by G. K. Parks
I put the book down, no longer needing to find something to do. “What can I say? It’s a mystery.” He went to the fridge and opened the door, grabbing the steaks that were marinating. “Do you want help?”
“Not with dinner.” He pulled out the red potatoes, a handful of spices, and a couple of pans. “But maybe you can help me figure out what’s different.”
Nothing was different. The only thing different in my life was my return to my old job. Was he on to me? Did he overhear one of my conversations with Mark and was trying to goad me into admitting what my new job really was? Or was I just a paranoid lunatic? It was probably the latter, which meant nothing had jeopardized the status quo.
“Everything’s the same. I start a new job tomorrow, and you’ll go back to the office. The only thing different is the way you’ve been acting since that incident at my apartment. The old Martin would never take off work or cut trips short because I was spending the night.”
“Well, he was an idiot.” He smirked, dicing the potatoes. “If a man in my position can’t work from home on occasion, then there is definitely something wrong with this picture.” He went to the pantry for the olive oil. “That’s it.” He spun to face me, some magnificent revelation reflecting in his eyes. “You’re calm, relaxed, maybe even happy. For the first time since we met, you actually seem comfortable in your own skin.” He put the container down and leaned against the counter. “You haven’t wasted your breath berating my choices or unilateral decisions in,” he checked his watch, playing up the dramatics, “the last five days. I’d definitely say that means you’ve found some inner peace.”
I snorted. “Are you telling me I’ve actually learned to tolerate you?”
He smiled. “Perhaps.” He went back to preparing dinner. “But whatever it is, I’m glad that you seem content. It’s a nice change from the way you normally carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, always so grim and morbid.”
“I think you’re delusional.” But I contemplated just how true his words were. “The reason I’m so relaxed is because someone finally rubbed those kinks out of my neck and back. Thank you, by the way.”
We bantered and playfully flirted through dinner and dessert. It felt normal. It was the perfect evening, and it was something that I was glad to have the memory of in the event I was cast into a long-term assignment with no contact. The first time I clipped on the badge, I didn’t have any personal ties. I didn’t have a family to worry about, and my only friends were on the job. This time, things were different, particularly since I couldn’t tell him what was about to happen.
The next morning, he watched as I packed my belongings into my weekend bag and conducted a final check for anything I might have left behind. Normally, I wasn’t too worried, and he sensed the difference. His brows knit together in confusion, but he remained silent.
As we sipped coffee, he assessed my clothing – white button-up blouse, black slacks, and a suit jacket. Nothing out of the ordinary for corporate work.
He cleared his throat. “Next month, I have an event to attend. It’s for charity, and I need a plus one.”
“I don’t think I can make it.”
“I haven’t even told you what day or time yet. How do you know you can’t make it?”
“Does it involve a fancy dress and dancing?”
“It’s black tie, and I’m sure they’ll have a dance floor.” He smirked, enjoying torturing me with matters I found irritating.
“Sorry, but I definitely can’t make it now.” Dressing up and being gawked at like arm candy wasn’t on my to-do list.
“We’ve been dating for over a year, and you want me to go to a party alone?” He tended to get into trouble at social events. Once, he was arrested on suspicion of murder, and another time, his ex-fiancée assaulted him, using her lips against his mouth. “Aren’t there additional perks that come with being in a committed relationship?” His green eyes danced. “Aside from the obvious which I believe you benefitted from multiple times last night.”
Blushing, I glared at him. “Fine. I’ll try to swing it,” I conceded. Catching a glimpse of the time, I swallowed the rest of the coffee in one gulp. “E-mail me the details because I’m gonna be late if I stay here for another minute.”
“Good luck, sweetheart.”
“Hey,” I pulled him close, “we’ll figure something out. Maybe Bruiser has a dress hanging in the back of his closet that he’s been dying to wear someplace fancy.”
Martin ignored the quip, and I went down the stairs and to my car. Pulling onto the main road, I took a deep breath. The two day hiatus was over. Now the real fun could begin.
Giddy with nervous energy, my fingers tapped a rhythm against the steering wheel as I took the familiar route to the federal building and parked in the garage. Taking the elevator to the OIO level, I poked my head into Mark’s open office door.
“You look rested,” he said, tearing his eyes away from a stack of case files. “I barely recognize you without the dark puffy circles underneath your eyes.”
“Thanks a lot. Am I reporting to you or Director Kendall?”
“Go see Kendall first. Then I’ll meet you in the conference room once I get this sorted out.” He smiled. “It looks like I must have drawn the short straw, seeing as how you’ll be reporting to me again, Agent Parker.”
“Just like old times.” I swallowed, my eyes involuntarily darting to my former partner’s desk. Even though I finally came to grips with his death and stopped blaming myself, it didn’t make it hurt any less.
Mark saw the sobered look on my face and gave a curt nod. “Go on. We don’t have all day.”
And just like that, I went down the hallway and knocked on Kendall’s door. He looked up and motioned me inside. My personnel file was on his desk, my reinstatement papers were signed and dated, and the case file was awaiting my perusal. He finished going over a few final points concerning my job, the updated mandatory requirement for periodic, unannounced drug testing since I failed one the last time I tried to be reinstated, and a few other hoops that needed jumping through. Then he passed me off to Special Agent in Charge Steve Cooper, whom I had worked with in the past.
“Parker,” Cooper greeted, extending his hand, “I thought you swore you were done.”
“I was, but obviously, the government had other plans for my retirement.” I thought back to the mafia don who threatened my life and the lives of my friends if I didn’t back off. “Whatever I’m embarking on now better not involve Vito.”
“It doesn’t. Kendall has you as far removed from the organized crime unit as possible.”
“So what am I doing? Please tell me I’m not playing the role of hooker with a heart of gold.”
He laughed politely. “I forgot what it was like to work with you.” He led the way to a conference room and opened the door. “This was originally my op, but our assets were compromised, so the FBI turned it over to its more specialized branch, the OIO. Originally, we thought the DEA might want to take a crack at it, but this isn’t one of their typical cartels.”
“Drugs?” I already didn’t like it.
“Among other things. This is mainly about smuggling, but we have yet to determine the source.”
“International?”
“Obviously.” But before he could say anything else, Mark stepped into the room. “Jablonsky will be your handler. You’re running point from the inside, and anything you need will be coordinated directly through him. We’ve already established your new identity, but you should expect a slow insertion. We have to be careful not to raise suspicion.”
“I’ll take it from here,” Mark said, shooing Cooper away. When the door closed, he rubbed his face and leaned back in the chair. “Here’s your cover. Read through it first and then we’ll get down to the basics.”
I flipped open the manila folder, reading the first few lines. This seemed to be rather run-of-the-mill. It wasn’t much different from the assignments I handled in the past. I continue
d reading, flipping page after page.
Alexia Nicholson had a fairly extensive rap sheet. She was a junkie who happened to get mixed up with the wrong crowd. The people she had been running with were dealers. When the group disbanded after a particularly gruesome bust, she was convicted of possession with the intent to distribute and was charged with felony murder. But the judge showed leniency, hoping to reform rather than incarcerate. Apparently my cover identity had been expected to turn her life around and her sentence was lessened with time served, mandatory rehab, and parole. But from what I gathered, there wasn’t much chance she kicked her heroin habit.
“We have a few former tattoo artists who will airbrush you with semi-permanent makeup. It’ll be less of a hassle than having to create realistic looking track marks every time you show up for a meet,” Mark said when I questioningly held up my cover’s rap sheet. “Also, we’ve worked out plausible reasons why you are suddenly taking up residence in that neighborhood. New job and new digs.”
I continued reading. Alexia was recently hired as an exotic dancer. The information on my new career was mostly blank, meaning it had yet to be established. “Looks like my rehab isn’t going to stick.”
“Once a junkie, always a junkie,” Mark said, sounding more cynical and jaded than ever. “But on the bright side, it’ll explain your transient nature and unstable lifestyle. We’ve established an apartment, but until things get underway, you don’t have to stay there permanently.”
“Let me guess, this is the real reason for the mandatory random drug testing.” I shook my head, sighing at the irony. “You do realize after being drugged once and dealing with the horribleness that accompanied it, I have no desire whatsoever to become an addict or use recreationally.”
“No kidding. Frankly, that’s probably why Kendall picked you for this one. You’re the most straight-laced agent we have when it comes to substance abuse, and it shows exactly how much faith and trust he has in you.”
“Plus, if the hacker actually discovered my file, and my cover has been compromised before we even get started, at least it adds a real dynamic if I have to talk myself out of a worst case situation.”
“There won’t be any worst case situations.” His eyes bore into mine. “I won’t allow it.”
Too bad the feeling of impending doom settled like a bowling ball on my chest. This was a mistake. “You don’t know that.” I continued reading, attempting to ignore the look I was getting. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I dropped the file on the desk. “Shit happens, especially when I’m here.”
“Alex, I understand if you’re having cold feet, but if your head isn’t in the game, back the fuck out before it’s too late.”
“No,” I said resolutely, “I want to be here. I want this. I just don’t know how to do it.”
“It’s like riding a bicycle. It’ll come back.” He nodded reassuringly. “You never stopped investigating. This is the same thing, just from the inside. We’ll review the protocols, catch you up on procedure, dead drops, code words, everything you’ll need to know. You’ll be fine.”
“What about back-up?”
“For the first couple of days, agents will maintain eyes on you and monitor the situation from a distance, so in the event there’s trouble, they’ll be nearby. If everything goes as planned, they’ll be gone within the week, and it’ll just be you.”
“Thank god.” I offered a bittersweet smile, surprising him with that sentiment. “At least no one else will get killed because of me.” His eyes darkened, prepared to berate me or possibly confiscate my newly acquired credentials. “What? It’s true.”
Three
It had barely been a week since I walked into the OIO building for the briefing on my undercover assignment, but already I was bored and exhausted. The tedium added to the fatigue, but boring was better than the alternative. Letting myself into the crappy apartment in the unsavory neighborhood, I flickered the overhead lights twice to indicate I was inside.
My only company on this op was a surveillance team posted outside in a laundry truck, and after today, they’d be gone too. Radio communication was too dangerous given the fact that the nearby gang and drug lords monitored police frequencies with their numerous scanners, so most things were conducted using visual cues. When I arrived at the apartment, I’d signal. If company showed up, I’d flash the lights again. If I needed tactical support, it was three quick blinks. And if all else failed, my cell phone was my best friend. For this project, I had an unregistered throwaway with shoddy service and an encrypted app for text messaging, but it would do in a pinch.
I made my first appearance five nights ago, arriving around nine p.m. in questionable attire and appearing skunked out of my mind. I was loud, raucous, and made quite a scene. In tight little ghetto neighborhoods like this, people talked. And by the following evening, I noticed the silent stares and quiet observations. That night, I stepped up my act, arriving in ripped jeans, a revealing tank top, and covered in my newly airbrushed track marks and a few makeup created bruises. Alexia Nicholson was trouble, and hopefully, my new name and vices would be noticed by the local dealers.
Every night, I arrived loudly, trashed out of my mind. Shuffling inside, I’d conduct surveillance until the next morning. I’d leave between eight a.m. and noon, drop my nightly report and any surveillance footage at the established dead drop that was five blocks away, and continue to the bus stop. From there, I’d go to the business district, hail a cab, and go home. Undercover sucked, but the added precautions and countersurveillance measures were encouraged by the OIO. For once, I wasn’t being my usual paranoid self. Instead, the paranoia was actually protocol.
I just stepped out of the shower, noticing the smudged marks on my makeup covered arms. I’d have to remember to do a touch-up with dark eye shadow and hairspray before going back tonight. Drying my hair, I barely heard the phone. It was Mark.
“Hey, stay away tonight,” he said. “I just finished reading your report. You haven’t been approached yet, so we’re thinking you’re too predictable for a junkie.”
“Maybe I’m a junkie with a day job.”
“Stay away tonight,” he repeated. “We’re keeping eyes on the apartment. Who knows, maybe someone will decide to take a look around.” He let out a sigh. “Is everything still out in the open?”
“Needles, spoon, burnt foil, and some empty prescription pill bottles. Did I overlook anything?”
“Nope, that should do it. How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine. But if we keep moving at this rate, waiting for the dealers to make an approach, we might be doing this for the next hundred years. When can I get a little more proactive?”
“Patience, grasshopper. We’ll stagger your appearances. Once your comings and goings become more sporadic, you can inquire about a small buy. Let’s shoot for the end of next week.”
“Do you really think they’ll make a move before then?”
“They might, if they believe you’re itching for a fix. Just make sure you keep the cash on you. You don’t want to be caught unprepared.”
“Are you afraid someone will want to barter instead of accepting payment in dollars and cents?”
“You know how this goes. The dealer might want cash and ass if he has free time on his hands. Plus, most women are much more compliant when they’re stoned out of their minds or desperate.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we don’t have to worry about that,” I replied. Drugs, sex, and violence tended to travel together in a disturbing package. “And I can handle myself, Jablonsky.”
“I never said you couldn’t, but we don’t need to worry about this for a few days. Enjoy your night off. But drop by the agreed upon meeting place tomorrow morning for an official debrief and strategizing session.”
“You mean this didn’t count?”
“Parker,” he snapped.
“Yes, sir.”
He hated it when I called him that, and he let out a disgusted sound and disconnec
ted. At least I had the day off to remember how to be Alexis Parker. And the first thing she wanted to do was get some sleep.
When I woke up, I went for a long run, followed by an extensive strength training session. No longer excessively sore, it was obvious I was quickly bouncing back from my injury-induced hiatus. After washing up and dressing, I began the tedious task of researching smugglers and contraband, hoping to find some leads.
The OIO had their sights set on DeAngelo Bard, also known as Shakespeare. The guy had a rap sheet a mile long, and that didn’t include his juvie record. He was twenty-seven years old and ran the KXDs, a gang that controlled most of the south side. He controlled the neighborhood where my cover identity’s apartment was and the surrounding areas. Every drug runner and prostitute in the area worked for him.
When some other gangs tried to encroach on his territory a few years back, it turned into all out warfare. And despite the dozens of homicides and drive-bys, the police never collected enough evidence to shut him down. He was too well-protected, and no one would turn against him for fear of retaliation.
However, after the gang wars ended, Bard tried to rebrand himself to keep some of the heat off. Going legit was something many mafia dons had done, and maybe this poor kid from the wrong neighborhood thought he could do the same. Perhaps he watched The Godfather and Scarface one too many times; although if that was the case, he failed to learn the deeper meaning – crime doesn’t pay.
Now, on paper, it looked like he was removed from the gang life, even if the KXDs still controlled the neighborhood streets and he still controlled the KXDs. But he had branched out, made connections and contacts, both foreign and domestic, and seemed to be our best bet for the smuggling. Given his gang affiliation, guns and other armaments were likely being smuggled in, along with the drugs and a possible human trafficking element. No wonder the FBI wanted this stopped. The only reason other government agencies weren’t stepping in after the breach was because the facts weren’t enough. The bulk of his business was too localized for the DEA, DHS, and ATF, especially since most of these suspicions weren’t substantiated.
