by G. K. Parks
After Cooper left the room, Mark pushed Nicholson’s phone closer. “You have to tell Francisco most of what happened. Just leave out the part about exchanging gunfire. We don’t want him to question your tactics.”
“Jablonsky, he’s seen my scars. He knows I’ve been shot. I doubt returning fire would surprise him.”
“Leave it out. There were enough men in that alley that you could have simply hunkered down and hid. Make sure he understands you want to know who was after you and whether or not you need his protection.” Something crossed behind Mark’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he scribbled a note on the edge of a piece of paper, tore off the corner, and shoved it inside his breast pocket. “We need to figure out how to limit your time alone in that neighborhood. I don’t want you out and about without some sort of back-up.”
“It’s too late for that.”
“We’ll see. In the meantime, let’s get the ball rolling. Give Francisco a call and tell him you need someone to pick you up at the hospital. DMV records show he has a vehicle. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and you can lose a phone in the seat cushions. That way we can ping the cell’s GPS and keep track of his movements.”
“We’ll need a few more burners.” My face fell at the thought of ducking out on Martin again, especially after arriving in such disarray this morning. Anything could have happened last night, and he would never know the real reason for it. I had to tell him. He should know why I was gone and why I lied. I pinched the bridge of my nose, realizing that thought process was the result of fear and guilt. “Mark, before this goes any farther and you take me back to the hospital to wait for Francisco, I need to fill out some paperwork.”
“Yeah,” he sighed heavily, “I knew you’d say that. Come on, I already filled them out for you. They’re in my office, awaiting your signature.”
After signing the forms, Mark gave me a few minutes to use his office phone, but since the documents had to work their way up the chain of command and get approved before I could open my mouth to a civilian, our conversation was full of lies and deceit. It’s not like I planned to go into detail about the operation or my mission. I just wanted to tell Martin that I was back at work. Life shouldn’t be this difficult. I’d forgotten what a hassle the red-tape was.
“I promise I’ll do what I can to improve my juggling,” I offered as consolation for failing to explain when I’d be able to see him again.
“Maybe you need to bounce some balls around as practice,” he said, the smirk evident in his voice.
“Maybe. But perhaps I should start with something easier.”
“Like?”
“Like an apology for leaving the other night and showing up the way I did this morning and for barely speaking to you over the last month.”
“You left out the two most important words.” He was enjoying dragging this out.
“Oh, so now you’re busting my balls. It’s no wonder I suck at juggling.” I laughed. “And I’m sorry,” I added sincerely.
“Then tell me what’s going on, sweetheart. The last time we were together, I mean really together, you seemed so different, happy and carefree, and now, you’re distant and secretive. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were seeing someone else.”
In a way, I was. “I hate to break it to you, but work is my dirty, dirty mistress. And I have to keep a lid on things because of security. This job has the pinnacle of all nondisclosures. But I’ll tell you everything I can as soon as I can. Do you trust me?”
An awkward silence filled the void for a moment too long, and then his voice sounded in my ear. “With my life. But don’t push me away, Alexis. Don’t disappear again.”
“I’ll stay in contact.” And that was one promise I would find a way to keep. “After all, I need you, whether you realize it or not. You’re brilliant, sexy, generous, and pretty damn amazing to put up with this.” And he was male, which meant he needed my reassurance, even if he was one of the most confident people I’d ever met.
“Now you’re just giving the ego a thorough stroking.” He chuckled. “You know, there are tangible things that would benefit more from such actions.” And there was the Martin I knew.
“I’ll be in touch.”
“Ooh, I can’t wait.” The devilish tone over the double entendre filled his voice.
Feeling better about the current situation, I hid my stupid grin and opened Mark’s office door. It was time to get back to work. One of the technicians commandeered my attention and dragged me to the OpCenter. Apparently Jablonsky was giving whoever came on shift and missed last night’s failed raid an update on the current situation. I listened in, and when he was done, I was handed another two burner phones, a replacement for communicating with Mark’s burner since the last one was taken by the police and the other to leave in Francisco’s car.
In addition to the GPS, the cell was outfitted with a listening device. Basically, Steele’s car would be wired. The phone was blank and untraceable, and he’d have no way of knowing who planted it or when. So with any luck, he’d be willing to give me a ride, and we’d be one step closer to pulling drugs off the streets and determining who had an axe to grind with the KXDs, besides the federal government.
After another hour or two of briefings, filing reports, and reviewing the intel, bogus or otherwise, Mark gave me a ride to the hospital. But given my earlier escape, I was strongly cautioned not to go near the ER or trauma units for fear of being recognized. The police presence from this morning had been called away, and I owed O’Connell and Heathcliff my gratitude.
Picking up the phone, I dialed the number that sent the text last night. After three tries, Francisco finally answered. It was late in the afternoon, but from the sound of his voice, I suspected he had been asleep.
“I need you.” My voice came out panicked and breathy.
“Alexia?”
“After you left the coffee shop, four thugs attacked me. God, Francisco, they’re all dead. I’m surprised I’m not. There was a drive-by. Shit,” I exhaled into the phone, “the cops were crawling around, asking questions, and making threats. I barely managed to sneak away. If they find out who I am, I’ll probably end up in jail. That’s providing I don’t get killed beforehand. What have you done? How come men were following us last night?”
“Chill, chica.” He sounded agitated and annoyed by my dramatics. “Where the hell are you?”
“At the city hospital.”
“Get in a cab and get home.”
“How? Everything I have is gone. I had to bribe an orderly just to keep my phone. What am I supposed to do?” I sniffled loudly. “Were you using me? Am I just a goddamn decoy?”
“Listen,” his tone was cold and commanding, “hang tight. I’ll pick you up outside the hospital.”
“Really? You left last night. How can I be sure you won’t abandon me again?”
“It’s either me or the cops. Take your pick.”
Twenty-two
When Francisco arrived in a brand new, high-end, silver SUV, I was a little surprised. Granted, dealers made good money and the gang lifestyle could be prosperous, but a beat-up, ancient sedan with spinners and a killer sound system would have suited him better. He pulled to the curb, rolling down the window.
“I don’t have all day.” His focus shifted to the parked police cruiser which was always present at the hospital. Once I was inside, he pulled back onto the main road and into rush-hour traffic. “What the hell went down last night?”
Fidgeting, I told him the condensed, OIO-approved version. As he continued to gaze at the road, I removed the outfitted throwaway phone from the front pocket in my sweatshirt and slipped it into the space between the seat and the center console, making a show of readjusting the seatbelt as I shifted one leg underneath me. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Who were they?” I asked.
“Sounds like the Lords. They’ve been after our stash for a while. They tried to move in, but Shakespeare put an end to that a coupl
e of years back. Obviously, they must have forgotten the lesson we taught them.” Francisco didn’t seem particularly interested in the thugs, and I wondered if Shakespeare had some retaliatory measures planned.
Swallowing, I forced the emotional turmoil back into the recesses of my mind. This wasn’t the time or place. “What about the SUV? Whoever was inside mowed down the Lords and took off.”
“I don’t know.” He laid into the horn, but the car in front of us was gridlocked just like everyone else. Tilting his head, he assessed me, unable to see the physical results of the fight. “You seem okay. What’d they do to you? Did they touch you?” he asked, sounding possessive and angry.
“A fight broke out, and they held a gun to my head.” I stared out the windshield. “I ended up pinned behind a dumpster. I fought to get free and tore something in my leg. It’s easier to call it a partial dislocation, but medically, it wasn’t that severe.”
“Where’d you get the clothes?”
“One of the nurses took pity on me and gave me some stuff to wear,” I said, but he glowered at the sweatshirt, like it might have a tracking device implanted inside. “I was stuck outside in the middle of a snowstorm, literally freezing to death. Some people have hearts, unlike you and your Lord pals.”
He released the steering wheel and grabbed my shoulder hard. “They are not my friends. Do you understand that?” I cowered, nodding. “Don’t say shit like that, particularly around Shakespeare or the others. They wouldn’t understand that you are just playing around.”
“Aren’t you Shakespeare’s protégé or something? Why wouldn’t he trust you?”
“It’s best if you keep your mouth shut.” Clearly, Steele wasn’t much for discussing these details further.
When we arrived in the ghetto neighborhood, he parked illegally at the hydrant in front of my building. Stepping out, I hissed at the pressure and dreaded the four flights of stairs up to that horrible hovel. Francisco came around the car, scrutinizing me more severely than ever before. He didn’t offer assistance, and I didn’t ask.
Once inside the apartment, he blocked the door. “Show me what they did to you.”
“Do you think I’m making it up?”
He shrugged, so I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and turned around. When I completed a full revolution, he stepped forward, and I flinched.
“Easy, chica,” his voice was soothing as he reached down and handed back the sweatshirt, “they’ll regret this. I’ll make sure of that.”
“They’re dead. There’s no one left to payback.” The last thing we needed was a gang war erupting. “I just don’t want to be used.” I turned the anger toward him. “Was I your decoy last night?”
“No.” But from the micro-expressions that crossed his face and the way his eyes darted to the side, he was lying. “I wanted you to see that this is the big leagues, so you’d behave appropriately when hocking some crystal and powder.”
“Last night, you said the cocaine was being delivered elsewhere.”
“Things change.”
And in that moment, I knew that he didn’t particularly trust me, and he also knew a lot more about the men from last night. Perhaps the attack was another test of my allegiance, but that didn’t feel right. No, this felt more like a double-cross. He retreated to the door, uttering some sentiment about being in touch.
Locking the door, I examined everything inside the apartment. The hidden compartment in the closet was sealed, and nothing had been touched. Assuming my cover was still intact, I decided to forego the surveillance equipment for the moment. It was too early, and my gut said there might be other visitors stopping by this evening.
Over the course of the next few hours, the exhaustion set in. Sinking onto one of the kitchen chairs, I put my legs up on another and snuggled under the threadbare blanket from the air mattress. Aside from a few deals going down, the neighborhood was quiet. Perhaps too quiet. But I was in no condition to complain, and after the foot traffic reached a lull, I stopped fighting the urge to close my eyes.
Voices in the hallway woke me. My next door neighbor was having an argument with her husband. After listening to angry bellows for a couple more minutes, I returned to my perch, but screaming jolted me upright. I was definitely awake now.
Slipping the gun into my waistband, I pulled my sweatshirt down and cautiously opened the front door. The woman that had called me a whore and seemed protective of her son was on her knees in the middle of the hallway, crying and screaming. Her apartment door was open, and I couldn’t quite determine what had happened.
“Hey, are you okay?” I asked as my eyes darted down the hallway, toward the steps, and back to her open apartment.
Her screaming stopped, and she looked up as if she’d never seen me before. Maybe I was overdressed. Unsteadily, she got to her feet, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Her confusion quickly turned to rage, and she spat in my direction, the glob of saliva landing on the hem of my jeans.
“This is your fault,” she snarled. “They should have killed you.”
Okay, playing nice just went out the window. “What did you hear? Do you know who those men were or what they wanted?”
“The Lords. And now the KXDs have to retaliate. Sean promised he was done with that life. That he was out. But when Francisco and Shakespeare came knocking, he went running off with them to defend the likes of some stupid cock-sucking whore like you. Stay the hell away from me.” She shoved me and stomped back to her apartment, slamming the door hard enough that the flimsy walls rattled.
Returning inside, I picked up the burner and dialed Jablonsky. Someone needed to warn the PD that an impending bloodbath was imminent. How did this happen? I felt like Franz Ferdinand right before World War I broke out. I wasn’t responsible, but somehow, my attack was the catalyst for the beginning of bedlam.
Two hours later, the shiny SUV rolled up. Francisco, Shakespeare, and three other men I didn’t recognize exited the vehicle. They appeared to be in one piece, but that didn’t mean the Lords were. Shakespeare and two of the men went across the street and back to his apartment while Francisco and the other man entered my apartment building. A minute and a half later, voices were in the hallway, and then there was a knock.
“It’s done,” Francisco said, coming inside without an invitation. “I promised you they’d regret it. And they do.”
“What did you do?”
“We had a nice little meet. They know not to fuck with us again. Last night, they lost four of their guys. Next time, it’ll be more.”
“What did you do?” I asked again.
“We gave them a warning. If you piss on our turf, we’ll shit on yours.” He smiled. “So now that I’ve demonstrated the lengths I’ll go to in order to protect you, are you done doubting me?” He snaked a hand around my waist, locating the gun and pulling it free. “What’s this?” He ejected the magazine and examined the barrel and filed off serial number.
“I was scared.”
“There’s nothing to be scared of.” He put the gun on the table and hugged me. “You’re one of us now, and we protect our own.” I tried to break free, but he held tighter. “Listen, you’ll start moving product for us on Monday, and I’m not talking E. If anyone messes with you, I’ll take care of it. So leave that peashooter at home. Got it?”
“Yeah.” I tried again to step out of his hold, but he didn’t let go.
“Where’d you get it?” He kept a firm grip on my waist but leaned back in order to stare into my eyes.
“From a friend.”
“I’m gonna need to meet this friend.”
“He’s nobody. Just someone from my past.”
He studied my eyes, searching for the lie but not finding it. After all, the statement was true. “Regardless, set up a meet. Shakespeare doesn’t like us hanging out with people outside the ‘hood.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but we aren’t in touch anymore. So did you kill anyone tonight?”
“What if I did
?” He stepped closer, reaching for the discarded nine millimeter and putting the clip back inside. He aimed at a fixed point on the wall before lowering the weapon and turning with a smirk. “Would you show some gratitude?” His fingers danced along my arm, tugging my sleeve upward to the crook of my elbow. “Or do you need another hit to convince you I’m not such a bad guy?”
“But you are a bad guy.”
He smiled a bright grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “That I am, chica.” He winked. “And I’m guessing you have a thing for bad guys.” Before he could say or do anything else, his phone beeped. He checked the display, cursed, and put the phone back in his pocket. “Dammit.”
“Are you leaving?” I asked, feeling slightly more brazen.
“Got to. But maybe you’ll be feeling a bit more grateful later. Call me if there’s anything I can do for you.” He gave me his best bedroom eyes. Then his gaze flicked to my exposed arm and the faked signs of heroin use. “I can meet all your needs.”
“I’ll think about it.”
He nodded and let himself out. Too bad I didn’t need anyone to take care of me, and quite frankly, I found the sentiment offensive. But that was neither here nor there. Returning to the window, I waited for him to clear the building before dialing Jablonsky. At least our two-way communication had improved since the attack, seeing as how he answered on the first ring.
“Did the GPS work?” I asked in lieu of a greeting.
“Like a charm. The audio’s not great, but we could still hear most of what was said inside the vehicle. Agent Lawson, our tech genius, is cleaning it up, and I called Lucca back to analyze the data. Someone will meet you at the motel in the morning for an update.”
“So this is happening every day?”
“Until I can get someone else on the inside. If something happens, leave a message at the locker dead drop. I only want you to use the gym from here on out. Our other dead drop was too exposed. You need to take more precautions. Have you encountered any problems since?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
