Dying for a Fix

by G. K. Parks

  “So Bard is top dog.” I didn’t realize it, and none of the intel mentioned it. Then again, our intel focused on the overseas connections and not the distribution system already established within our city. “Is he moving anything else besides drugs?”

  “Maybe a few guns to keep his guys armed and ready to throwdown. And from the whispers I’ve heard, he has a couple of prostitutes working in a few select locations, like the Black Cat. But he’s careful about that. The hookers serve to pass around product and give the customer a little more bang for their buck. But the KXDs are careful not to step on any toes since the bigger prostitution rings are mafia controlled. Hookers and specialty black market items are mainly focused within the families.” He narrowed his eyes. “Wasn’t there a certain mafia don that threatened to kill you if you made a move against him?”

  “Good thing I’m only working the drug angle then.”

  “Are you sure Vito would see it that way?” Heathcliff asked, but all I could do was shrug. “Just be careful, we have enough to deal with, and you have plenty to worry about after that SUV almost ran you down.”

  “Does the PD have any idea who was behind the wheel?”

  “They’re looking into it. Obviously, we’re working different angles in the same case. And whoever it is will eventually fall into our sights.” He paused to rub a hand down his face. “The FBI should have informed us. We could have exchanged intel months ago and already washed our hands of this mess. Hell, you wouldn’t have been coerced into getting reinstated, and I wouldn’t have been dragged back to my old division. Things could have been so much simpler.” The accusatory look was back. “You should have come clean on poker night.”

  “Don’t even, because I could blame you for not saying a word when you went to assist narcotics. Plus, I was private sector during the original investigation. This isn’t my fault or my mess to clean up. I was dragged into this because of a security breach.” Scowling, I reached into the shower to shut the water. This was getting ridiculous, and we were doing nothing more than pointing fingers. “Goddamn hackers.”

  “Alex,” he pressed his lips together, “the two of us can work together. We have before. Let’s cut through the bullshit so we can go home.”

  “Fine by me, but I have to run this new information up the chain of command. And you should probably do the same.”

  Opening the bathroom door, I went to my bag, searching for the burner. The reception was still shoddy inside the apartment, so it was actually a relief that most of the communication with the OIO was via text message. As I predicted, sharing sensitive information with the PD was frowned upon, but Mark had already bent the rules in order to keep my cover intact. So I ignored the curt replies and replaced the phone inside my bag. When I looked up, Heathcliff was conducting business on his end, except he had an actual cell phone with tons of capabilities and reception to match. He finished his brief conversation and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

  “The Black Cat’s shut down for the night. How long do you think it’ll be before Steele or Bard come knocking?”

  “It depends.” My stomach clenched. “Probably too soon. And we can’t help looking suspicious, especially me. I was supposed to be working tonight. Maybe you should take off. Don’t you have some product to pass off to the Irish?” I made a face, wondering who in the world he was talking about or why the KXDs believed him.

  “Not tonight. After Steele’s blunder, you’re my consolation prize.” He pulled out a chair and surveyed the rest of the room. “Seriously, the OIO couldn’t even spring for a television or couch. That’s just cruel and unusual punishment.”

  “Nicholson’s been staying in halfway houses, and couches and TVs aren’t that easy to move.” Snorting, I added, “I should be thankful for the freaking air mattress and the table and chairs. They’re better than the floor.”

  He tilted his head to focus on the far corner of the room. “Not by much. With a blanket or two, the floor doesn’t look so bad.”

  “Yeah, well, I barely sleep as it is, so I don’t plan on giving the floor a try.” Sighing, I peered out the window at the snow covered ground below. Apparently the storm had picked up again, and while we were discussing matters, everything ended up with a fresh coat of white. I shivered at the memory of being trapped behind the dumpster. “It’s been impossible to check the KXDs’ dead drops and pick-up sites with all this damn snow. Leaving tracks is too great of a risk.”

  “Speaking of tracks,” he nudged his chin at my arm, “those are mighty convincing. Care to paint a few on me?”

  “I can try, but the bulk of this was created by professional tattoo artists.”

  “Never mind.”

  He drummed his fingers on the table. Conversation was limited since talking about our real lives wasn’t a good idea. The activity outside was nonexistent, probably on account of the raid and subsequent arrests, and there was no sign of Steele or Bard. I would have loved to rendezvous with my support team at the motel in order to find out what was happening, but that was out of the question.

  Heathcliff checked his watch. “Warm coffee and cookies would be nice,” he said, recalling words I’d spoken to him during our very first stakeout when I was nothing more than a private investigator.

  “Did you bring any?” I tossed him a smile. “Because the only thing I have is instant, and it’s pretty sketchy.”

  “Well, at least it fits in with everything else around here.”

  Twenty-six

  Twisting around, I buried my face in the pillow. As usual, my mind wouldn’t turn off, and I wondered when I did laundry last. It had been five or six days at the most, before the incident with the Lords. That sudden image of the dead men and my near brush with fate resulted in a sharp intake of breath, but silence continued to permeate throughout the apartment. Fighting against the existential crisis that threatened to develop into a small-scale panic attack, I rolled onto my side and stared across the dimly lit apartment at the man in the opposite corner of the room.

  Derek was slumped against the wall with his legs pulled up in front of him and his arms resting on his knees. He didn’t move or speak, but I felt his eyes on me. Maybe I was imagining things. One of us should be asleep, especially at this time of night. He had suggested we take turns in case the KXDs came knocking, but after two hours of watching me twist and turn, he thought his presence was making me uncomfortable. So we were both supposed to be getting some shut-eye, except that plan didn’t seem to be working either.

  Not wanting to disturb him in case he actually was asleep, I resisted the urge to get out of bed. Instead, I shifted my position again. My hip had started to ache, and the mattress had a lot to do with that. Propping my head up on my arm, I stared at him, hoping he’d give some clue as to whether or not he was asleep. But he didn’t move. The room was bathed in an eerie light that filtered through the blinds from the outside streetlamps, making it difficult to discern his level of wakefulness.

  “Hey,” I whispered, “are you awake?” He snorted, stifling his chuckle. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Hauling myself to my feet, I crossed the room and opened the freezer door, pulling out the ice cube trays and grabbing the dish towel. “Why don’t you take the bed? One of us needs to be able to see straight in the morning.”

  “Fine,” he agreed, “but only if you keep that leg elevated.”

  “Are you hoping to play doctor?” I quipped, but he ignored the remark and collapsed onto the air mattress with a slight bounce.

  Leaning against the window sill, I studied the ground below. This was the first time since being stationed inside this pathetic hovel that the streets were completely devoid of life. Even when things had been quiet before, there would still be the occasional pedestrian coming home or going out. But tonight, no one stepped foot outside. It was like they knew a battle was brewing, and the first shots might be fired at any second. Hopefully, I was delusional. Lack of sleep had been proven to lead to insanity, and even on my best days, I always seem
ed a little closer to that line than most.

  Convinced that recording the exterior was pointless tonight, I dismantled the surveillance equipment and put it away as quietly as possible. Then I returned to the chair near the window, propped my legs up on the edge of the table, and rested my forehead against the cold glass. I was waiting for trouble.

  It was 6:30 and the sky had just started to brighten when Francisco’s SUV pulled to a stop, and a chorus of slamming car doors rang out. Roused from my comatose state, I blinked a few times and sat up. From the looks of things, Steele was barking orders and making emphatic gestures.

  Less than a minute later, another vehicle joined it. This one was painted matte black, and DeAngelo Bard climbed out. He opened the rear hatch, and the two lookouts that had just stepped out of Francisco’s vehicle raced to the back.

  “Derek,” I said loud enough for him to jump, “grab your phone. We need to call this in.”

  He crossed the room, peering out the window. “We can’t.” He bit his lip and looked away. “You know what will happen if we do.”

  “But,” I swallowed, “that man will die without help.”

  “We don’t know that. Plus, that’s one of Bard’s lieutenants. The KXDs will do what they can to keep him alive.”

  The two lookouts hoisted the wounded man between them, carrying him by the arms and legs across the street and toward Bard’s basement apartment. The dark crimson stains covering the man’s torso didn’t bode well, and I would wager they had been caused by multiple gunshot wounds. Then again, they might have been stab wounds, or maybe the blood belonged to someone else. I couldn’t tell from here. My instincts said that he needed medical intervention, and I turned to Heathcliff with a question on my lips.

  “We can’t just sit back and wait to see what happens.”

  “Even if units roll up, Bard will lie to them. We can insist on what we saw, but it’ll ruin your mission.” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s your call. If you want to make it, go ahead.” He handed me the phone. “The KXDs protect their own. Gang members get dropped off at the ER all the time. Let them handle things themselves, Alex.” My mouth dropped, and I stared at Heathcliff, expecting him to have a different reaction. He poured a glass of water from the sink, and the slightest shudder went through him. “Stop looking at me like that.” His voice held bite, and red hot rage shot from his eyes. “There was a reason I transferred.” He took a sip, letting out a resigned exhale. “Situations like this are never easy. It’s like trying to help a wounded animal. They’ll rip your throat out if given the chance because they’re afraid you’ll take advantage of them in their weakened state.”

  “Fine. You can sit back and do nothing. I’m passing this along.” Picking up my burner, I opened the encryption app and sent Jablonsky a text on what we witnessed.

  My phone buzzed a response, and after reading the message, I dropped it on the table. Mark promised to send some units through the area and have paramedics on standby, but unless the uniformed cops witnessed anything or were flagged down to help, we were told to wait it out.

  Rationally, I understood. From a security standpoint, I understood. But at the same time, someone was in pain, possibly dying, and I was to wait it out. That seemed ludicrous. And I paced, running through scenarios in the hopes of finding a solution. But nothing I thought of seemed feasible or safe.

  “What if you’re wrong?” Heathcliff asked. “Maybe he just killed someone and got wasted afterward. We don’t know enough to intervene.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “At the moment, I’m choosing too.” He shut his eyes and inhaled deeply. This was bothering him too. “Once we know more, we can take the appropriate steps to resolve the situation, okay?”

  “Okay, so how do you propose we find out more?”

  “I’ll have a talk with Steele.”

  Derek went to clean up, and I forced myself into a chair, anxious and jittery. My lack of sleep coupled with our current predicament left a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. The Black Cat was raided last night. So why was a bloody gang member pulled out of the back of an SUV early this morning? The war had already started.

  Heavy footsteps echoed outside the apartment, making the floor vibrate, followed by loud banging against the door. Derek emerged from the bathroom and grabbed his Glock off the TV tray we were using as a makeshift nightstand.

  Communicating silently, I nodded and called out, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Francisco. Open up, chica. This is important.”

  “Hang on, I’m coming,” I yelled, unsure of how to proceed.

  Derek concealed the weapon beneath his shirt, but that wouldn’t fly. It was too early in the morning for him to be awake, dressed, and armed. Shaking my head, I crossed the room.

  “Take off your shirt and get in bed,” I ordered, yanking the sweatshirt I wore over my head. “And stick that piece somewhere no one can see it.” His eyes read confusion, and I didn’t bother to wait before tossing my shirt haphazardly across the room, unbuttoning my jeans, and going to the door. Casting a final glance behind me to make sure he listened and nothing damning was in the open, I yawned audibly, opening the door and running a hand through my tousled hair. “What time is it?” I asked, making a show of buttoning my jeans.

  Francisco barged in, unfazed by my state of undress, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he found Derek in my bed. “You let him stay the night?”

  “You’ve stayed the night too.” I squinted at the clock. “God, is the sun even up yet? What’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait until later?”

  “Get your ass out of bed, Hotshot,” Francisco said, ignoring me and kicking the corner of the mattress. “Were you here all night?”

  “Every. Single. Minute,” Derek replied. Slowly, he stretched, letting the blanket fall and leaving Steele to believe he might be naked underneath the covers. “If you don’t want to start your morning by staring at someone else’s frank and beans, I’d suggest you give me a minute to get dressed.”

  Francisco grunted and focused on me as I picked up my sweatshirt and shrugged into it. For the briefest moment, he actually looked hurt or betrayed. But as long as it was nothing more than a bruised ego, everything would be okay.

  “You’re one lucky bitch, chica,” Francisco said, continuing to eye me. “That titty bar where you work was invaded by the po-po. They grilled the girls pretty hard about taking some side jobs.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s not like any of them would fess up anyway. But it made Shakespeare nervous. And he doesn’t like to be nervous.” He narrowed his eyes, squinting as if I were somehow responsible. “If you’d been hocking product for us last night, things wouldn’t have turned out well.” He spun to face Derek who was taking his time fastening his recently unbuckled belt. “Twenty-four hours earlier and you’d be back behind bars.”

  “Are you trying to say something?” Derek asked, crossing the room. “Because if you are, then just spit it out.”

  “Close call.” Something flitted across Francisco’s face. “How’d you get an early release? For the shit you got caught with, you should have been serving a decade or two. Not a nickel. Did you turn on someone? Cut a deal? Narc on us?”

  Derek laughed. “Dude, that was five years of my life down the drain. If I’d turned on anyone, don’t you think they would have gone down five years ago when I did? Shit, man, you’ve been smoking the ganja again, haven’t you?”

  Steele didn’t look convinced, but no weapons were drawn. Instead, he cocked his head to the side and lifted his shoulders. “So you just happened to get lucky?”

  “Damn lucky.” He smiled. “Plus, I couldn’t pick up my brick yesterday because you botched that, remember? So last night I claimed my consolation prize.”

  Derek brushed past me on the way to the sink, letting his hand linger at the small of my back, slipping the blade from beneath the mattress into my back pocket. Tugging down my sweatshirt to conceal the weapon, I didn’t react as he ope
ned the fridge to search for something to eat or drink. Steele wasn’t pleased, and based on Derek’s actions, I couldn’t be sure what he thought was about to happen. But a knife in a gunfight wasn’t exactly a stellar idea.

  “What happened to Sasha and Joe?” I asked, hoping to derail whatever suspicious thoughts were circulating in Steele’s brain.

  “Nothing. Like I said, the cops have nothing to go on. They’re just snooping around, hoping for a bite,” Steele replied. “It’s a good thing you called in sick.”

  “Well, that’s only because someone paid handsomely for a favor.” I winked at him, but he wasn’t in a playful mood, probably because one of his friends was full of lead.

  “I’ve heard enough,” Steele growled out of the blue. “Let’s go.”

  “Where? It’s not even seven a.m.,” I protested.

  “Move it, chica.” He grabbed my arm and yanked me toward him. “You too, Hotshot. Shakespeare wants a word.”

  “God, Francisco,” I pulled my arm free, “what’s with the manhandling? I’m sore enough as it is without you acting like some alpha male jerk.”

  He squeezed the crook of my arm harder and spun, so we were face-to-face. I caught sight of Derek tensing, and I kept my right hand low, signaling that he keep cool. Francisco and I remained locked in a staring match for thirty seconds, neither of us flinching. And then he backhanded me unexpectedly, keeping his grip tight so I wouldn’t stumble.

  “Do as you’re told.”

  I opened and closed my mouth, licking my split lip. I wanted to spit in his face, but that was what Alexis Parker wanted. Instead, Alexia Nicholson broke eye contact and cowered. “Francisco, please,” I whispered, and he released my arm.

  Realizing what he did, he lifted my chin, and I flinched. He ran his thumb across my bottom lip and kissed my cheek. “I’m sorry. But no more of this. Everything’s fucked up right now. Shakespeare’s on a warpath, and I’m on edge because of it. Don’t cross me again, understand?”