Dying for a Fix

by G. K. Parks

  Only one possibility came to mind. They planned to mindlessly hump someone or something. It was the same reasoning idiots used when dropping E in dance clubs and at raves. And my gut said that meant the KXDs had prostitutes working outside, or they were pimping out some of the strippers. And based on the profiles and arrest records Jablonsky had pulled, both possibilities seemed highly likely.

  Thankfully, I was able to move most of the pills to undercover agents. Six pills remained, and the value could easily be covered by the tips I’d made. So I took another fifteen minute break, placed the remaining evidence inside the barrel of an empty ink pen, and went back to the bar. For my next trick, I planned to attempt a clandestine handoff with the undercover bouncer, and I needed a volunteer from the audience.

  Tonight seemed busier than usual, or maybe it was on account of the lack of exchanging friendly chitchat with Joe. As he continued to serve the men at the bar, I grabbed a few longnecks from the cooler and filled a couple of glasses with ice. Loud and noisy would do just fine.

  Adding a swing to my step, I went to the first table and took the empties, replacing them with the fresh bottles. As was the case every night, someone swatted my ass, and acting surprised, I dumped the entirety of the tray and ice onto the closest guy. Drunks were typically less forgiving than your average human, and since he was on his fourth in the last hour, he behaved as I suspected.

  “My beer,” he growled, brushing the ice off his pants.

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” I apologized, picking up a stack of napkins and dabbing at his pants. “Oh, I’m sorry.” I dropped the napkins, pulling my hand away as if I realized my actions were inappropriate.

  “You missed a spot,” he slurred, grabbing my wrist and putting my hand on his crotch.

  By the time I looked up to call for help, the bouncers were already on their way across the room. One of them apologized for the spilled drinks and my faux pas but reiterated club policy about touching the girls. While he explained this, the man argued how I made the first move. As the commotion continued, I made eye contact with the other UC and brushed against him, dropping the defunct ink pen filled with ecstasy tabs into his pocket. He nodded slightly and broke up the argument before it could escalate into a fight. Mission accomplished. Now all I had to do was survive the rest of the night.

  At the end of the evening, I cashed out at the bar, returned to the locker room, and changed back into weather appropriate attire. The room was empty since I was the last to leave on account of being selected to clean the bathrooms. We all took turns, and for some reason, tonight was mine. Since the coast was clear, I went to Veronica’s empty locker and opened the door. A few pieces of trash lingered in the bottom, and a layer of glitter covered everything. But there was no flashing neon sign indicating drug dealing or gang affiliation.

  Before I could close the door, someone cleared his throat. Slamming the locker shut, I found Joe standing in the doorway. “I know what you’re doing.”

  “I just wanted to make sure Cindy grabbed everything for Vee,” I said, repeating what Sasha had said earlier.

  “I’m not talking about that.”

  “Okay. Well, whatevs,” I retorted, dropping back into Nicholson’s persona.

  “Twenty-four hours ago, I told you to keep your nose clean. And I wasn’t talking about you snorting blow.” His eyes traveled to my arms, but they were concealed by the jacket. “Although, that wouldn’t surprise me one bit.”

  “You’re crazy. How much did you drink while you were serving?”

  “What were you selling tonight?” he asked, holding up a discarded coaster with a few torn corners. “E? H?”

  “Are you going to break out into a chorus of Old MacDonald?” I spat, unsure of how to proceed with the confrontation. When in doubt, deny everything. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  “Stay away from that world. And don’t do it again. You’re asking for trouble, Alexia. And no matter how tough you act, you can’t handle it. Vee’s tougher than you, and you heard what they did to her.”

  “She was mugged.”

  “Bullshit.” He shook his head. “Why should I even care about some junkie whore like you anyway?” And he turned and left without another word. At least someone bought my cover story.

  Fourteen

  Walking home that night, I wondered if Francisco would be pleased by tonight’s sales. Then again, this was probably one of the many types of drugs he moved this evening. So far, I knew he sold illegal prescription pills, heroin, and ecstasy. Normal small-scale drug operations had limited options. It wasn’t like they were some factory emporium, but the KXDs seemed to be. And I wondered what else they were cooking, cutting, and manufacturing. And now with the added indication that they were involved in prostitution, the small time gang just made the leap into crime syndicate. Therefore, the contraband being smuggled in and out was probably equally grandiose. Why couldn’t this just be a dozen street kids that were surviving by making a pathetic attempt at some illegal entrepreneurial endeavors?

  “Alex,” Steele hissed from his usual spot in the alley, “how was the rest of your night, chica?”

  “Easy,” I replied, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a rolled stack of money.

  “Good.” He removed the rubber band and thumbed through it. “Nice job.” He turned away, indicating our meeting was over.

  “One of the girls from the bar was attacked yesterday. It was Veronica.”

  “So?” He didn’t bother to turn around.

  “Did you do it?” My volume was rising. “I thought you said you were here to protect the people in this neighborhood.”

  He spun, pissed by my inability to leave well enough alone. “She’s not from this neighborhood. Now stop asking so many goddamn questions and go home.”

  Muttering to myself, I continued down the sidewalk and up the steps to the apartment building. Once inside, I pulled out the surveillance equipment and monitored Steele for the rest of the night. He made a few deals, handed off the money to Bard, and hung around until five a.m. before calling it quits. After that, the streets were devoid of any action. I must have dozed because when I woke up, the sun was shining in my face.

  Hurrying to take down the equipment and hoping no one noticed a reflection coming from the lens poking between the blinds in the window, I locked everything up and cautioned a few glances outside. The mornings and early afternoons were typically pretty dead, and aside from the usual lookouts, I didn’t spot any of the higher ranked KXDs hanging around the neighborhood. Maybe they didn’t notice.

  Later that afternoon, Steele dropped by with another baggie of pills for distribution. He wasn’t much for small talk. Obviously, the previous chattiness had been a ploy to convince me to do his bidding. And now that he had what he wanted, I was just another cog in the machine. The less squeaky I was, the happier he was, so I kept my mouth shut and did what I was told. It was a new one for me, but Alexia Nicholson said she didn’t want to cause trouble. So we were going with her gut instincts. Damn, a few more days like this and I’d definitely end up developing multiple personalities.

  On the bright side, Veronica wasn’t around to make my life miserable. The other women at work quickly forgot about their mugged comrade, far too busy raking in tip money to care. Watching the situation a bit more closely didn’t lead to discovering who the prostitutes were or which KXD member might be acting as their pimp. Bard made sure his people were careful; it explained why Steele was the way he was. It also demonstrated precisely why this investigation had been going on for several months and no arrests and little progress had been made. The FBI must have missed something, and the same was true of the OIO.

  Joe avoided me as much as he could, only speaking when it became imperative for work. His eyes darted to the cardboard coasters, as if he were keeping tabs on the number of missing corners. Despite his watchdog attitude, my actual ecstasy sales and the coasters did not correspond. I sold a handful to a few men I recog
nized from the neighborhood, but the rest were being taken off the streets and brought to some evidence warehouse for collection whenever this operation actually turned into a case. Optimistically, that would be soon.

  When my shift ended that night, Francisco was waiting outside the Black Cat. He glanced up when I exited in torn jeans and my raggedy parka. I pretended not to notice his waiting presence, and he let out a shrill whistle to draw my attention away from the ground.

  “Do you have my money?” he asked.

  “Yep, so there’s no need for you to mug me. I’ll willingly hand it over.” My words were a direct dig in relation to Veronica’s assault.

  He held out his hand, and I removed the money from inside my bag. “Don’t start that again,” he said, counting the crinkled bills. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Except she was dealing for you, and something happened. Now she’s in the hospital, and I’m her replacement. That kinda makes it my business.” I met his eyes. “It’s not like I have health insurance, so I have plenty of reasons to worry.”

  He snorted. “You’re funny, y’know that?” I continued to glare at him, but he slung an arm around my shoulders and began leading us down the street in the general direction of the apartment building. “Anyway, the reason I showed up tonight is ‘cuz I have to take care of something out of town, and I don’t need you moving product for the rest of the week.”

  “What about my fix?” I asked, reminding myself that would be Nicholson’s primary concern.

  “It’s covered.” He slipped a baggie into my pocket. “Don’t use it all at once.”

  “Where are you going? And when are you coming back?”

  “Why?” His tone sounded suspicious. “Are you gonna miss me?”

  “I’ll miss the benefits of having you around,” I patted his hand that was closest to my pocket, “like the presents you keep bringing me.”

  “Next week. Monday or Tuesday, depending on some factors that are out of my control. Then I’ll need you to step up your game at the bar. Right now, I’m barely making a profit after that gram and a half I just slipped you.” I turned, acting anxious and delighted. “Be careful with it. I’d hate for something to happen to you.” We came to an abrupt halt at a busy intersection, and he threw up a hand to hail a cab. “Go on home. I’m getting out of here.”

  I still didn’t know where he was going or why he was going, and both of those things could be key to our investigation. “Francisco, hold up,” I said. “What about the guys in the neighborhood?”

  “What about them?”

  I gave him a look. “I’m not exactly Miss Popularity, or maybe I am. Either way, I won’t feel safe walking by them without you watching out for me.”

  “They won’t bother you.”

  “And if they do, what am I supposed to do? C’mon, give me your number so I can call if there’s a problem.”

  “Fine,” he grabbed the cell from my hand, pressed a few keys, and handed it back just as a cab rolled up. “I’ll see you in a few. And keep that ass in shape because when I get back, things are picking up.” He slammed the door, and the taxi drove away.

  Not risking acting strangely, I continued home, let myself into the apartment, and conducted surveillance for the rest of the night. The man who had acted as Bard’s personal guard was now stationed in Steele’s usual spot. Based on the vague details Steele had provided and the chatter that Agent Cooper had heard, the shipment should be arriving soon. Maybe it was already here, and Steele had to pick it up. But why would he be gone for the next four days?

  Pacing the expanse of the apartment, I sent a few coded texts to my handler and waited for permission to take a brief hiatus from the undercover assignment. Going from undercover to deep cover and back to federal agent all within the span of a couple of weeks would lead to whiplash. But any reprieve, even brief, would be welcome.

  Around two p.m. I received a text granting clearance for a temporary exit. After my shift at the Black Cat, I’d go to the motel instead of the apartment, make a quick change, and exit through the adjoining room. No one would be the wiser, and if my absence was reported to Francisco, my excuse would be I was staying with a friend because I didn’t feel comfortable in the neighborhood without him there. Or more realistically, I was blitzed on the shit he gave me and couldn’t find my way back.

  That night at the bar was more of the same. Naked women spinning on poles, handsy men trying to cop a feel, and Joe continuing his cold shoulder routine. However, there was a slight undercurrent of electricity coursing through the club. Maybe it was the larger crowd, but two different fights broke out that night. The bouncers had to break them up, and at least three different men were booted out on their asses, one of which was a low-level KXD punk. When the cat’s away, I suppose. Chalking it up to a full moon, I couldn’t wait to get out of the sequined underwear and into something dignified. Alex Parker was itching to make a comeback.

  Calling for a cab ahead of time, I went out the alley exit, moved to the parallel street, and went across to a convenience store which I listed as the address for the pick-up. It never hurt to be careful. Darting inside the car, I waited until we were a few blocks away before telling the driver my destination. He eyed me through the rearview mirror. Ignoring the questioning look on his face, I stared out the window and at the sliver of side mirror I could see, watching for a tail.

  “Do you work at the Black Cat?” he asked, too curious to hold his tongue.

  “The what?” I pretended to be clueless.

  “Never mind.” His eyes returned to the road, but his gaze would flick briefly up to the mirror.

  “Is that a usual pick-up spot for you?”

  “Sometimes.” He studied me again, ignoring the red light that he just drove through.

  “What is it? Some kind of jazz bar or coffee shop?” I asked, hoping he believed me, even though I had been half a block away and covered in residual glitter when he picked me up outside a convenience store.

  “Women dance there.”

  “Oh, a club. That sounds like fun.”

  He laughed. “No. Men pay to watch women dance. Understand?”

  “Oohhh,” I said, exaggerating the word. “So the girls you pick up, are they hooking?” What the hell, it was worth a shot. He tilted his head to the side in a noncommittal gesture. “And they ask to go to the same motel I did?” My eyes went wide as I tried to act flabbergasted.

  “No, no, no,” he said emphatically. “They stay closer. Three blocks away at the Maritime.”

  “You mean Merry Time,” I joked, making a note to run that by Jablonsky and Cooper. He smiled and continued driving, paying more attention to the road now that he no longer believed I was a commodity that was rentable by the hour. “Sorry to disappoint, I’m just visiting some friends and needed a cheap place to stay.”

  He nodded, bored with the conversation. When the car stopped, I stepped out, making sure not to pay with the stack of dollar bills that were in my pocket. With any luck, he wouldn’t remember me, and I made a point not to over tip or under tip in order to be less memorable. After he drove away, I circled around the exterior of the motel, making sure no one had me in their sights. Then I went up to the room, used the keycard to open the door, and nearly had a heart attack when I found Mark waiting inside.

  “Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you?” I snapped, shutting the door and sliding the security bar over. “You know better than to sneak up on me.”

  “Alex, we need to talk,” he said, ignoring my dramatics. He jerked his chin at my go-bag that he must have taken from the office. “Get changed. We need to hash everything out before you leave tonight.”

  “I thought my hiatus was approved.” I took my bag into the bathroom. The welcome smell of commercial-grade cleaner and shiny white porcelain practically brought tears to my eyes, but it wasn’t until this moment that I ever considered motels to be particularly clean or inviting. Damn, I really was living in a disgusting apartment and working at an
even more grotesque bar. “Am I going back to that apartment tonight? Because if the answer is yes, then I’m handcuffing myself to the pipes and dropping the key down the drain.”

  “We’ll see.”

  When I emerged, wearing a button-up shirt, dress pants, and having washed off as much of the oil and glitter as possible, Mark already had surveillance photos, case files, and copies of the current warrants spread across the bed. At least the rest of the team was hard at work. Being stuck in some hellhole by myself had made me question their commitment to this assignment, but obviously, that thought was misdirected.

  Three locations were under tight surveillance. One was the international airport, the other a train station, and the third was a private airstrip. Based upon chatter from a few confidential informants and the buzz from our sister agencies, the shipment was already on the ground, but we didn’t know exactly where or when it arrived. Our options were narrowed to three possibilities, and each location was under surveillance.

  “Why don’t you just track Steele?” I pulled out the disposable and flipped through the address book for his contact information. “I convinced him to leave his number.”

  After handing the phone to Mark, I leafed through the paperwork on the bed. The ink had dried for a wiretap, so accessing the phone’s built-in GPS shouldn’t be out of the question. Thankfully, I thought to relay the information to Mark when I texted earlier.

  “We already are, except the sly bastard must have turned off his phone. The KXDs are more paranoid than you and a hell of a lot more careful. As soon as he turns it back on, the techs will notify us, but until then, we’re stuck waiting.”

  “I thought we were planning a raid. Agent Cooper has a team salivating on standby. The sooner we blow this thing out of the water, the better off we’ll be.” And the sooner I could go back to my life and my apartment.