Dying for a Fix

by G. K. Parks

  The compromised operation into the KXDs had been running for seven months, and since the source of the security breach had yet to be identified, the Bureau pulled their current undercover agents, pending an investigation. Of course, just because the system was hacked, it didn’t mean government agencies went on holiday and crime would take a vacation. So the FBI sent in the B-team to fill in until this mess was sorted out.

  When my research hit the wall, I gave the computer a dirty look and shut it off. I spent the past week reading through the OIO files on the KXDs, Bard, and the lesser known players. Nothing was particularly helpful, and my personal search through the criminal databases and internet search engines didn’t lead to any new discoveries. Deciding to explore my only remaining untapped resource, I picked up the phone and dialed one of the few numbers I had memorized.

  “Hey, Parker,” Detective Derek Heathcliff of the major crimes division answered, having read my name off the caller ID.

  “Are you working tonight?”

  “No, I get off in a couple of hours,” he said hesitantly. “Is everything okay?”

  “Absolutely, which explains why I haven’t seen you in a while and thought we should catch up.” Realizing his investigative instincts would determine there was more to the story than meets the eye, I quickly covered by adding, “I was thinking of having poker night at my place.”

  “We’ve never played poker.”

  “Would you rather play Old Maid?”

  “I didn’t say that. What time?”

  “Whenever your shift ends. I’ll even splurge on the pizza and beer.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you later.”

  Heathcliff used to work narcotics and would potentially possess some unofficial insight into Bard and his drug affiliation, but since I couldn’t divulge the reason I needed these facts, I’d have to improvise. And now it looked like I needed to make a few more calls. My second call was to Detective Nick O’Connell, also in the major crimes division. With any luck, the rest of my cop brethren would provide some additional answers on the gang wars and smuggling issues.

  “I thought I was your favorite,” Nick said. Obviously, he must have been on shift with Heathcliff and heard the news before I could ask the question. “Shouldn’t you have called me first? What would you have done if I was busy?”

  “Saved a few bucks on beer,” I replied. “I take it you’re in.”

  “Yep.”

  “Thompson too?” That was O’Connell’s partner.

  “I’ll ask, but I’m sure he’ll say yes. Is Martin joining us? We need someone to pad the pot with actual cash instead of crumpled IOUs.”

  “Um…” What the hell, a couple of civilians might keep the detectives from interrogating me on my current job and interest in drugs and smuggling. “Hopefully, he’ll be able to swing it. Why don’t you ask your wife if she wants to come too?”

  “Jenny and I will be there,” Nick assured. “She’ll want to know if there’s anything we can bring. What should I say?”

  “Tell her if she’s good with pizza and beer, then I have it covered.” I paused. “Do you think this will get us off the hook for date night?” The O’Connells and Martin and I typically met once a month as an excuse to get out of the house and appear to be members of the civilized world. Nick and I hated it, but that was the price we had to pay for being involved with civilians.

  “Only if Heathcliff and Thompson showed up with dates, and you know that won’t happen.” Protests rang out in the background.

  “Maybe they could be each other’s date,” I suggested before disconnecting in order to free up the phone and extend an invitation to Martin.

  If this wasn’t a fact-gathering mission, I would have asked Mark to join us, but there was a good chance he would chew me out for unofficially requesting this type of information when I was under strict instructions to keep my cover a secret from everyone. But asking innocent questions didn’t pose a threat, especially when it came to the three men who had my back no matter what.

  * * *

  “All in,” Thompson declared, shoving his stack of chips toward the center of the table. I threw my cards down, leaving Nick and Thompson to duke it out.

  Jenny was puttering around the kitchen. She had brought a large toss salad that could have fed an army and a tray of brownies. How a full-time ER nurse managed to be the domesticated happy homemaker was beyond me, but I wasn’t protesting.

  Martin had yet to show up. He was busy with work, and if he managed to free himself from the invisible shackles, by the time he got here, everyone else would be on their way out. It wasn’t that he didn’t get along with my cop friends, but he was a workaholic and a tad competitive. A friendly game of cards with set limits probably wasn’t one of his priorities for a weeknight.

  I’d been dancing around the issue most of the evening, but no one had given me any straight answers. Heathcliff had recently concluded an undercover assignment that involved the gangs, narcotics, and major crimes units, but it seemed unrelated to DeAngelo Bard and the KXDs. Taking out the hard liquor and a few glasses, I started pouring.

  “What? You’re hoping to get us liquored up so you’ll be able to win back some cash?” O’Connell asked, his eyes never leaving Thompson as the two continued their standoff. It was nothing more than posturing since Thompson already announced all in, but the boys wanted to play. So they could play.

  “Shh,” I hissed playfully, “everyone doesn’t need to know my secret strategy.”

  “Speaking of secrets,” Thompson shot a look in my direction, “where’ve you been lately? I was just getting used to you popping up every couple of months and reminding us what a pain in the ass you are. What gives?”

  “I’m working somewhere steady. Office, suit, paperwork.”

  “You aren’t back at Martin Technologies, are you?” Jen asked, returning to the table.

  “No. And I’m glad Martin isn’t here for that comment.” I rolled my eyes. “We shouldn’t work together.”

  “That’s because you hate taking orders,” O’Connell mumbled, finally flipping his cards. He had a pair of fours. Thompson had a flush. “Dammit.”

  O’Connell took the cards and dealt another hand while Thompson scooped up his winnings. Derek’s eyes were on me, and I gave him a look. He glanced at the inside of my forearm. Inadvertently, I had rolled my sleeves up during the course of the evening, and now some of the airbrushed bruises were visible.

  “How’d that happen?” he asked.

  “I don’t remember.” I pulled my sleeves down before he could continue the scrutiny. “So any big cases in the works?” I asked, hoping to derail his questioning look. “Y’know me, always looking for some consulting work.”

  “Nothing major. Well, it’s all major. We are major crimes,” O’Connell supplied, focused on the game and his drink.

  “Some lunatic’s been doing some horrible shit in the metro tunnels,” Thompson responded. “But we have evidence and a BOLO out on the guy. It’s just a matter of catching him.” He shrugged. “Imagine, we seem to be functioning just fine without you.”

  I studied Derek, but he wasn’t speaking. He just continued the visual assessment. “You look thinner than normal,” he said after a time.

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  “Not quite sickly thin but close. Have you been feeling all right? You should eat more. It’s not like we’re asking you to go undercover as a model again.” That happened the first time the two of us worked together. His eyes flicked to the half eaten slice of pizza on my plate. “Any reason you don’t have much of an appetite? And why didn’t you pour yourself a glass of the hard stuff?”

  “Oh my gosh,” Jen piped up, “leave Alex alone. Unlike the rest of you, she probably actually gives a damn about how unhealthy this food really is. And she’s naturally svelte.” She assessed me. “But you could stand to eat more, particularly since you haven’t tried one of my brownies.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I sighed. “I’ve been worki
ng out a lot more. Having a boring job and regular hours leaves plenty of time for other things. That’s it. What’s with the inquisition? It’s not like I’ve been grilling you about your current assignments or the one you just finished.” Trying to spin the conversation back to useful information, I took a chance since Heathcliff seemed more suspicious about me than my job. “So with all this free time, I’ve been reviewing some old cases and news stories from years ago. Do you guys remember the gang wars involving the KXDs?”

  “God, that was a bloodbath,” Thompson said. “I didn’t work it, but Heathcliff must have. You were still in narcotics then, right?”

  “Yeah.” Derek didn’t look completely convinced that everything I was saying was true, but he let it go and began spilling his guts.

  For the next few hours, we shared old war stories. Even Jen joined in and spoke of some of the crazier things she had seen in the emergency room. By the end, I had some new intel and answers to a few of my questions.

  Four

  “How’d you hear about that?” Agent Cooper asked. He was sitting in on my debrief. “From the notes and your reports, I didn’t realize you made contact.”

  “I didn’t. It’s old news. We’re talking about what occurred five years ago. I’m sure it’s in one of the files.” I gestured to the two boxes worth of intel. “Plus, it was never substantiated, and from what I gather, it fell through. It looks like Bard’s number two, Francisco Steele, is quite the entrepreneur. Based on the rumblings, he encouraged the KXDs to expand and brought the international connection to Bard.”

  Mark had that look that said ‘I know where you got your information, and I don’t like it’, but I ignored it. He continued to glare in my direction as a few of the agents who had originally been stuck in the surveillance van began sorting through the hundreds of accounts and notes that were made over the years.

  “So the KXDs tried to merge with a Mexican cartel in order to control the city’s drug trade which is what led to the gang wars,” Cooper finally said. “It’s not surprising. The balance of power would have shifted, and no one wanted that. Not the cops, the neighboring gangs, or even the larger syndicates.” He paused while his mind finished processing the current dilemma. “What is surprising is the fact that the DEA and Customs didn’t pounce on this after our breach. Then again,” he skimmed through the tabs on the files that were piling up on the table, “maybe they did intervene when this originally happened, and that’s why the KXDs are still small potatoes. In gang life, a few years is practically ancient history.” He opened the FBI’s latest file on Bard and the KXDs. “We heard rumors of a new supply line and were asked to determine if the allegations were true and to shut down the source if they were. Like I said, it appeared to be international smuggling, but the current investigation never indicated ties to a cartel.”

  “But since Bard tried to merge once, he might be trying again,” Mark added, “which adds an even stronger basis to our allegations of drug running, weapons dealing, and human trafficking.”

  “It can’t be a big operation,” I interjected. “If it was, another agency would have shut it down. And I’d guess the KXDs’ south of the border contacts abandoned them five years ago when things turned bloody.”

  “Maybe Bard is looking for a connection farther south. The Colombians used to be the number one supplier of cocaine. Maybe they want to get back on top since Peru dethroned them. Then again, we don’t know exactly what the primary staple is for the KXDs to peddle. But we will find out,” Mark said. “Is there anything else you’d like to report, Agent Parker?”

  “No, sir. But I need a touch-up. My track marks are starting to fade.”

  He rolled his eyes, fearing I would say something controversial and insubordinate, but I was already in enough trouble. “Fine, we’ll get you outfitted.” Mark focused on the other agents who were monitoring surveillance and compiling information. “How come none of you reported the failed cartel merger?” The team looked up but failed to provide an explanation for their lapse, so Agent Cooper stepped in to berate them and review the gathered information while Mark led me out of the room.

  “Don’t you think that could be important?” I asked, hoping to avoid the ass-chewing I was about to receive. “It could make or break the case. And since I’m undercover, I need to know everything.”

  “You’ll get the condensed report before you go back tonight, but I’m guessing you already know everything inside that box a lot better than anyone else in that room.”

  “I do my homework.”

  Mark snorted. “Yes, you do. And after reading through every piece of information the FBI compiled, you decided to get some extra credit. Who’d you talk to? O’Connell? Heathcliff? Moretti?”

  “It was poker night. They had a few drinks, and we talked about ancient history.”

  “Do they know you’ve been reinstated?”

  “No. I didn’t break cover. You said I couldn’t tell anyone, including them. But I really don’t see the point. I trust them. Shit, Jablonsky, you trust them too.”

  “Yeah, but in the event there’s another security breach, they don’t need to get blamed or investigated because you opened your big mouth. Understand? It’s for their protection as well as yours.”

  “Fine.” I brushed my hair back and took my jacket off, rolling up my sleeves. “Any idea how to get the airbrushing to last longer?”

  “You could stop showering. It might help you blend in better in that neighborhood.”

  “Ugh,” I cringed, “that apartment is rank. I saw a cockroach in the hallway and nearly screamed bloody murder. The building is disgusting, and people have to live there. It’s heartbreaking.”

  “So besides an exterminator, what else do you need?”

  “I could use a few more puzzle books. It’s so boring, staying there for hours at a time with little to do except count the cracks in the wall, play swat the bug, and listen for sounds of gunfire. Until my role becomes more proactive, I’m going stir crazy.”

  “Alex, I know it’s boring, but do not let your guard down. Are you sure you don’t want a partner? We could give your cover some romantic entanglement which would explain another agent spending the night at the apartment.”

  “No partner. Right now, this is just recon and surveillance, and we’ve already established the reason for Alexia Nicholson’s move. We don’t change the play. You know that.” I smirked. “Are you afraid I can’t handle it?”

  “Well, you and boredom do not get along. And I don’t want to hear reports of weapons discharge because you decided to play shoot the cockroach.”

  “I really hate bugs.”

  He laughed. “Go get your makeup done. I’ll check and see how far they’ve gotten on updating our intel. Then why don’t you grab some lunch and pick up some magazines or whatever to keep you occupied in between maintaining eyes and ears on DeAngelo Bard and the KXDs.” He dug a couple of twenties out of his wallet and put them on the table. “I’ll get reimbursed. This should be on the government’s dime.”

  “Thanks.”

  After spending almost an hour watching some former tattoo artist who was now receiving a government paycheck perfect the look of frequent heroin user on my arms, I took the stairs down to street level and emerged from the side door, glancing around for signs of a tail. The OIO was using a partially empty office building as our meeting place in order to help keep my cover intact. If anyone were to notice my arrival or departure from the building, they’d probably think a junkie was using one of the abandoned levels as temporary shelter while getting her fix. Thankfully, the men in suits blended in well with the insurance firm that was functioning on the second and third floors, and by taking the elevator to the lobby and going out the front door, no one would ever be clued in that they were federal agents. At least that was the plan.

  Inside the nearby convenience store, I grabbed some pre-made sandwiches, browsed the magazine racks for word searches and crossword puzzles, picked up a few bottles of wate
r, and paid the cashier before heading back to the building. We were in a different neighborhood, and there was no reason for the extra precautions, but regardless, I ducked back into the alley where the side door to the building was and leaned against the dumpster for the next ten minutes, watching traffic and pedestrians to ensure no repeat offenders popped up before entering the security code on the hidden keypad and going inside.

  Setting the plastic bag down on a desk, I selected a turkey on white and waited for Mark to return. He and Cooper came into the room just as I was taking my third bite. Mark went to the bag, found a sandwich, and slumped into the chair.

  “Lunchtime,” he bellowed to the few remaining agents.

  Cooper and I exchanged a quick glance, and then he handed me an envelope containing surveillance photos from the vicinity of my cover’s apartment. Mostly, the photos were of key players in Bard’s ranks, but a few appeared to be nothing more than scenic shots of the nearby dumpsters and alleys.

  “Was someone learning how to use the camera?” I asked. “I know they have telephoto lenses, but isn’t it just point and shoot?”

  “Agent Parker,” Cooper always sounded monotone, but there was a formality to his posture which signified we were getting back to business, “your first week was basic. You’ve created a presence for yourself. You frequent an apartment on a mostly regular basis. The other tenants have noticed you. And your planted background was reinforced the other morning when we sent a parole officer to the apartment.”

  My eyes flicked to Mark. No one mentioned that. And it was scheduled intentionally when I wouldn’t be present.

  “The point was to make sure everyone knows Alexia Nicholson is a junkie with a record. Don’t worry, the cops aren’t clued in to our operation. But that doesn’t mean we can’t call in a favor from time to time. Professional courtesy, gotta love it,” Mark said, brushing some crumbs off his tie.