolen Souls

  Narc Redux

  The Set-Up

  The Bust

  After the Bust

  Narc

  Susan X Meagher

  Yesterday was the worst best day of my life. Or maybe it was the best worst day of my life. Either way, it sucked. But it was also fan-fuckin’-tastic.

  Okay. Let’s take a deep breath. You’re confused. But so am I. Why should you get to feel comfortable when I’m sitting here on pins and needles?

  Oh, never mind. You don’t know me well enough to care about my comfort. But I am a decorated officer of the Chicago Police Department, and that should count for something. Yeah, this is another story of a cop finding that the road to hell—or at least purgatory—is paved with surprises. I know that’s not the actual saying, but police work has nothing to do with intentions. Intentions don’t matter for squat.

  The Set-Up

  Here’s the backstory, as they say in Hollywood. About two years ago, my captain, Bill Washington, put me in charge of a very big sting operation. I’m not one for overstatements. When I say very big, I mean very, very big.

  We’ve been nosing around Sonny Kokoris for twenty years. Everybody in town knows he’s as dirty as the sidewalks on Waveland Avenue after a double-header. We’d nibbled around him, picking off little guys—guys that Sonny put on the front lines ’cause he didn’t care if they got picked off. But we’d never gotten close to busting anyone that mattered.

  Captain Washington told me point-blank that he’d do whatever it took to get me kicked up to lieutenant if I could crack the Kokoris gang. He couldn’t take the exam for me, but we both knew I didn’t need help there. I’ve always been blessed in the brains department. I didn’t get through U. of I. on my looks. But I probably could’ve.

  I was stunned when Washington told me how much support he’d give me to get the job done. I tried to sound matter-of-fact, but I almost cried when he gave me the details. And I never cry at work. Ever.

  I do cry at home, though. I’m a sensitive woman, and I get PMS and get my feelings hurt and worry about things, just like every other woman. Just ask my girlfriend. Yeah, I said girlfriend.

  No, it’s not cool to be a lesbian on the force, but it’s no worse than being a woman. Really. That’s the pisser. Once the guys accept you as a real cop, it almost doesn’t matter that you’re a dyke. I get teased about it, but it’s not that bad. The fact that I’m black makes the guys even more careful. If they can’t make nigger jokes or fag jokes, they’re reduced to jokes about wives. I don’t mind those, since I have the best wife of anyone—and everybody knows it. Everybody who “knows” I’m gay, that is. I haven’t told a lot of people, only those I really trust. I told my partner when I was a patrol cop, and I’ve told everyone I like enough to invite to my house for dinner. I’m sure a lot of people know … but they don’t officially know, if that makes any sense.

  A minute ago I said I was black. I am, but I’m also white. I tend to refer to myself as black, even though my mom is a white woman from Italy. It doesn’t matter a whole hell of a lot to me what other people call me, but I don’t really look very black. I’m one of those women who makes you wonder: is she … Brazilian … Italian … Greek … Puerto Rican? So I call myself black to avoid the stilted conversation where acquaintances try to figure me out. “Is your family from … America?” No, we’re immigrants, I want to say. One side of my family came voluntarily, the other was … shall we say … conscripted?

  But life’s too short to focus much on what strangers think of me. As long as the people I love love me—I’m doing great.

  So … I’ve been working on this sting for two years. I got nearly everything I asked for: extra cops, extra overtime, extra equipment … the works. And everything went well, maybe too well. My pops was in the Navy, and he always says that the only time he hated being at sea was when the weather was too good. That always meant all hell was about to break loose. My pops is a smart man.

  It took a lot of work—a whole hell of a lot of work—but as of yesterday, I had people working in nearly every level of Sonny’s operation. For being such a slick guy, he sure didn’t seem too smart to me.
>
  I got in by making small buys, building up my rep, letting the low-level guys know I was reliable. But I always dressed well and drove a very nice car. I wanted the chumps to know I could’ve bought more if I’d wanted to. I wanted them to know I was testing them while I was being tested.

  Over time, I was buying a lot of dope, mostly crystal meth. But no matter how much I wanted to buy, I got the okay. That was my weekly reminder that my entire career rested on this bust.

  The big payoff was yesterday, as you might have gathered. I was set to buy $250,000 worth of crystal. That’s not the kind of money the Chicago Police Department likes to lose.

  The buy was supposed to go down in a warehouse on the South Side. Sonny’s third-in-command was gonna be there, and he’s a very big fish. I felt good about it. But two days ago, I got a call from Sonny. He said he wanted me to go to his restaurant for the drop. I was sure I was hallucinating. I almost wet myself, but he seemed cool as a cucumber. My team ran around like lunatics for forty-eight hours—checking and rechecking that we had a plan for every possible scenario. I thought we did; I honestly did. But Sonny didn’t get to be Sonny by playing fair.

  The Bust

  I hope I haven’t bored you to death, ’cause here’s where things get interesting. I was supposed to be at the restaurant at ten-thirty a.m. with my suitcase full of hundred-dollar bills. I got the okay from Washington, with one big hitch. I had to wear a wire.

  That might not seem like a big deal to you. You might even agree that it’s crazy not to wear one with a buy like this. But Sonny is a very nasty guy, and one of the things he hates is cops. There was no way I was gonna breeze in there, drop my bag, pick up my crystal and sashay outta there like I was buying the souvlaki platter. Sonny was gonna make sure I wasn’t wired. I knew that as well as I knew anything. But it took half the day to convince the brass that I had a better chance of coming out alive if I went naked. No, not that kind of naked. We argued so much that I started to think they cared about the $250,000 more than me. Hurt my feelings.

  Anyway, they finally gave in, and I got permission to go. I was as nervous as a Mormon bride, but I couldn’t show it. I had to be as cool as Sonny and his goons. And they’re so stupid, they don’t know they should be worried.

  I’ve gone over the whole scene so many times that I have the damned thing memorized. Here ya go:

  I showed up on time and parked right in front of the restaurant. Sonny has three spaces reserved for himself and special guests. When I say “reserved,” I mean that he ripped the meters out of the sidewalk. I figured my $250,000 merited a prime spot, so I bulked up my attitude and slid out of my lovely ride, the blackout windows completely illegal, but really nice when your nose itches.

  I walked inside the restaurant, amazed at how … normal it looked. The white stucco walls, the travel posters from Greece, a bouzouki playing softly in the background. The older man who looked like he colored his hair with a black magic-marker, sharing a table with two younger men. They might be a father with his sons, having a late breakfast. But it was Sonny with Chris and Spiro, two of his mid-level guys.

  I was surprised to see Chris and Spiro. Chris is set to marry Sonny’s daughter soon, and we’ve been puzzled as to why he hasn’t been given more responsibility. Maybe today was the day he got promoted.

  Spiro’s presence bothered me more. He’s a nasty fucker. The kind of guy you’d like to kick in the ass just because. He’s also believed to be the guy Sonny uses to dispose of bodies. I hoped he had nothing on his to-do list.

  “Athena,” Sonny said when he spotted me. I’d picked the name to give the impression I was Greek. Like I said, I can pass for almost anything.

  “Sonny,” I said. “Good to see you again.” I’d spoken to him once … for about two seconds.

  All three of them stood, and Spiro moved towards me. He gave me one of those awkward hugs that bad guys give each other to determine if the other guy is packing. I wasn’t. He was. Then Chris did the same. Also packing. Then Sonny. Ditto. So all three guys knew I was armed with only a cell phone, and that my breasts were real. I learned that all of them needed new aftershave with a smaller spritzer. Damn! Working girls wore less perfume than these guys did.

  I didn’t have a whole hell of a lot to say to my friends other than, Gee, I feel naked when I’m the only one at the party without some steel, so I thought I’d start working. “Are we ready to do business?”

  Sonny made a dismissive gesture with his ring-laden hand. “Don’t be in such a rush. Let’s have coffee.”

  I needed more coffee like they needed more cologne, but you don’t say no to Sonny. If he tells you to jump, you hope you’ve got a spring in your step.

  I sat down on the available seat … the one that left my back to the door. It’s not just a myth. Cops hate to sit with their backs to the door. We like a nice corner table, with a view of the whole place. But I didn’t think I could suggest a change, so I sat.

  “How is business?” Sonny asked.

  “Good. Very good,” I said. “That’s why I’m buying a little more. If things go as well as they have been, I’ll do all of my business with you.” Yeah. That’s a good one. If this bust doesn’t go down, the only business I’m gonna have is with Spiro.

  “Good, good,” he said, smiling at me. He stared at me for a long time, long enough to make me twitch. “Is it true what I’ve heard about you, Athena?”

  This is never a good question. Never. But I kept my cool and said, “Depends on who said it.”

  “I forget,” he said, “but it was someone reliable.” He stared at me again, and I could feel the sweat running down my arms and back. His head cocked, and he said, “I didn’t believe it. You don’t look the type. But now that I look at you close, I think they might be right.”

  I wanted to take a sip of the coffee the waitress had put in front of me, but I knew my hands would be shaking too much. I wiped them on my slacks and shrugged. “A lot of people say a lot of things.”

  “Yes, yes, they do,” he agreed. “But this particular thing intrigues me.” He leaned close and said, “You’re not Greek.” It wasn’t a question, but I could tell he wanted an answer.

  “No. Never said I was.” I tried to control the sigh of relief that my lungs begged for. I didn’t think he’d kill me for having a Greek first name.

  “What are you?”

  Hmm … I hadn’t thought of that. “I’m Sicilian,” I said, even though my mother is Genovese. I thought being Sicilian would better fit into the mobster stereotype.

  He nodded, looking avuncular and sage. “That makes sense. A Greek girl would never do what I’ve heard about you.”

  Oh, fuck. Now what? “I can try to read your mind, or you can ask me a question, Sonny. But I’m not very good at mind-reading.”

  A sly smile turned the corners of his mouth up. “I’ve heard,” he said, lowering his voice, “that you have sex with women.”

  Shit! Is that all? I smiled back, even though I wasn’t sure I was supposed to. “That’s true,” I said, partly because it was and partly because I’d told one of his low-level dopes that I only did women when he kept trying to hump me.

  “I’m puzzled by this,” he said with Chris and Spiro snickering. “You’re a beautiful woman. Why do you want to sleep with women?”

  “The same reason you do, I guess,” I said, hoping he had a sense of humor.

  The look on his face said that he wasn’t a regular at the comedy clubs. “What kind of an answer is that?” A vein on his temple pulsed.

  “The truth,” I said. “I don’t know why I like women. I’m just attracted to them. I always have been. For me to sleep with a man would be like … Chris or Spiro sleeping with one.” I decided to not use Sonny as an illustration any more.

  Sonny looked at his henchmen, who both looked like they’d been sprayed with eau de shit. Spiro grabbed the lapel of my very expensive jacket, but Sonny put up a hand to stop him. “Calm down,” he said. “She didn’t say you wer
e a faggot.”

  “No, no,” I agreed. “Furthest thing from my mind.” But now that he mentioned it, Spiro looked like he could be up for a little Greek-passive. “I just used you as an example of how ridiculous it would be for me to have sex with a man.”

  Both of the hulks settled down, but I could tell they’d taken a dislike to me. Sonny looked puzzled and a little annoyed. “I’m not happy about this. I don’t know if I can trust you.”

  It clicked for me when he said that. Sonny had a reputation for being a real ladies’ man. Talking with him, I could sense that his problem wasn’t that I was gay, it was that he didn’t know how or if he could use his charm on me. I put my hand over his and tried to use all of the womanly wiles I’d picked up along the way. “Sonny, you can trust me. We have a lot in common. After all, we both appreciate a beautiful woman, right?”

  He gave me a grudging smile. “I suppose so.”

  “But we’re also very different.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I also appreciate a beautiful man. I don’t sleep with them, but I love men.” I blinked my big brown eyes at him.

  His smile grew bigger. “I don’t love men,” he said, “but I like to do business with them.”

  “I do, too,” I said emphatically.

  He leaned back in his chair and looked at me again. I couldn’t read him right then, but he didn’t look like he was gonna throw me out. “Were you surprised when I asked you to meet me here?”