by G. K. Parks
“They came and went too quickly,” Ryan responded. “I was told not to waste my time and effort and to focus strictly on Barlow.” He slammed his palm down, wincing at the forgotten injury. “How the bloody hell could they neglect to tell me they thought my partner was dirty.”
“Easy, kid,” Mark insisted, flicking his gaze briefly to me, “they thought you were dirty too.”
“Bloody-fucking-hell. Until they brought me in to assist on the investigation, they didn’t have any idea who I even was. They ask me to investigate, and then they turn into paranoid lunatics who don’t even trust their own goddamn asset.”
“Ryan, you can’t take it personally.” I was reasoning with him. “They didn’t know, and from the autopsy, you could have popped Grenauldo yourself. Barlow’s business is insanely lucrative. Money’s a great incentive to turn otherwise good men. That’s why they left you out in the cold, to monitor you and make sure you were free from suspicion.”
He was rightfully angry, and he fumed. I knew that feeling all too well. Hopefully, he wouldn’t take his rage out on my bathroom door again. His ego couldn’t handle another defeat.
“And what? Now they decide I’m not in the Camel’s pocket anymore?” he snarled.
“They thought you might be working for Barlow, not the Camel, unless the two prove to be one and the same.” Mark sighed. “You’ve been cleared. After the debriefs, working with Agent Farrell,” he jerked his chin at me, “and this one’s insistence that you’re one of the good guys, the asinine powers that be decided you were just doing your job to the best of your ability.”
“Fantastic,” Ryan retorted.
“Actually,” I said quietly, taking a seat next to Mark, “it’s a good thing you were so insistent that you possessed accurate information. If you realized it was bullshit or tried to buck the system, they might have painted you as a turncoat. At least until everything was sorted out.”
“They’ve been watching you,” Mark added. “You’ve seen the photographs. While you’ve been keeping your eyes peeled for any sign of the Camel, they’ve been monitoring your movements. Obviously, you’re clean. Let it go. You still have a job to do.”
“Some fucking job,” Ryan growled. He was pouting, which was understandable. No one liked getting jerked around, and ever since he arrived, I’d been experiencing the same bullshit.
“Suck it up, Donough.” My words had bite. “You’re pissed. They screwed you. It happens. Get used to it. Right now, that doesn’t matter. In less than twenty-four hours, we have to be prepared for the arranged meet. What you need to focus on is what we’re going to do.” Obediently, he sat still, having been chastised like a wayward child.
“Parker,” Mark cautioned, “maybe it’s time to throw in the towel. If Donough wants to step away from the assholes that screwed him, he can do that. I’ve talked to Captain Reneaux. He had no idea what the situation was,” he stared at Ryan, “but now that he does, he wants his best inspector back in Paris ASAP.”
Ryan shifted his gaze from Mark to me and back again. “No, I agreed to stop an international hitman, and I still intend to.”
Mark stood. “Devise your play, and if you need additional support, the OIO is prepared to back you. Understood?” Ryan nodded. “Parker, walk me out. I could use a hand with these boxes.”
Grabbing one, I followed Mark to his car. After he shut the lid of his trunk, he hugged me. “It looks like we still have the good cop, bad cop act down pat.”
“I was always better at playing bad cop.” I smiled.
“Yeah. I’m just relieved your old pal, Ryan, is not.” He pressed his lips together, searching my face for something. “You’re no longer frantic. Should I assume you’ve found something else to focus on besides Paris?”
“You knew I would.” He nodded and opened the car door. “Hey, Mark, I’ve been thinking about how much I miss the OIO, but all this crap with Josef Grenauldo has reminded me of my last official case before I resigned as an agent.” I swallowed. “It always comes back to how we lost Michael and Sam. How I lost Michael and Sam.” My chin quivered slightly, and I looked away. “It’s easier to get over what happened in Paris than it is to get past what happened to them.”
“Goddammit, Alexis,” he sighed, pressing his lips together sadly, “how many times do I have to tell you that wasn’t your fault before you accept it as true?” I shook my head. “If you want to blame someone, blame me. I left you in charge. I forced you to make the call.”
“You didn’t do it,” I muttered.
“Neither did you.” He blinked and looked away. This was a difficult topic for both of us. “Shit,” he cursed, “Michael even said it wasn’t your fault before he died.” Those words made the tears sting my eyes, and he exhaled. “Is this because I said I accepted that you were never coming back to the OIO, and that none of this shit,” he gestured obliquely in the direction of my apartment, “has anything to do with you? What does your last case have to do with your French boyfriend?”
“He lost his partner. He’s losing himself. And it’s scary how easily I can relate.” I took an unsteady breath and stared at a pebble on the sidewalk. “And every time I’ve come back to the OIO to assist on something, regardless of how brief, the bodies pile up. I can’t deal with any more loss.”
His voice was soft when he asked, “Then why did you fight so hard to help?” I let out a snort, and the bittersweet smile erupted on his face. “No matter how far or fast you run, you’ve never left the job. You can’t leave the job. You don’t know how. You don’t know anything else. But every time I ask you to come back, you refuse. When the dust clears, you and I are having a chat. Maybe it’s a couple years too late, but…”
“Okay.” It was the first time I agreed to listen or to talk, and it caught him by surprise. He nodded and shut the door. As he drove away, I sat on the sidewalk, reminding myself to be strong for Donough. The only people I could still help were the living.
“Alex?” Ryan asked. He came outside to see what was taking so long. “Is everything all right?”
“I just need a minute.” He sat down on the cold concrete, waiting patiently for me to say something else. After a time, I let out a sigh. “And you have to promise me something.”
“Anything,” he responded, leery of what I was about to ask.
“Don’t die. Not on this case. Not for Grenauldo or the Camel or Barlow or even me. No matter what, you cover your own ass and keep breathing.”
“D’accord,” he replied, “but you have to play by the same rules. You came a little too close last time.”
“Eh,” I shrugged, standing, “what are a few jolts every now and again?” He stood and studied me until I finally responded, “Fine, I won’t die either. Now let’s go back inside before we catch our death of cold.” And I winked.
* * *
“Look,” Ryan was agitated, we’d been going round in circles over the same few points for the last hour, “the only reason you are coming with me is because I need to ensure Hoyt’s cover is still intact.”
“Right,” I nodded, “you might need back-up.”
“No,” he gestured emphatically and massaged his temples, “Riley adds legitimacy to my cover.”
“But if your cover is blown, you’ll need back-up,” I insisted. He muttered to himself and skulked around the living room.
“Y’know, the two of you make a great comedy duo,” O’Connell added. He arrived twenty minutes ago and had done nothing but watch us argue.
“Shut up,” I snapped. I was frustrated too. “Since you want to be so helpful, Nick, why don’t you translate for us? Obviously, we can’t get over the apparent language barrier.”
“I have to do everything, don’t I?” O’Connell asked, looking smug. “Alexis, Donough wants you to approach Barlow’s gang as Alexandra Riley in order to remove any hint of suspicion they might have that he is an undercover agent.” He said each of these words in a slow, sing-song voice.
“Exactly,” Ryan exclai
med, relieved someone understood.
“But they don’t know me from a goddamn hole in the wall. How am I making your cover look more legit? For all they know, I’m your handler.”
“You’re American,” Ryan responded as if I were incompetent.
“And?”
He looked to O’Connell for assistance, but he lost Nick with that last comment too. “Fine, let’s not worry why you’re tagging along. Let’s just get our story straight,” Ryan suggested. He knew Riley’s background history, semi-romantic relationship with Claxton, and ability to steal cars. “We were pinched during the last heist. The cops didn’t have enough evidence, so we were released. You have a hot car stashed somewhere and hoped to find a buyer. Since I was Barlow’s right-hand man, you propositioned me.”
“And since your assets are currently frozen, thanks to the authorities, you need the money to pack up and go home. Fake documents can be pricey,” I added.
“As soon as I have their trust back, you’re out of the picture,” he warned.
“See, that’s where you keep hitting the snag,” O’Connell piped up, and I glared at him. “That’s a foreign concept for her.”
“That’s all, Alex,” Ryan urged, “and if you can’t agree, then I’ll do this on my own.”
“If you could do this on your own, you never would have asked for my help.”
Ryan looked like he wanted to hit something again, probably me. “You volunteered. You practically begged.”
“And you needed it.”
Nick snickered. “Damn, this is gold. Do either of you care if I record this?”
“Fine,” I said to Ryan. He was right. I begged, but he needed help. “This is your operation, Inspector, so I’ll follow your lead.” O’Connell dropped his jaw in mock amazement, and I shot him another dirty look. “Now, Detective, enlighten us with your genius or get the hell out of my house.”
“Jablonsky and I have been sharing intel,” he looked amazed that the feds and police department were getting along, “probably because we both hold your well-being in such high regard.” He rolled his eyes. “Go figure. Anyway, not to bore you, but Hu’s financials are a mess. Whoever set them up was brilliant. Of course, it doesn’t make life easier when they’re all under bogus accounts with transfers in and out at every turn. It’s going to take forever to get them sorted, so in the meantime, I’ve run backgrounds on Devereaux and Mallick. They aren’t the kind of guys you want to meet in a dark alley. Assault, suspected murder, armed robbery, possession with the intent to distribute. Need I continue?”
“Well-rounded crooks,” I surmised. “Any idea if either of them could be the Camel or in cahoots with the Camel?”
“Cahoots, probably. My gut says our hitman is smart enough not to get pinched for doing stupid shit. These guys aren’t that smart,” Nick concluded.
“They’re henchmen,” Ryan added. “Reggie likes people willing to do whatever dirty work he has. Mallick had no problem getting his hands dirty and working the physical angles, and from what I know, Devereaux’s worked the other angles, ensuring transport, payment, and making sure we always had adequate faked documentation for the stolen vehicles.” Ryan squinted, considering some things. “Given their previous offenses and Devereaux’s alleged connections, were either of them enforcers for any crime syndicates?”
“Mallick used to work for some loan sharks,” O’Connell replied. “His file implies that was the motivation for his unlawful infringements. It’s also what led to his five year stretch in Denmark. Devereaux has stayed off the radar in the last few years. Not much to go on from his records. It’s like he’s a ghost. So maybe he got a little smarter, but not by much, since he’s cavorting with car thieves and contract killers.” I took an uneasy breath, and Nick assessed me. “Parker, they don’t have organized crime ties, so it should be okay.” I sighed and nodded, relieved to have one less thing to worry about. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean they won’t put two in the back of both of your heads come tomorrow night.”
“Then we’ll have to be convincing,” I surmised.
“Where are you meeting?” O’Connell asked.
As Ryan gave him the location and time for the meet, the wheels began turning in Nick’s head. He would swing something to make sure we were covered, even if he wasn’t telling Ryan that. Donough was skittish. His partner died, and Interpol had suspected he turned. His current trust issues were understandable, but we didn’t need to add stupid to the mix. By the time I went to bed that night, we had a plan A and a plan B. With any luck, we wouldn’t need to have a plan C.
Fifteen
“How do I look?” I emerged from my bedroom in full Alexandra Riley garb. Ryan’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “Not enough eyeliner?”
“If you’re wearing pasties and a G-string underneath your clothing, they’re going to confuse you with a stripper.”
“Don’t you say the sweetest things?” I checked my gun, wondering if there were metal detectors at the strip joint. It was a risk I had no problem taking, and I slid the weapon into my shoulder holster and covered it with my leather jacket. “Shall we?”
He gave a curt nod, and I led him out of my apartment. Hailing a cab, we gave the address to the driver and sat quietly, running through our internal pre-op rituals. When the cab came to a stop outside the bright neon pink sign, I took a deep breath. This wasn’t my show. It was Ryan’s, and I would follow his lead.
“Allons-y,” he said. Stress probably made him revert to French, or perhaps it was something Hoyt did. Stop it, Parker, my internal dialogue warned. Ryan is Hoyt. There is no differentiation. I repeated this a few times as we went inside and found the two men sitting in a private room.
“Ryan Hoyt,” Mallick said, eyeing me, “good to see you’re a free man, and obviously, you haven’t been wasting any time.”
“Are you planning to take your clothes off and give us a dance?” Devereaux asked.
“Easy,” Ryan growled, “she works for Gregson. Alex Riley, my associates, Chase and Virgil.” I gave them each a head nod but remained silent at Ryan’s side. “Take a seat,” he instructed, but before I moved an inch, Devereaux intervened.
“Why doesn’t she grab us a few drinks instead?” It wasn’t a question.
Ryan jerked his head toward the bar, and I walked away. He was in charge, and I was appearing to be subservient. But it didn’t mesh with my natural inclinations.
Things were not going well. Leaning against the counter, I studied the two men. Virgil Mallick was built like a bull, large and intimidating, with a shaved head, some ink creeping over the neck of his t-shirt to camouflage a nasty scar across his throat, and clearly packing on his right hip. Chase Devereaux reminded me of a lawyer. He was slim, coifed, and exhibited an air of superiority. He believed he could have whatever he wanted through any means necessary, and I wasn’t sure anyone every disproved his theory. It seemed obvious who the muscle and who the brains were in this operation, but since they both worked for Reggie, neither was meant to be the brains. They could probably both be muscle or at least shooters. Guns and weapons tended to be great equalizers. Wordlessly, the bartender dropped four long necks on top of the bar and scooped up the cash I left.
“Want a dance?” one of the strippers asked, strutting close by.
“No, thanks,” I responded absently, uncertain if I should wait any longer before making a reappearance. “Hey, how long have those guys been here?” She narrowed her eyes. “The ugly one is my sister’s ex.”
She snorted. “They got here about thirty minutes ago. Paid for the room, but they haven’t taken advantage of the privacy.”
“Thanks.” She continued past, looking for a more generous patron, as I scooped up the bottles and went back to the VIP area.
“Sit,” Ryan commanded as I put the beers on the table. I sat on the edge of the semicircular booth next to him. “I’ve talked it over with my associates, and we believe we can move the merchandise for you.”
“How so
on?” I asked, my eyes shifting from Virgil to Chase before settling on Ryan.
“First,” Chase interjected, “we need to renegotiate percentages. It sounds like you’re in a bind, Alexandra Riley.” I didn’t like the way he said my cover name. “The police are looking for evidence against you, and you want to unload a sizzler. We’re prepared to move it, but it’ll be an eighty-twenty split.”
“Twenty? Is that a fucking joke?”
“We’re assuming the risk,” he insisted.
“Sixty-forty and you can have until next week to take delivery,” I bartered. Ryan and I went over tactics last night since it was important I didn’t look overly eager.
“No.” His smile looked like a licentious sneer. “Seventy-thirty and you blow me.”
“Blow yourself. Or better yet, get your friend to blow you. He looks the type.” Ryan let out an amused snort. “What? You wanna blow him instead? Be my guest.”
Ryan smirked. “Twenty-five and not a percent more.” I looked torn. Chase looked smug, believing I might agree to prostitute myself to him for a better deal. “If you don’t like the offer, get the hell out of here.”
“Deal,” I reluctantly agreed.
“Ryan, Ryan, Ryan,” Virgil shook his head, “you know we don’t like surprises.” He shifted his gaze to me. “But this one’s been a load of fun.” He turned and stared at the naked woman spinning on the pole. “Now, I think it’s time we have some fun before we work out any more details.” He caught the attention of one of the waitresses walking by and whispered something to her, slipping her three hundred dollars. A moment later, four women in nothing but thongs and pasties appeared at the entrance to the roped off area we were occupying. “Two for me, and two for you,” he said to Ryan as the girls grabbed their hands and dragged them away. Ryan didn’t make eye contact, and I was left alone with Chase Devereaux.
