Dying for a Fix

by G. K. Parks

  A few derogatory slurs were whispered, but no one attempted to brain me with a stiletto, and for that, I was grateful. The current situation occupied my mind. And I waited for the club to empty before changing into my street clothes and lugging my bag outside.

  I only made it a few steps from the door when a faint wail rang out. Assessing the area, the adjacent building didn’t have any openings or windows facing my direction, and it was too slight of a noise to have traveled through the street traffic. Reconsidering the direction of the sound, I went back inside the Black Cat. The source of that howl had come from within. Unfortunately, the other undercover FBI agent wasn’t on today’s work roster, and with Joe absent, no one else was in a position to intervene or report a potential crime being committed.

  Despite the fact that it had only been a few minutes since closing, the club looked like a ghost town. It was dark and eerie with the emergency lights casting unsettling shadows across the floor and stage. Unzipping my bag, I removed my handgun. Stealthily moving down the hall, I strained to hear possible movement over my pounding heartbeat. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention, and muffled sounds and whimpers came from the door marked ‘private’.

  Pressing my back against the wall, I steadied my breathing and hands, and palming the gun in my right, I reached out with my left and silently turned the doorknob. I pushed the door open a few centimeters and stopped, waiting to see if my intrusion had been discovered. After ten seconds, I pivoted on my heel, keeping my shoulder against the wall and peered into the crack.

  Chained to a chair in the middle of the office was Joe. Duct tape covered his mouth. His right eye was swollen shut, and the blood trickling from his temple had stained his collar. Two men were on either side of him, wearing dark hoodies and facing away from the door. One of them donned brass knuckles and swung, connecting with Joe’s torso.

  The sound of his muffled shriek was enough to set me in motion, but my own momentum was turned against me when someone clamped a hand over my mouth and pulled me backward, temporarily throwing my balance off. I threw an elbow, but it lacked the proper amount of leverage, and my captor seemed to expect it. The grip didn’t loosen, and the hand against my mouth and nose remained tight enough to cut off my oxygen.

  A rush of cold air hit my skin, and as I watched the exterior door close, words were whispered in my ear, “Alex, stop fighting.” The hand didn’t loosen until my mind had time to process the voice. “Don’t make a sound,” Heathcliff said, slowly removing his hand from my mouth. I took a breath, but he kept my back against his chest, facing away from him. “Get out of here.”

  I shook my head, turning in his arms. “Joe.” The name came out a puff of breath in the freezing night sky.

  “ESU’s on the way. Get out of here.” But I didn’t move.

  “We have to intervene. They’re torturing him. They’ll kill him.” Something pinged in my brain. “He’s been made. They know.”

  “In five minutes, this place will be surrounded. You have to get out of here before someone sees you. You know what they’ll do to you.”

  “Five minutes in that situation is an eternity, and Joe might not have five minutes.” Checking the slide on my handgun, I was prepared to go back in. Screw undercover and the op. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was letting a cop get killed. Not on my watch. Not again. “We have to move in.”

  “No. You can’t be here. We’ll take care of our own.”

  “He doesn’t have time to wait.” I hated every second we spent arguing.

  “He can handle it for a few more minutes. He knew the risks. And now you need to focus on the time crunch this puts us on. The KXDs will be covering their tracks, moving their stores, cutting ties. It’s just a matter of time before they discover who we are too. You have to go.”

  I took a step away from Heathcliff, toward the door, but he grabbed me in a tight bear hug, pinning my arms down at my sides and lifting me off the ground, physically carrying me away from the club. He stepped in front of a cab, causing it to screech to a halt, and he threw me into the backseat, telling the cabbie I had too much to drink and giving him the address of the apartment. Instantly, we were in motion, and I did the only thing I could do – I texted Mark.

  My phone rang immediately and holding it up to my ear, I listened to the instructions that I knew I’d be given. Back off and let the police department handle the situation. My cover was already questionable. Bard didn’t like or trust me, and if the KXDs even had the slightest indication that I was hanging around when the tactical unit responded, I’d be their next victim. Considering I was stuck inside a cab, I couldn’t voice my protest. All I could do was agree to obey. I had to push my way inside the gang because if we had any hope of making a case, it was now or never.

  Getting out of the cab, I was rattled and ready for a fight. My instincts were honed, and my senses heightened. My eyes scanned the area, coming to rest on Francisco waiting out front. His hands weren’t getting dirty this time, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know what was happening in the back room of the club. Payback would have been fleetingly sweet, but I forced my hand to relax the grip on the gun and zip my bag. Faking any emotion other than what I was feeling would tip him off that something was wrong, so I stormed up the steps, pissed off and seconds away from throwing a few punches.

  “What’s up, chica?” he asked, pretending to be oblivious.

  “We closed early. Tips were shit, and everyone’s acting like the raid was my fault. Do you have any idea where they might have gotten an idea like that? Today’s the first day the Black Cat’s been back in business, and you’d think I was some fucking rat. Maybe Shakespeare’s been talking to some of the girls and spreading rumors,” I huffed. Francisco moved to grab my arm, and I jerked away. “Don’t touch me. I have done nothing but what you’ve asked. I’ve risked everything for you. My freedom, my life, every single goddamn thing. So don’t you dare tell me to calm down or shut up because I’m tired of being calm, and I’m sure as hell not holding my tongue anymore. Whatever it is you’re going to do to me, just do it because I’m sick of these mind games.”

  “You better watch your tone.”

  “Or what? You’ll slap me again?” No, he’d probably permanently silence me, and given the neighborhood, there was a good chance he could get away with it right here in the open without anyone ever saying a word. “What do I have to do to prove myself to you? I shouldn’t be treated like an outcast by absolutely everyone. This was supposed to be a fresh start, but it’s more of the same bullshit. All you dealers are the same. You use people because you know we’ll do anything for our next hit.” Moving closer, I latched onto the front of his shirt, pressing against him. “Tell me what to do. What do you want? You want me to screw your brains out? Will that prove my loyalty? Or do I have to go through some initiation and kill a few of the Lords or whatever rival gang member steps foot on your turf? Is that what it takes? Because right now, I need a fix, and I don’t know where else to go. I cut ties with my old dealer after we came to our arrangement that I work for you, and now you’re screwing me over.” I swallowed, pleading with my eyes. “And to top it off, I’m short on cash. So what do you want in return?”

  Something unsettling moved behind his eyes, and I wasn’t entirely sure how to navigate the situation I just placed myself in. “I thought you didn’t believe in trade.”

  “Well, you manipulated the situation in order to leave me with no other choice.” I pretended to fight back the tears. “Did you learn that trick from your mom’s dealer too?” I spat, squeezing the only pressure point he had.

  He tensed, jerking away from my grasp before barreling forward. I flinched, expecting him to strike. When all else fails, assault charges are a great reason to arrest someone. The problem was they were more convincing when you didn’t fight back.

  Thirty

  Steele held me against the building. Only the tips of my toes brushed the ground. “Don’t you ever say that again,” he grow
led. Sneering, he trembled with rage and drew in ragged, harsh breaths. “Don’t. You. Ever.” His fingers wrapped around my neck, squeezing hard. I gasped, clawing at his hands. He squeezed harder, but something shifted behind his eyes. And his grip loosened.

  Groveling was not in my wheelhouse, but Francisco wanted what he perceived to be respect. It was more closely akin to fear or obedience, but I gave the man what he wanted – control.

  “I’m sorry. I…I…shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it,” I stammered. He dropped his hands, and I collapsed to my knees, rubbing my neck for effect.

  He was still enraged and took out the pent-up aggression on the front door, slamming his fist into it numerous times and giving it a few strong kicks, cursing and yelling. I didn’t move. He’d lash out at a moving target. There was no doubt about it. Finally, when his rage was under control, he grabbed my ponytail and yanked, practically ripping my hair out and forcing me off the stoop and across the street to his SUV.

  “Get in,” he snarled, opening the door and shoving me inside.

  “Where are we going?” I hoped the listening device attached to the cell phone was still transmitting.

  “Shut your fucking mouth.”

  Well, that didn’t leave much wiggle room for conversation. So I buckled the seatbelt, paid attention to the street signs, and devised a plan to get out of this alive. The only downside to that plan was Francisco would probably be dead because I would have to kill him.

  My eyes never wavered from watching him. As the minutes ticked by, he calmed, moving from livid to pissed. Great, I screwed up again. Insulting my only chance of getting inside the KXDs was a ridiculous move, but I had been desperate and overstepped. The only thing left was figuring out where he planned to take me before he killed me. Finally, he parked in front of a no parking sign and got out of the SUV. He came around and opened my door, grabbing my wrist before I could even unbuckle the seatbelt.

  “You wanted in, so this is it.” He led the way to a back entrance of a laundromat and opened the door. “There’s no backing out now. You’ll do what I say, when I say. And if you piss off Bard, he’ll end you.”

  “My god.” My mouth dropped open as I took in the chemistry equipment. “You have your own lab.” This was a major discovery. It was one thing to process and refine drugs into purer forms, but from the looks of this place, the KXDs were cooking up their own designer concoctions too. “Holy shit.”

  “Stop gawking. This isn’t even operational yet. But we’ve been using it to house the good stuff.” He went to a large wall safe and entered a six digit code, retrieving a sack of premeasured dime bags. “You said you wanted to prove yourself, so this is your chance.” He held up the bag, but when I reached for it, he pulled it away. “This is worth five large.”

  “The Black Cat closed for the night, remember?”

  Steele laughed. “You really think it’s that easy to become one of us?” My expression must have been one of bewilderment because his features contorted into smug satisfaction. “Shakespeare owns us. He controls that titty bar where you work. He has places throughout the neighborhood and around the city. So if you want to prove you’re worth all the trouble you’ve caused, you need to branch out to some uncharted territory, chica.”

  “I didn’t cause any trouble,” I eyed the bag, “so stop wasting my time and tell me what you want.”

  “We’re gonna make some deliveries.” He smiled. “Well, you’re gonna make some deliveries. No skimming off the top, and no sampling the product. If you finish by sunrise, you’ll be rewarded with a taste.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Do you think you deserve more?” Something flashed behind his eyes, and he closed the gap between us, caressing my cheek with his free hand before dragging my chin upward and kissing me. “Because if you want more than that, then I deserve something in return, especially after the shit you said.” His eyes turned cold. “I’ve let you get away with a lot. I’ve vouched for you when Shakespeare said you tipped off the cops. I’ve coddled you. I’ve given you exactly what you needed when you were pretty damn low, so it’s about time that you do something for me.” His hand moved down to my neck, and he wrapped it around my throat, squeezing slightly. “You had no problem showing some affection to that middleman I sent your way. And he did nothing more than pay you. I’ve protected you and put up with your disrespect. So if you want anything else from me, you’ll have to demonstrate just how grateful you are after you bring in the cash.”

  “Why wait?” I asked, hiding my distaste masterfully. “I’d be more than happy to show you my appreciation right now.”

  He stepped backward, thrusting the bag into my arms. “You have to work for it, first.”

  He led the way back to the SUV, casting glances in my direction as if I might rip open one of the baggies and inhale the contents. Granted, that probably wouldn’t be beyond the scope of my cover identity, but irritating Francisco again tonight wasn’t wise by any account.

  He drove out of the neighborhood, away from the usual spots and local watering holes, and to a nicer, upscale area. The dance clubs and bars on this strip were popular and frequented by everyone from college students to business tycoons. This wasn’t gang territory, and Francisco barely slowed the SUV to a stop before hitting the unlock button.

  “Get out,” he said.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Get out. I’ll pick you up in a couple of hours.” He glanced at the clock on the dash. “Clubs close at four, but I’m sure you can find some afterhours places to visit if you haven’t sold it off by then. Five Gs and not a penny less.”

  “Where am I supposed to conceal this?” I held up the bag, but he shrugged, reaching across and pushing open my car door. Then he shoved me out and drove away, the door slamming shut as he sped off. “That’s just great,” I mumbled.

  Quickly, I stuffed the bag of drugs underneath my sweatshirt, wondering how in the world I was expected to move five grand of cocaine in a little over three hours. On the bright side, the fact that I wasn’t a dealer would make this easier. Ducking into a nearby alleyway, I studied my surroundings for signs of KXD activity or a tail that might have been following Francisco.

  Just as I began to dial Jablonsky, a faint green glow came through the cotton of my sweatshirt. Removing the plastic bag, I noticed a tracer inside. The son-of-a-bitch was monitoring me.

  This would make life a lot more difficult. Calling in for an exchange wouldn’t fly, so I had to make this believable. The first step was getting inside one of the clubs, and jeans and a sweatshirt weren’t conducive to that feat. Luckily, I still had my work clothes on underneath my current ensemble. Shedding my sweatshirt, I balled it up, keeping the bag of coke tucked out of sight. Then I sauntered past the crowd to the doorman outside the most popular hotspot on the street.

  He raised an eyebrow. Outfits were daring and scandalous, but a bikini top in the middle of a snowstorm wasn’t a sight he was used to seeing. I leaned close, grasping his bicep.

  “One of the VIPs called for some private companionship. I’m sure he had my name put on the list,” I whispered, distracting him as much as possible while I scanned the sheet in front of him for a name that wasn’t checked off. “Is getting inside going to be a problem? Because he was hoping a posh place like this would allow some discretion.” The doorman looked like he was about to say something regarding letting hookers inside the club, so I gave him a charming smile, rambling off a name on the list. “And just for the record, I’m only an escort.” I batted my eyelashes. “Do you need to see my card?”

  “Go inside, but tell your friend not to make this a habit,” he warned.

  “I assure you, it won’t happen again.”

  Inside, I made my way to the ladies’ room. The line to the restroom wasn’t nearly as long as the line to get in, but it wasn’t ideal. After five minutes, I managed to secure a stall of my very own. Closing the lid on the toilet seat, I sat down and examined the contents of the
bag. Nothing else was glowing except a single packet. Pocketing that one, I did a quick count and considered my options. Surely, I could find somewhere to secure the evidence, but I needed the five grand.

  Texting my handler, I waited for a response. Given that it took time to fill out requisition forms, get signatures, and access those types of funds, I didn’t know if Jablonsky could pull it off within the next two hours and still make the exchange in time. While I waited, a few women chatted nearby. After they left, I listened for other sounds, but no footsteps echoed off the tile and porcelain. Stepping out of the stall, I moved in front of the mirror, relieved to have a moment of privacy. Something had to be done to improve my appearance. Digging around inside my purse, I reapplied my makeup, brushed my hair, and secured it into a messy knot with a pen. Then I considered the contents of my purse, deciding the only items I really needed were my gun and phone.

  Another few women entered the restroom, and I waited for the coast to be clear again. As soon as their prying eyes were secured behind the stall doors, I dumped the contents out, replaced my handgun, and poured as many of the baggies inside as possible. Whatever didn’t fit, I stuffed into my top, pocketed my phone, and went into the club, carrying my sweatshirt. I needed something else to wear, especially if I wanted to blend in.

  Examining the layout, I found a narrow hallway in the opposite corner near the back of the bar and ducked into it. An employees only sign greeted me, and I pushed the door open to find a decent sized office. Hanging behind the door was a black dress shirt with the club’s name embroidered on the left breast. Someone probably left it behind, but I could make do.

  While I was ripping off the name patch, my phone buzzed. Mark needed a location and time, so I texted back the information, hit send, and continued working on my arts and crafts. The shirt was large, so I left it mostly unbuttoned, tying the bottom tight around my midsection and leaving my midriff visible with a good deal of cleavage showing. Then I folded up the sleeves until they were no longer covering my hands, made sure Mark was on the way with the money, and returned to the main area of the club, feeling nervous and exposed. Maybe it was the five grand of narcotics concealed on my person, the fact that I just stole some guy’s work shirt, or that, in this setting, wearing a barely concealed triangle bikini top just didn’t seem right.