by Juniper Hart
“Go,” he ordered. “Get out of here.”
Kelly didn’t pause, hurrying after the others without so much as a glance over her bony shoulders.
“Okay, Damien. You guys should go, too!” she called, the door slamming in her wake.
“Damien, can— I— you don’t need me here, do you?” Josh pleaded, turning blue, dull eyes upon him.
“Get him in the car, and then you can go.” Josh sprang into action, half dragging the unconscious weight across the floor.
Phil was a bear of a man, and the action was much more difficult than the skinny addict had bargained. The leader helped, and in minutes, they had secured Phil in the backseat of the car. Josh stood outside the black sedan, still gnawing on his bleeding cuticles.
“Uh…so, uh—”
“Get the hell out of here,” the tall man snapped, jumping into the driver’s seat. By the time he had started the vehicle, Josh had disappeared into the bright autumn sunlight. The driver glanced back at Phil and shook his head. “Hang in there, idiot,” he muttered. “Don’t die.”
Phil was the third overdose he had dealt with in two weeks.
These morons are out of control, he thought mournfully. They are all going to die at their own hand. And I am no closer to finding their supplier.
Aaron had recently been switched from the domestic terrorism task force to narcotics, and daily, he longed for bombs over syringes. Some days, he actually believed that this horrific sting was not real at all, and someone had concocted this particular job as some demented way to test his dedication to the force. Or his sanity. His hope was that he would prove himself as the decorated officer he had always been and be allowed back into the good graces of his superiors.
I am not cut out for this level of human suffering, Aaron had told himself time and again. No one should ever have to experience this level of trauma on a job.
He had no idea which bureaucratic prick had thought he would assimilate well with junkies, thieves, and pimps, but the transfer had come in from the top, and Aaron was in no position to argue.
After preemptively blowing his cover at World’s Worth, he had faced disciplinary action and possible termination. He was grateful he had not been kicked off the force altogether, even though his superior had been pushing for that outcome.
“After three years of living like a goddamn hippie and living off-grid, you blew a perfectly functional operation, for what? To protect a nobody from a charge which would have warranted five years max?” his superior had screamed. “Who the hell does something that stupid, Deacon? We could have had Mills in for life or longer! Were you banging Elle Jagger? Is that why you did it?”
Humiliation and anger stained his face, and he vehemently shook his head. He was furious that the sergeant would make such a vile suggestion, even if he questioned his own motives daily.
Am I half in love with Elle? Is that why I did it?
“Of course not! I didn’t blow anything. I got everything I needed on Vern Mills, and he is doing a stint in federal prison. That’s what we were going for, isn’t it? There was no reason for Elle Jagger to do time. We weren’t going to get any more than we already had.”
“That wasn’t your call to make, Aaron! If you hadn’t had such a stellar record prior to this stunt, I would be calling for your balls on a skewer right now. You are done in domestic terrorism. I think all that organic food killed your brain cells. Get the hell out of my sight. If I never see you again, it will be too soon!”
Aaron had gone home and waited for word on his fate for two weeks while he was suspended with pay. He often replayed what had happened with Vern and Elle over in his mind, but he had no regrets. He would not have changed anything had he foreseen the mess he’d made within his unit. Elle had not deserved to face one minute in jail.
He hadn’t seen her since that day in court, but he thought of her often, and he hoped she was happy wherever she was. Despite her borderline fanatical devotion to the cause, the girl had a pure heart. She had fallen victim to a charismatic cult leader who had adeptly played on her emotions.
A slow groan erupted from the backseat, shattering his reverie, and Aaron peered behind him.
“Are you okay, man?” he called at Phil, not expecting a coherent response. The giant had pumped far too much junk into his arm that afternoon.
I knew he’d gone overboard. I should have stopped him. Why didn’t I stop him?
Phil moaned again, and Aaron stepped harder on the gas pedal. The hospital was within view. He would drop Phil at Emergencies and be gone before the paramedics discovered him. The license plate on the car was fake, anyway, so if they went back on the surveillance videos, they wouldn’t trace it back to him.
The sarge is going to flip his lid when he hears about this. He’s going to yank me off the case.
Aaron wasn’t sure if he was elated or tormented by the thought. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. His job was meant to be simple: act as a low-level drug runner, hang out in flop houses with the addicts, and gather as much information as he could. In the meantime, he would collect product from Demir, the Turkish supplier, and hope that he proved himself worthy enough to move up higher in the ranks. From there, he would hopefully be able to take down Demir’s boss. So far, however, his days had consisted of watching addicts fall unconscious on floors teaming with cockroaches while he fed them heroin.
There is something wrong with our system when it is legal for me to do this in the name of the greater good, he thought mournfully, and not for the first time. He pulled into the lot and hurried around to pull Phil from the car. He left the semi-conscious giant at the curb and drove away before he saw anyone. He’ll be okay. At least this one didn’t die.
Aaron had been on this job for two months, and each day seemed to chip away more at his soul. The domestic terrorism task force was much black-and-whiter than narcotics.
He was not accustomed to dealing with self-destructive, lost souls. In terrorism, the people he was fighting were self-righteous and driven by a misguided sense of doing right. In narcotics, he was surrounded by good people who had sunk into a black hole of nothingness to escape some brand of insurmountable pain.
His job was to slow, if not stop, the trafficking of junk to these unsuspecting types. The task was daunting, and some days, Aaron was sure they were fighting a losing battle. The irony that he was fighting drug abuse by dealing drugs was not lost upon him.
“It’s not the battles which are important, Deacon,” his sergeant told him at the beginning of the sting when Aaron had voiced his concerns. “It’s the war we need to win, and sometimes, to win a war, you have to kill a few civilians.”
The words had been disturbing, and Aaron found it hard to see the silver lining on days like this, when men like Phil fought with life as a needle stuck out of his arm.
He’s a father with four kids, for Christ’s sake, Aaron thought as he drove toward downtown, trying desperately to forget the gray in Phil’s face. He hurt his back on the job and got prescribed Vicodin. A year later, he’s lying on the floor of an abandoned flophouse, half dead. What kind of sick, greedy pricks cash in on people like this?
While Aaron had walked the beat in some of the dingiest areas of the city, nothing had prepared him for the level of human decay which he was experiencing in narcotics vice.
He pulled the sedan around the back of an apartment building and stopped the engine. Staring at his reflection in the rear-view mirror, he tried to steady his nerves.
You aren’t even believable as a drug dealer, he scoffed at his own reflection. If Elle or Bernie saw you now, they would laugh and blow your cover in seconds. Still, you don’t look much like Joey.
He was staring at an intelligent looking man with deep, thoughtful brown eyes and a furrowed brow. His hair was thick and light chestnut, with hints of red and dark blond. He had been ordered to gain some weight for the position so he could maintain some semblance of a threatening demeanor if need be, but Aaron thought it m
ade his cheeks look boyish and less frightening. Thankfully, he hadn’t needed to wear make-up for this job.
At his undercover role at World’s Worth, he had been stuck wearing blush to emulate having skin problems to add to his already diminutive look. One of the main reasons that Aaron had been such a great operative was that he appeared ageless. With certain expressions, he could add or reduce years to his look. In some instances, he took on a fearsome persona, while in others, he seemed like a child. There were both old and new soul qualities about him, as if the gods couldn’t quite decide where to place him on the spectrum. It was one of the many benefits of being a demon. An ageless demon, at that. Still, he had never been discovered in any undercover operation, so there had to be something working for him, though Aaron failed to understand what it was precisely.
“Are you looking for some company?” A woman was knocking on his window, and Aaron barely glanced at her as he waved her away, his mind still concentrated on Phil.
The prostitutes in the area could smell fresh meat from a mile away, and even though he had become a regular fixture in the neighborhood, some of the more strung out women still tried to ply their trade upon him. It didn’t insult Aaron. He respected her right to make money any way she pleased, but he was not in the mood to be disturbed.
She pounded again on the glass, and he turned to glare ferociously at her but caught himself immediately. As if a sudden gust of wind had found its way up his nasal cavity, he lost the ability to breathe.
While she wore a scarlet red tube top and a too short black vinyl skirt, she was not the type of hooker Aaron had previously encountered on the block. Her white blonde hair was cut short to the top of her slender neck and worn in a casual bob framing an almost perfectly featured face. Short bangs hung over a small, unlined forehead, accenting a sweetheart hairline. She had high cheekbones and surreal aquamarine eyes framed in black rings encircling her irises. As he stared at her bent over the car door, her full, ripe bosom spilling from the tight fabric, he took in a tiny waist and impossibly long legs, stunningly accented by six-inch apple red heels.
She has the same eyes as Elle, he found himself thinking, and he wondered if that was why he entertained the woman’s request.
“Company?” she asked again, and Aaron nodded before he could stop himself. She smiled tightly and slowly sashayed to the passenger side door, like she knew there was absolutely no danger of him driving away without her.
What the hell are you doing? he asked himself, shocked at his own actions. You can’t pick up a working girl! Then another voice began to reason with him as he kept his eyes trained on the fluid motion of the incredibly beautiful woman opening the passenger side door. He was supposed to be a dealer. This went with the territory. She looked new to the area. Maybe she had some information for him. It was always good to make new contacts. It was networking.
Even as he thought it, humiliation at his own transparency filled his face. The woman slipped into the car, and Aaron noticed how unhurried her movements were. She did not seem as jittery as the other working girls in the area. Perhaps she wasn’t an addict. While she did not have the usual crack twitch of the locals, there was something veiled in her stunningly beautiful eyes which Aaron could not identify.
Ah, too bad. She’s on the stuff, too, he concluded. He almost laughed as the thought crossed his mind. What the hell difference does it make if she’s a junky or not? If she wasn’t, were you going to ask her out to the ballet? Maybe you can bring her home to meet Mom and Dad later, you idiot. You should have never watched “Pretty Woman” back in the day. This is no Julia Roberts, and you sure as hell are not Richard Gere.
“I’m Damien,” he offered after a moment of uncomfortable silence ensued. The blonde had not addressed him, keeping her clear eyes trained on the windshield, as if the brick wall they faced was encrypted with messages she was attempting to decipher. She finally turned her head and regarded him. He felt as though she was probing into his soul. Her rosebud lips parted, and one word fell forth.
“Berlin.”
“So, uh, Berlin… are you new around here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”
“Yes.”
“Where are you staying?” Aaron found that he was grasping at straws, trying to make conversation, although why he felt the need to break the ice, he could not understand. She probably just wanted him to give her some cash so she could get out of there. She stared at him strangely, as if she didn’t understand the question.
“Here,” she said. “I am staying here.” Aaron looked at the apartment building and pointed.
“In this complex?” he questioned, surprised. Berlin nodded. Was she his neighbor? He had never seen anyone like her around there. She must have just moved in. “I live here, too!” he blurted. “Would you like to come in?”
Did you just invite a working girl into your home? Aaron asked himself in disbelief, but his voice of reason was apparently unheard as he jumped out of the car, hurrying to open the passenger side door. Berlin shrugged and took his arm, and Aaron found himself leading her toward the back door.
Well, he didn’t live there. Damien Charlton lived there, so really, Aaron Deacon wasn’t doing anything wrong. But still… He dismissed the seasoned part of his mind screaming out warnings and instead watched her shapely calves ripple as she climbed the stairs to his fourth-floor walk-up. He marveled at the way she moved so adeptly in such high-heeled shoes.
I bet this woman looks amazing in track pants and an oversized t-shirt, he found himself thinking. At his apartment, he unlocked the door, and she brushed past him, entering the unit before he had a chance to fully push open the portal.
Berlin walked into his living room like she had lived there her entire life. He stood back and watched her easily flop onto a beanbag chair, her creamy thighs parted and showing lacy fuchsia panties. Aaron looked away, but she continued to stare at him, her diminutive pupils boring into him like lasers.
“What would you like to do?” she asked.
Oh, my God! What would I like to do? I would like to start by giving you a massage. Then, I would kiss the back of that smooth, silky neck. Then I would like to take my teeth and—
Abruptly, his cell phone rang, cutting off any further perversions flittering through his mind. Get a grip on yourself. Why are you acting like this? He cleared the frog from his throat and answered.
“Yeah?” his voice was a squeak.
“What happened today?” the man on the other end rasped. Immediately, Aaron forgot about the ethereal blonde sitting before him and began to pace the floor.
“Nothing… everything is fine,” he said vaguely.
“That’s not what I heard. I heard that another junky died on your watch. And I heard you were stupid enough to take his corpse to the hospital.”
How the hell could he have heard that so soon? Which one of those bastards is a snitch? I have to find out. He could be the key to helping me with this case.
“No, he’s not—” Aaron remembered Berlin and chose his next words carefully. “Everything is fine.”
“It better be. If that shit gets traced back to me, you’re dead, Charlton. I don’t mean that figuratively. I will have you hunted down and slaughtered in the street like a rabid possum. And you owe me twelve grand. I want it tomorrow.”
The line went dead. Aaron stared at the throwaway cell in his hand, his heart racing.
“Is something wrong?” Berlin asked sweetly, and Aaron smiled weakly at her, his libido diminished substantially. His initial lust-filled thoughts had disappeared with the sound of Demir’s voice.
“Just business,” he replied.
I owe a Turkish drug captain twelve thousand dollars, but two of the five people whom I need to collect from are laying in the morgue from the poorly cut heroin he sold them through me. I guess Phil isn’t going to be in any position to pay, either. I have to contact the Sergeant for some money. Again. He is going to be pissed.
“Are we going to have s
ex?” Berlin asked.
Aaron paused, temporarily distracted by her brazen question. Once more, his eyes raked over her stunningly beautiful form, and the temporary dysfunction he had experienced disappeared. As he felt a tug between his thighs, Demir’s voice played in his head,
“I will have you hunted down and slaughtered in the street like a rabid possum.”
Aaron’s eyes went skyward as if questioning the gods. Getting yourself killed certainly won’t get you any closer to finding the boss, now will it? If they thought my time at World’s Worth was ill spent, imagine what they’ll say at your funeral about this operation.
He sighed heavily and turned away from Berlin, who watched him with inquisitive eyes.
“I can’t right now,” he heard himself say miserably. “I have to go to work.”
16
Something was amiss.
Dane could feel it with every fiber of his being, despite the pollutants that plugged his nose and the poisons in his blood. He knew something was not right.
The weeks following the arrest had been idyllic with Elle. They had lived their lives like any other couple, accumulating their furry friends and trying to regain some normalcy, but for two beings who had never lived kosher lives, it was proving more difficult than they expected.
For her part, Elle tried to jog his memory, but no matter what kind of music she played or movies she put on television for him, nothing seemed to bring him out of the fog that had encircled his mind.
“Maybe it’s better that I don’t remember,” he finally offered, and for a while, they had both accepted that. Suddenly, though, Dane could feel danger in his midst, as if someone was watching him.
His body was still becoming accustomed to the staples that seemed so foreign to his tongue, so occasionally, he thought he was being poisoned by the pollutants in the soil, resulting in hallucinations and chemical imbalances in his slowly shrinking brain. But when all the variables were accounted for, Dane still had the sense that he was being watched.
