Undercover Tales

by Blayne Cooper

  “Ahh … yeah, I was. I didn’t know you got involved in the details of your business.”

  “I do,” he said. “If I’m going to do big business with someone, I have to trust them enough to welcome them to my home.”

  I hoped he didn’t mean that literally. The restaurant was decent enough, but if this was the only crib he could afford, he needed a good money manager. “I’m honored,” I said, trying to sound humble.

  “I don’t trust you yet, Athena.” He sat quietly for a moment then said, “I have to be careful.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “My main concern, of course, is that you’re working with the police.”

  I didn’t jump to defend myself. I thought it was better to let him talk.

  “We’ve learned the hard way that it’s very difficult to tell if someone is a traitor. You may have heard about some of our problems.”

  Did I mention that one of the reasons the department was so intent on getting Sonny was because we’d lost two undercover cops to him? Oops. I should have.

  Three years ago, one of our guys lost his cover. No one knows how it happened, but he took a three-month dip in the lake, showing up in Michigan once the weather got warm. That sucked.

  The year before that, during a drug buy, one of Sonny’s grunts had forced one of our detectives to shoot another member of Sonny’s family—a guy who had obviously fallen out of favor. The cop killed him. He went on trial for the shooting and did some time. That sucked, too. I don’t know what I would have done in his place, but I think I might have spent a little time in the pen. If it came down to me staying alive versus one of Sonny’s guys being dead … Well, you do what you have to do. Anyway, even though our guy went down, the bust was still good. Sonny was obviously still pissed about that.

  “I know it’s hard to trust people in this business,” I said. “Especially with the way the government’s breathing down everybody’s neck.”

  “Don’t get me started,” he said. “The damned government won’t let a man make a living anymore.” He smiled at me. “At least we still have friends in the department. And when we meet someone who isn’t a friend … we’ve been successful in making them friends.”

  Uh-oh. I didn’t like the way that sounded. There had been some very unsuccessful sting operations over the last ten years, and the most unsuccessful of all had been with Sonny’s operation. A lot of people thought that the cops might have gotten dirty during some of those failed busts. I hated to get dirty. I can wear a white shirt to a blueberry pie-eating contest and not get a mark on me.

  “It’s always nice to have friends,” I said, hoping I didn’t become one of his.

  “You’d be amazed at the secrets some police officers have. They’d do anything to avoid letting the department know about certain things. Of course, some of the things people do can be very embarrassing.” He laughed, a rather unattractive sound, with a funny little hiccup at the end. “I was suspicious about one man,” he said thoughtfully. “Before we did business, I brought him a very attractive girl. I think she was … oh, fourteen at the time.” He looked at Chris. “Do you remember that girl?”

  “Yeah,” Chris said. “Died of an overdose.”

  Sonny looked genuinely sad. “That’s a shame.” He looked back at me. “Anyway, our friend has sex with the girl. But after the buy … poof! We never saw him again. My suspicions about him were right. He obviously didn’t want to go to jail for rape.” His smile turned feral. “I wonder what he did with the drugs we sold him that day?”

  “Maybe he was genuine,” I said. “Maybe he got dead or something.”

  “No, that’s not true. After we showed the tape to one of our friends in the department, he confirmed he was a cop.”

  Ohh … that’s bad. That’s very bad. I hope this isn’t the day I have to have sex with a fourteen-year-old boy. My girlfriend would kill me. And I might embarrass myself. Now … this goes where?

  “I hope you don’t take offense,” he said, “but I’m going to have to give you a little test, Athena.”

  I smiled, even though I felt like whimpering. “I’m pretty good at tests.”

  “I hope you are,” he said. “This one is pass or fail.” He laughed. “I learned that from my grandson. He’s always trying to take classes pass or fail.”

  “That is funny,” I said. God, you’ve got to laugh at a lot of stupid jokes in this business.

  “The first little test is to make sure you’re not wearing a wire. You’d think that people wouldn’t be so stupid, but you’d be surprised.”

  He’s talking about you, Captain Washington. Too bad you can’t hear him.

  “I’m clean, Sonny,” I said in my best Catholic-schoolgirl voice.

  “I’m sure you are. But we have to be careful. We check everyone, Athena. Everyone.” He twitched his head at Spiro, and the big guy put his furry paw on my arm and pulled.

  “Let’s go,” Spiro said.

  I hoped he’d pat me down right there, but there were six or seven patrons in the place, and it probably wasn’t good for business to see people frisking each other. Nonetheless, I didn’t like having to go anywhere with Spiro. There’s something about being pulled into a back room by a known killer that gives a woman pause.

  He opened the door to what looked like a break room/coat closet. There was an old oak table, four wooden chairs, a battered, fake-leather sofa, a week-old Sun-Times, and a couple of gym lockers. By the door was another door labeled “Toilet.” Nice. I guess they couldn’t find a sign that said “Shitter.”

  “Jacket,” he said.

  I took that to mean I was to remove mine, so I did. I draped it over one of the chair backs because it’s twenty-five percent silk, and I hate to be wrinkled. Spiro put his hands around my waist and yanked my shirt from my slacks. I scowled at him. It takes me a good five minutes to get my shirt tucked in properly every morning. Now I was gonna have to do it again.

  He put those big, hot hands under my shirt and slid them all over my body. I giggled a little when his fingers poked out from my collar. I can’t help it. My neck is a seven on the Richter tickle scale.

  I thought we were finished, but he put his hands on my waistband and started to undo the button. Reflexively, I grabbed his hand and glared at him. “I’m not wearing a wire in my ass,” I snapped.

  He pushed my hand away like he would a gnat and started to slide the zipper down. Just when he was gonna drop my pants, Chris opened the door. “Sonny says that’s enough.” He looked like the little brother telling the older brother that their mom is pissed. I swear, being childish is a requirement for being a thug.

  Spiro let my pants drop just to get back at me, even though it was his mom, I mean Sonny, who was mad. Both Chris and Spiro got a quick look at my bare legs, since my rather attractive panties were covered by my long shirt-tail. It pays to buy quality.

  It’s hard to pick your pants up from the floor with two big guys leering at you, but I did my best. I shortened my shirt-tuck procedure to two minutes, just to keep things moving. Once I was decent, the three of us walked back to the table. Sonny leaned over and slapped Spiro across the cheek before the big guy could sit down. It didn’t look like it hurt much, but I’ve never met a guy who likes to be slapped. It’s undignified.

  “You think you’re a gynecologist?” Sonny demanded. “You never take a man’s clothes off. Show some respect!”

  Spiro looked furious … with me! What did I do? “I thought she might have something hidden … down there.”

  Sonny slapped him again, this time leaving fingerprints. “When they make a microphone that works in a woman’s pussy, I’ll let you know.” He nodded at me. “Forgive my language.”

  “No problem,” I said, smiling. Ahh … an old-fashioned gentleman. A gentleman who had a camera hooked up in the break room. No doubt with a tape recorder attached to it. Nice.

  “Now, about that little test.”

  I was hoping that getting a breast exam and droppin
g my pants might do the trick. No such luck.

  “Chris. Take Athena into the back and let her sample the product.”

  “No need,” I said magnanimously. “I trust you.”

  “I insist,” he said. “I want to make sure you’re satisfied.”

  “I never touch the stuff,” I said. “Never have.”

  His gaze narrowed. “I insist.”

  “But I’ve always wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” I said, getting to my feet.

  Chris followed me to the little room again. I wondered what kind of person would work at a restaurant where large quantities of drugs were sold in the break room. Other than addicts, it seemed like one could find a more appealing place to work. One with fewer guns lying around, too.

  He opened a case that was sitting on the floor and placed it on the table. He had a nice little sample all ready for me. How thoughtful. I hadn’t been lying. I’d never done crystal or coke or LSD or any of the biggies. I’d smoked grass in high school and college, but stopped before I decided to go into criminal justice. Life was confusing enough without having my senses altered. A couple of drinks is as fucked-up as I can stand being, and I don’t do that very often. But I was gonna get a nice, big snort of crystal today, and I was scared shitless.

  I’d seen enough films and taken enough seminars on drug use to know the common effects of methamphetamines. But I have a funny metabolism. Drugs that are supposed to make me sleep, like Tylenol PM, keep me up for hours. But Sudafed, which is speedy for most people, puts me out like a light. So I was worried … mostly because I hate to be out of control … especially when my life is in danger. I had exactly twenty-three officers within a two-block area, ready to storm the place when I gave the signal, and I didn’t want to fall flat on my face on the sidewalk when I walked out. They would be justifiably confused.

  I didn’t have a choice. Chris neatly laid out two lines, smiled at me and said, “I don’t have a pipe. You’ll have to snort it.”

  I took the tiny straw he handed me and sniffed one line into my right nostril and the other into my left. The stuff was nearly pure white, and I knew it was high-quality. My heart goes out to the people who’ve snorted shit. My eyes watered, my nose burned, and my head felt like it was expanding and contracting with each beat of my heart. I’ve never done it, so I’m not sure of the comparison, but it felt like snorting Drano. My God! Why would a sane person do this?

  “How is it?” Chris asked, snickering.

  “Fucked if I know. Could be the worst or the best shit in the world. All I know is that my nose feels like it’s on fire.”

  Chris thought that was funny. At least one guy had a sense of humor.

  We went back to our table, and damned if I wasn’t starting to feel the effects. It’s hard to describe, but the feeling came over me slowly. Kinda like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. I felt damned good. Really damned good. As good as I’ve ever felt. Like I could put on my red cape, save the world and be home in time for dinner.

  I guess now is a good time to tell you a little secret. Even though I don’t do street drugs, a lot of us use prescription drugs in ways we really shouldn’t. I know it’s not a great idea, but I’d been up for more than two days, and I had to be sharp. So I took a drug called Provigil. It was designed for people with narcolepsy, but it works great when you need to feel like you’ve slept—even though you haven’t. One of the side-effects of the drug is that it dulls the effects of stimulants. I like to read up on things I take … even if it’s just so I know how stupid I’m being. But I hoped the Provigil worked the way it was supposed to—’cause I really needed to be clear-headed.

  So far, so good. My mind felt razor-sharp. But my mood was already out-of-whack. I could tell because I wasn’t afraid anymore. Fear can be your friend in a bust. I liked being a little bit afraid. Feeling too comfortable makes you take stupid risks.

  I also felt a little twitchy and itchy. Kinda like I had on mohair underwear. I looked at Sonny. “I know those are real drugs,” I said. “That’s about all I can tell.”

  “Oh, they’re real,” he said. “You’ll see just how real when you take your little test.”

  Another fucking test? Christ! I’m not trying to join the FBI! I’m just trying to buy some drugs!

  Sonny snapped his fingers, and both waitresses looked up. I bet waitresses love that. Nothing better than being called like a dog. The woman who’d brought the coffee was fifty-something, a little on the doughy side and wore her hair like she was getting ready for an Elvis concert. The other one; young, blond, and sweet-faced, looked like a deer in the taillights—balefully staring at the car that’d just hit her. “You,” Sonny said, pointing.

  The blonde put down her tray and approached the table … very, very tentatively. “What’s your name, honey?”

  “Brittany.”

  Sonny smiled at the other men. “That’s a nice name, isn’t it?”

  Chris and Spiro nodded, their stock response.

  “Why are you working here, honey?”

  Brittany blinked. “To make money,” she said.

  Sonny laughed. “There are thousands of restaurants in Chicago. Do you live around here?”

  “Uhm … no. I live near Printer’s Row.”

  “Restaurants over there pay a lot more than I do.”

  Brittany nodded her agreement. “But I go to school at UIC. I was in the neighborhood one day and saw a sign in your window saying you had a job available. I thought it made sense to be closer to school than home.”

  “And how do you like it here?” Sonny asked. “You’ve been here a while, right?”

  “Six months,” she said. “It’s fine. Nice people. Regular crowd.”

  “Notice anything funny?” he asked, looking into her eyes.

  “Uhm … like what?” Brittany looked like she was gonna piss herself, and I didn’t blame her. As I’d found out, Sonny’s pop quizzes sucked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. You look like a smart girl. Perceptive. A young girl like you would probably only work here if she wanted something.”

  “Wanted something?”

  “Yeah. Like an introduction into the business, or to meet a guy with a load of cash or to … get information.” His smile darkened.

  “I, uhm … I … guess I did notice some funny things going on,” she admitted.

  “Like what?” Sonny asked, just like he was making idle conversation.

  “Like …” She looked at Spiro. “I’ve seen Spiro grab a towel and put ice in it and wrap it around his hand. He looked like he’d been in a fight or something.”

  “Uh-huh. What else?”

  “Well … like you said … some of the guys have a lot of money on ’em. Sometimes they’ll give me a really big tip, even when I haven’t waited on ’em.” She cast a quick glance at Chris, who colored slightly.

  “So … men in fights … lots of cash … big tips. What do you think? Is this just a regular restaurant?”

  “Probably not,” Brittany said, looking at the floor. “I think it’s a front.”

  Sonny laughed and slapped both Chris and me on the arms. “A front!”

  Brittany nodded.

  “What kinda front?”

  “Probably drugs or some other kinda crime.”

  “But you’d still rather work here than near Printer’s Row.”

  Brittany nodded again.

  “Why is that? Shouldn’t a nice girl like you wanna work someplace full of young lawyers and legitimate businessmen?”

  “I wanna have money,” the young woman said, sticking her chin out. “Sometimes you’ve gotta take risks to get it.”

  “Ah-ha!” Sonny cried. “Look what we have here! A little entrepreneur.”

  “I spent a few months stripping,” Brittany said. “The money isn’t as good here, but I don’t get pawed as much.”

  He looked her up and down, obviously admiring her body, which was, I had to admit from a purely aesthetic viewpoint, sizzling hot in a nasty gi
rl-next-door kinda way. “You get pawed here?”

  “Not much,” she said, clearly lying. “Some guys pat my ass or put tips down my blouse.”

  Sonny looked at Chris. “I’d better never find you doing anything like that. I’ll cut your nuts off.”

  A lot of blowhards said things like that. Chris looked like he knew that Sonny meant it. I couldn’t see where his hands went when they left the table, but I had a suspicion they were holding onto his little friends for dear life.

  Brittany interrupted. “Chris has always been a perfect gentleman.” I could tell she was lying, but it was hard to tell if Sonny could. Guys tended to understand that it was hard to keep your hands off a sexy woman who didn’t object.

  “Well, Brittany, how would you like to make a quick thou?”

  She blinked. Hard. “A thousand dollars?”

  “Yep. And I bet it won’t take you more than fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops.”

  “What do I have to do?” she asked, looking suspicious.

  “All you have to do,” he said, speaking softly so she had to lean in to hear, “is to take my lady friend here into the back room and make her come.”

  Brittany shot up like she’d been goosed. “Make her come?”

  “Yeah. Give her a little head. You ever muff-dived?”

  The woman shook her head violently. “Never!”

  “Well,” Sonny said, “You don’t have to do it. But if you don’t, you don’t need to come back anymore. If I’m gonna have a good-looking young girl around here, she’s gotta be willing to do me a favor once in a while.”

  Brittany snuck a quick glance at the other waitress. “She’s the wife of a former associate,” Sonny said. “Her husband screwed up, but I don’t want her to starve.”

  God, this guy was a prince! He kills her husband and then lets her slop tables for the rest of her life.

  I thought it was time to voice my opinion, even though no one had asked for it. “What’s the point, Sonny? I’ve told you I’m a dyke. Why waste a thou trying to make me prove it?”

  He gave me a look that was almost sympathetic. “The drugs are making you stupid. This isn’t to prove that you’re a dyke. Who would lie about something so embarrassing? This is just my little insurance policy. If you are a cop, you’re not gonna want everybody in the department to know you’re a bulldagger. And even if you don’t care about that, you’re not gonna want the tape put on the Internet.”