by G. K. Parks
“Chica,” Steele bellowed.
This wasn’t good. Throwing everything into the false back of the closet, I shoved the boards back into place, shut the closet doors, and turned the key, locking the door. Stowing the key underneath the loose tile in the kitchen, I groaned loud enough for him to hear from the hallway and went to the door.
“What?” I asked, leaving the security chain on as I opened the door. “You told me to go to bed. I went to bed. Is that respectful enough for you?”
“Let me in.”
“Why should I?” He held up another baggie, practically identical in size to the one I bought from him earlier, and regardless of how I spun it, there wasn’t a chance in hell Alexia wouldn’t let him inside when he came bearing gifts like that. “Fine.”
Unlocking the door, my mind went to the kit in the bathroom. Inside was a syringe, a spoon, a lighter, and other items common in every heroin addict’s arsenal. Underneath all of that was a second syringe filled with saline in the event shooting up was necessary to prove my conviction. God, I hated needles.
“You’ve been a good girl,” he said when the door opened. “I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that you were precisely what I was looking for.”
“How much?” I asked, pretending not to notice his running commentary and keeping my mind on a single track.
“We’ll work it out.”
I licked my lips, as if I could practically taste it, and swallowed. “No. I’m not whoring myself out for a fix. Cash. That’s all I’m offering.”
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want your body but not as a bartering tool. Things get messy that way, and we don’t do messy.”
“We?” My gaze flicked from the drugs to his face.
“The KXDs.”
“Shit,” I rubbed my face and stepped away from him, “I didn’t realize. I didn’t know. Shit.”
“Relax, chica. We’re what keeps this neighborhood running.”
Wow, delusional much? I thought, backing away as if I were still afraid. “What do you want?”
“You’ll see.” He waggled the bag. “But first, let’s just enjoy the moment.”
Ten
Remaining curled on my side, I fought to keep my breathing slow and deep. Francisco had split the contents of the baggie between us and snorted his share. Electing to cook mine, I had barely managed to distract him long enough to switch the syringes before the euphoria hit and he collapsed onto the bed, pulling me along for the ride. The other syringe containing the drug was now out of sight beneath the air mattress. The good thing about the lightweight bed was the ability to easily shove things underneath it.
Now Steele was pressing against me, his hand tracing the curve of my hip. Making no move to stop him, my mind ran through the defensive options available. The knife was close by. My nine millimeter was inside my bag approximately six feet away, and I wasn’t above stabbing the KXD lieutenant in the neck or chest with the unused syringe if the situation warranted such action. Thankfully, he seemed contented enough by the bump to do nothing more than run his fingers over my skin.
“You good?” he asked, spooning me, and I let out an affirmative hum, shifting my legs slightly in the event I needed additional leverage and placing my heel against his shin. He was lit, and that made him unpredictable.
My heart hammered in my chest, and it was a struggle to keep my muscles from tensing. However, in his current state, he didn’t seem to notice my internal battle. Time passed slowly, and it felt like hours before he moved or spoke again. He propped himself up on his elbow to observe me, but my face was mostly obscured by my long brown hair. He removed his hand from my hip to brush my hair away and trace the path his fingers took with his lips. Fighting the urge to cringe, his mouth pressed against my neck just briefly, and he leaned back.
“Your pulse is racing. Is it a bad trip?” he mused, sounding slightly more sober than he did earlier.
“No,” I remained still, afraid he might realize something was amiss, “too much of a good thing today. I need to slow down. Rehab didn’t exactly work, but being clean for a while,” I let out an exhale, “makes overdosing seem much more likely.”
“Have you ever ODed?”
“No.”
“I did once. Shakespeare had to drag my ass into the shower. I remember cold water and pain. I’ve been careful since, making sure to use high-quality shit that’s been properly cut and just enough. I’m more of a dabbler now.”
“So you don’t sample your wares?”
“Occasionally, like now.” His hand traveled back to its previous location. “Have you ever moved product?”
“The cops say I did.” It wasn’t an answer, but it sounded good. “I’m not a mule or a dealer. I’ve hooked some people up. Friends of friends, y’know. Nothing major.”
“You don’t deal. You don’t hook. And apparently you don’t strip either.” The last part sounded accusatory, and I shifted farther from him, closer to my means of protection. “That’s the word on the street. You serve drinks at the Black Cat.”
“I’m not up to stripper snuff.”
His hand came into contact with skin as he began sliding my shirt up. Underneath was my uniform, but it was still a question of how far I was willing to let this go. When he reached the crook of my elbow, my position didn’t allow for him to raise my shirt any higher, so his hand trailed downward.
“I’d say you are.” His palm traced my ribs, stopping below them near my back. “You’ve been shot before.” The wonderment in his words made my stomach flip. Apparently he found this prospect rather delectable, and that wasn’t good.
“Like I said, I didn’t quite make the cut.” He let out an interested hmm, urging the story onward while his fingers continued to trace my scar. Most people didn’t realize what it was on account of its strange appearance, but Francisco Steele wasn’t most people. He was in one of the most ruthless gangs in the city, and he recognized what amateur surgery on a GSW looked like. “A deal went wrong. I was there. Someone got killed. I got hit. My boyfriend cut the bullet out, but it ended up infected. A couple days later, I collapsed and woke up under arrest in the hospital.”
“That was the felony murder you told me about?”
“Yeah.”
“It sounds like you could have named names and gotten yourself out of trouble.” Again, he was testing the waters.
“I would never. This is the life I chose.” I snorted, giggling like a schoolgirl. “This is it, waiting tables in my underwear.” Laughing as if this was hilarious, I rolled onto my stomach, ensuring the damning items were still beneath the bed. “And it pays for this fabulous apartment and mama’s dirty little habits.”
“Don’t hate yourself. Embrace it,” he said in a thick, raspy voice. He grabbed my shoulder, flipping me onto my back and placing his lips to mine. “It led you here. To me.”
“Francisco, no.” I’d kick him in the groin, then the stomach, then go for the gun. That was my plan, but by some strange turn of events, he backed off, flopping down beside me. “I can’t, not after what happened the last time I got involved with my dealer.”
“Shootings,” he said, as if he understood, “they can be rough. My mom was killed by her loser boyfriend. He was her supplier, but she couldn’t pay. And he decided the money was more important than getting some ass.” A growl emanated from deep in his throat. “That asshole told me with enough cash, ass was free, and even with a little cash, you could buy some fine ass. And then I blew his brains against the wall.” Steele shrugged. “That just goes to show, money ain’t everything.”
Swallowing, I didn’t react, but the federal agent instinct was at odds with my undercover persona over this revelation. Part of me wanted to arrest him, but the other part knew this was just the tip of the iceberg.
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.” He laughed. “Stupid motherfucker.” Considering my options and the point of this mission, I reached for his hand and gave it a supportive squeeze. �
�You’re crazy, chica, if that doesn’t scare you.”
“You’ve come to my rescue. I don’t think you’d kill me. But I am afraid of what you expect in return.”
“The first time we met, I told you that I won’t take advantage. And I meant it.” His voice was harsh. “But I could use you to run drugs at the club. The business is expanding, but not everyone got the message. Other gangs have been encroaching on our territory. It’s time we make a stand and take back what’s ours, starting with the clubs.”
“And I work at a titty bar.” Whichever analyst picked this club ought to get a bonus and a few extra vacation days because damn he was good. “How do you know you can trust me not to sample the product or take off with the cash?”
“Because I’ve been watching you since the moment you stepped foot in this neighborhood. And who’s taken care of your problems?” He smiled. “Plus,” his hand released mine, tracing the airbrushing on my inner arm, “your tastes seem much harder and more singular than what you’d be selling. I’ll keep you supplied in exchange for your services. It’s a quid pro quo.”
“What about that creep that threatened me tonight?” Before I could launch into an explanation, Francisco waved my concern away, snickering at the melodrama.
“I sent Vega to the club to scare you. I needed to know that you would come to me for help, and you did.” He sighed, shifting onto his side. “I’m gonna crash here. I have places to be in a couple of hours, and all this business talk wasted a good deal of my high.” It wasn’t a question, and I turned away from him. Without asking permission, he scooted closer until my back was against his chest, and he remained still for the next few hours, letting out contented mumbling sounds while I fought to remain calm and appear asleep.
As soon as dawn broke, he stumbled into the bathroom. Not wasting a moment, I took the full syringe and shoved it inside my bag. Grabbing the hand sanitizer from my purse, I dispensed some onto my fingertips and rubbed both of my bottom eyelids. Immediately, my eyes stung from the burning alcohol. At least my pupils would be swimming in a sea of red. And with any luck, I wouldn’t go blind. Then I went back to bed.
When Francisco emerged, I sat up. “When?” I croaked, making my voice more gravelly than it already was. “When do you expect me to start moving product?”
“Soon. First, you’ll have to meet someone. Give me your digits?”
“Sure.” I rambled off the number for my burner phone, and he input the information into his device.
“I’ll be in touch.” He leaned down, grasping a fistful of hair at the base of my neck and tugging so I was forced to look up at him. “Are you coming down hard?”
“Not too bad.”
“Okay. If you need something, I’ll be around.”
After he left, I locked the door and went to the sink to rinse my eyes. I really didn’t want to go through that again. Glancing at the mattress, my stomach flipped, although that was the most anticlimactic reaction I could have had considering I spent the night cuddled up against a self-professed killer and known drug dealer and gangbanger. What did I get myself into this time?
Peering out the windows for signs of illegal activity, the streets were clear, so I tidied up the apartment, sealing the drugs into a larger plastic bag and hiding them inside the ripped lining of my coat. Then I went to the closet, took out the surveillance tapes, memory cards, and notes from last night, finished writing my report, and waited impatiently for ten o’clock. The sooner I could get away, the safer I’d feel. But Steele confirmed something else last night. He had been watching since the beginning, which meant my movements were probably still being monitored now. I’d have to be careful and even more cautious because he’d end me without blinking an eye, despite his misplaced affection.
Once the coast was clear, I left the apartment, taking a convoluted route involving numerous transfers to the rented office building. Sneaking in the side door, I went up the steps, listening to the echo of my footfalls in the cinderblock stairwell. Opening the door, I was greeted by the sight of perfectly coifed agents in suits and ties. A few gave me a second glance, probably thinking some homeless woman wandered in off the street.
Returning a few good mornings in a gruff fashion, I went down the corridor and let myself into Mark’s temporary office. He wasn’t here yet, and that brought my frustration and exhaustion to the forefront. Without thinking, I slammed the door, shed my coat, placed the evidence and surveillance on his desk, and found my go-bag underneath his desk. While I was in the process of stripping out of my attire, the door opened.
“Don’t you ever knock?” I asked, not turning around as I slipped a hooded sweatshirt over my naked torso. “If I had been facing the door, things between us could have gotten awkward real fast.”
“It’s my office. Why are you changing in here? The bathroom is just down the hall.”
“Because it seemed like a brilliant idea. Almost as brilliant as agreeing to come back to work at the OIO.” Once I was appropriately covered, I turned to face him. “In case you haven’t figured this out yet, I’m just bursting with brilliant ideas.”
“What happened?”
“It’d be easier to ask what didn’t happen?” I retorted, pacing the room while he picked up the plastic bag on his desk.
“You made a second buy?” He held up the syringe containing the cooked heroin and the untouched baggie of powder.
“No. Just the one, but Steele showed up with another free taste. He wants me to move product at the strip club in exchange for a steady fix. He also sent that loser to spook me.”
“I heard about that from Agent Wolfe, our undercover bouncer.” Jablonsky narrowed his eyes, skimming through my report while I filled him in on everything that transpired. “I’m only asking this as your supervisor because I’m required to make a note in my report. Did you shoot up?”
“Only saline.”
He watched as I paced. “Submit to a drug test before you leave today.”
“Mark,” I protested, but he held up his hand.
“It’s policy. You have a probationary status and because of that psychopath that dosed you that one time, there’s a note in your file. You know this. And I know you, but it won’t help our case if some defense attorney decides to question any of your findings. And I don’t want some AUSA chewing me out because of it.”
“Yes, sir.”
His eyes shifted to the closed door. “Off the record, what’s wrong?” We’d spent years working together. And he could read my body language and facial expressions better than anyone.
“I spent the night with Francisco Steele.” Scratching my neck, I could still feel his hand on my hip. “He’s extreme and unpredictable. And for whatever the reason, he likes me. We need a full workup. I want property records, financials, taxes, his rap sheet and juvie record, everything we have.”
“Does he pose a threat?”
“To the op? Or to me?”
“Both.”
“For now, I’ve earned his trust. He wants to use me, and I think I can convince him that he needs me. But if my cover gets compromised, he won’t think twice before sanitizing the situation.”
“Dammit. No wonder you’re so keyed up. Are you sure you have this under control?”
“I hope so.” I stopped pacing, no longer able to evade the thought that had been haunting me since Francisco showed up at my door last night. “But I can’t go home. I have to stay there and commit to Alexia Nicholson if there’s any chance of infiltrating the KXDs.”
“Alex,” the way he said my name was a dead giveaway that I was right, “you can use my phone. Take a minute while I get the rest of the team up to speed.”
“Thanks.”
Eleven
The only person I called was Martin, and he was in a board meeting and couldn’t be disturbed. After hanging up, I dialed his home phone and left a message, telling him I loved him and that I was working and wouldn’t be stopping by for a while. It was vague, but none of the lies I came up w
ith sounded feasible. Pressing end call, I wondered if he’d be suspicious about the unfamiliar number on the caller ID. Oh well, Mark would just have to deal with that issue.
Detouring to the ladies’ room, my reflection in the mirror was shocking. I really did resemble some strung-out junkie. No wonder Francisco was convinced. If I didn’t know me, I would have thought I was using too. Failing to pull off some semblance of professionalism, I gave up the struggle and went down the hall to the conference room.
“Parker,” Cooper greeted, “here’s your packet.” He held out a zippered bag that contained ID, a few credit cards, a gym membership, locker combination, and a motel room key. Each of the items was registered to Alexia Nicholson. “I didn’t realize you would be needing this so quickly.”
“Neither did I.” Raising an eyebrow, I held up the gym membership. “Are you trying to tell me I have no business parading around in my underwear? Because I whole-heartedly agree.”
“It’s a safer location for our dead drop. The KXDs won’t be able to follow you inside. You can leave reports and evidence in the locker, and we’ll send another agent to collect them,” Cooper replied.
“Plus, it’s obvious you keep in shape. Steele wouldn’t have any reason to be suspicious,” Jablonsky added. “The motel key is for your sanity. If it gets to be too much, you can hide out for a couple of hours. Hell, I’ll send another UC to keep you company, and you could say you’re having an affair with a married man or something.”
“Leave the adlibbing to me.” I sighed. “I’d like to pick up a few things from home, but I’m not sure I want to risk it.”
“Buy whatever you need,” Cooper insisted, nodding at the credit card. “And after today, limit your appearances at this office building. Worst case, we’ll send someone to meet you at the gym or motel if you need a face-to-face.”
“This is really happening.” I slowly exhaled. This wasn’t supposed to happen, particularly not within the first few weeks.
