Dying for a Fix

by G. K. Parks

  Mark frowned but refrained from dressing me down in front of the dozen agents in the room. “Between our coordinated efforts this afternoon with local law enforcement, twenty-seven arrests have been made. And DeAngelo Bard has been apprehended. Evidence cataloging is underway. The legal paperwork is in the works, and interrogations have already begun.” He nodded toward the group assembled at the conference table. “It’ll probably be a long night so go get comfortable.”

  Agent Cooper divided up the men, placing Agent Lucca in charge of the evidence collection. Everyone else was tasked with reviewing the results of the DEA’s raid on the Mexican cartel, questioning the arrested gang members, or coordinating with the police department. When almost everyone had their assignments, Cooper turned to me.

  “Sir?” I asked, still swiveling endlessly in the chair.

  “I wanted to congratulate you on smoking out Bard.”

  Nodding, I tried to ignore the images of the raid that occurred inside the basement apartment. The KXD member I dragged into the front room and forced into the chair had been killed by Bard’s firepower. Eight bullets struck his upper body. The man didn’t have a chance, and if it hadn’t been for the agent that threw me to the ground, I might not have had one either. It was a mess, but no one was talking about that. We were too busy celebrating the victory. Taking an unsteady breath, I stopped swiveling and faced Mark as Cooper quietly exited.

  “Detective Heathcliff is in our interrogation room. He was with Bard and Steele when they decided to hole up in that hidden room. He claims he was unaware that the KXDs were going to open fire, and he pursued them when they fled in order to keep tabs on Steele and the other KXD member.”

  “Derek was there?”

  “He wanted Steele, but Bard’s lieutenant escaped. Heathcliff arrested the other gang member and burned his cover.”

  “Then why the hell is he in our interrogation room?”

  “Because we have questions. The KXD member he arrested is in isolation. No phone. No interaction. We aren’t giving him a chance to say boo to any of his buddies. We’re trying to minimize the damage.”

  “And Steele?” I asked, dreading the answer.

  “He’s in the wind. The police have an all points on him, and we’ve issued a BOLO. But he’s the only one left. The majority of the gang is in lockup either here or at the precinct.”

  “So you’re holding Derek for an internal review?” I shook my head. “This is unbelievable.”

  “He’s been close with them. He was there when they opened fire on federal agents and killed one of their own, and he helped them elude law enforcement by patching up that wounded gangbanger,” Mark replied, getting agitated. “You reported that yourself, if you don’t remember, Agent Parker.” The last two words were really turning the screws, and I fought to keep from saying as much. “It’s not my doing. IA has to check into these things, and this way, his cover remains somewhat intact with the other KXDs we brought in. At least if narcotics or gangs needs to send in a UC, he isn’t completely compromised.”

  “Can I talk to him?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you tell me any of this?”

  “Because this building and the situation are too hot right now. A few gangbangers are dead, and Bard still has power, even behind bars. As soon as he gets some footing, he’ll be on a warpath to bring down the people responsible for taking him out. And I don’t need him to make a connection between Alexia Nicholson and you.”

  “Guess what, that’s part of this job.”

  “Yeah, so is protecting our assets and our people. The Director agreed, and you’re going home for the night.” He fingered the discarded ski mask that was sitting on the table. “By tomorrow, this building will be cleared out, and you won’t be risking anything by working on the information. But in the meantime,” he pushed the mask toward me, “put that on and get out of here.”

  “You’re being overprotective and ridiculous.”

  “Follow orders or I will have you reprimanded,” he replied harshly. “And since you’re on probation, that won’t go over very well.”

  “Bastard.” I snatched the mask off the table and headed for the door. Pulling it over my face and tucking a few wayward strands that came loose from my bun inside, I spun on my heel. “If it weren’t for me, Bard would still be on the loose.”

  “We appreciate your service, Agent Parker,” Mark replied mockingly. “Now stop being a pain in my ass and take the night off.”

  Marching out of the building and feeling like an idiot for having to disguise myself, I went to my car, turned the key in the ignition, and drove away, executing numerous turns before shedding the mask, pulling my hair loose, and driving home. After parking the car, I sat behind the wheel, staring at my apartment building. My apartment, not Nicholson’s. And I realized the reason I argued with Mark about leaving wasn’t because of some duty driven idealism. I didn’t want to go home because I didn’t know how to resume living my life.

  I hit pause on Alex Parker nearly two months ago, and now I was supposed to go up those six flights of stairs and through the front door like nothing happened, like everything was still the same. But it wasn’t. I wasn’t. At least not yet.

  After spending an indeterminate amount of time in my car, I collected myself and my belongings and ventured inside. My apartment was cold, dusty, and eerily quiet. I flipped on the lights, turned up the thermostat, and performed a check for signs of an intruder. Once I knew everything was secure, I unholstered my nine millimeter, glanced at the empty fridge, and hit play on the answering machine.

  As the twenty-nine messages played, I stripped out of my clothes and headed for the shower. Telemarketers, a few forwarded calls from my P.I. office, and a dozen voicemails from Martin played while I strained to hear the majority of the messages over the running water. By the time I stepped out, the machine had given up its repetition. A cursory glance showed the latest call was made from the Martin Technologies building earlier today.

  Frankly, it was a tossup between ordering delivery or dialing Martin. And honestly, neither of those options held very much appeal at the moment. Instead of calling for dinner, I chose the latter. And on the third ring, Martin answered.

  “Funny thing happened today,” he began.

  “What’s that?” I walked around my apartment, wiping dust off the furniture and examining the personal effects and other items in the room in order to get a feel for the person who lived here. It sounded insane, but I needed to remember how to be me.

  “My security system caught an intruder this morning on camera.”

  “Did you notify the authorities?”

  “About a gorgeous brunette who waltzed into my home? Nah.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “They’d just assume I was insane. It’s not like she took anything of value. Well, perhaps my heart and maybe my wallet.”

  “Did you check your pants pocket?”

  “I was hoping you could come over and look inside my pants. You are a professional investigator, after all.” He paused, hoping I’d fill the silence. Instead, I sat on the couch, placing my hands on the coffee table and closing my eyes to ground myself in the feel of being home. “Was there any particular reason you stopped by when you knew I’d be at work?”

  “I needed my stuff.” I opened my eyes.

  “Alex, what is going on with you?”

  “I wish I knew.” I gave the main room another glance before getting up and going into the bedroom.

  “The caller ID says you’re home. Can I assume you’ve finished work?”

  “Sort of. We’ll talk about it soon. But not tonight.”

  “How about I come by?”

  “No. I need to do some things first. But maybe one day this week.”

  He hesitated, the kitchen chair scraping in the background. “I miss you.”

  “Just give me two more days,” I pleaded.

  “I’ll be counting the hours.”

  Climbing into bed, I left the l
ights on in my apartment, checked that my nine millimeter was on the nightstand, and opened the bottom drawer, placing my credentials and an extra clip inside. Then I curled up on the corner of the mattress, realizing that it would take more than forty-eight hours to shake the defensive measures I’d constructed as Alexia Nicholson. This was ridiculous, and I knew there was no reason for the way I was acting or treating Martin. I just didn’t know how to stop it. Even my outbursts at work were far from normal behavior. Tonight, I’d sleep in a comfortable bed inside my safe apartment, and tomorrow, I would force my normal behavior and attitude to take hold. And if all else failed, I’d just have to fake it.

  * * *

  “Wow, you’ve actually stopped being quite so cantankerous. Amazing.” Jablonsky eyed me over the report I’d just handed him. “Did you hit your head or something?”

  “Yeah, and I contracted amnesia.” I took a seat in front of his desk, enjoying our moment of privacy. “I still can’t figure out who the hell I am.”

  “Undercover can be a bitch.”

  “Tell me about it.” I sighed. “Where are we on the KXD bust?”

  “The DEA shut down a big branch of the cartel. It’s obviously not the only one, and they’ll regroup and rebuild. But for now, a major drug supply source is wiped out. The gangs are scrambling to solidify their hold since DeAngelo Bard’s been dethroned. With the number of casualties and arrests the KXDs sustained, they won’t be controlling anything outside of prison walls for a long, long time. The police are rounding up assets and stragglers, and it seems the biggest dilemma is determining who’s in possession of the civil forfeiture.”

  “Won’t the OIO and FBI keep what was discovered during the coordinated raids?”

  “Yeah, but the police had a dozen or so undercovers planted throughout the KXDs’ network. They’re squawking that we invaded their territory and took credit for their busts.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Don’t blame me. I didn’t ask for Heathcliff’s help. You did.”

  “It wasn’t just him. The bartender at the Black Cat was undercover, one of Bard’s lookouts, the barista at the coffee shop, the waitress at the diner, and the guy running a nearby stop-and-shop were all police officers tasked with monitoring gang activity and drug sales.”

  “How long have they been at it?”

  “Four months. The FBI was keeping tabs first, and since that’s our mother agency, we were here first. So the police department should’ve notified us. Not the other way around, regardless of what the commissioner or Lt. Moretti in major crimes may think.” Jablonsky sneered at his desk phone, and I suspected he’d already spoken to those men earlier today.

  “I just have one last question before I get started on these.” I gestured to the giant stack of paperwork on his desk. “I was reinstated to identify the international source of the drugs and guns, but the DEA had that covered. And the PD was already dealing with the gangs. So what the hell was the point of this?”

  “Parker,” he sighed, studying me, “you’re back. It’s done. Now get to work and stop overthinking things.”

  “You mean like how you really didn’t need me for this.”

  “We did. You brought down Bard, remember? Just be thankful it wasn’t as extensive as it could have been.”

  “Right, because instead of losing close to two months I might have lost two years.” Pressing my lips together, I squeezed my eyes shut. “I’m not the person I was two and a half years ago. That gung-ho, do anything for the job, dedicated woman that you knew doesn’t exist anymore. She’s seen and experienced way too much for that.”

  “Alex, I don’t expect you to volunteer to become a long-term operative. This was just a way back in, and you knew that when you agreed.”

  “Yeah,” I took a breath and stood, collecting the files off his desk, “I just didn’t realize it would destroy my life.” From his look, it was obvious that statement was a tad dramatic. “Has the paperwork cleared yet so I can talk to Martin about where I’ve been?”

  “It should be back by Monday. His international holdings and affiliates have caused quite the delay.”

  “This is ridiculous. I finished the job before the background check even cleared. It shouldn’t matter anymore.”

  “Hey,” Mark sensed my frustration, “I don’t care what time it is when we leave this building. We’re grabbing a drink, so you can talk out whatever animosity it is that you’ve been harboring. And if you don’t want to talk to me, then I’ll put the company shrink on notice.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Drinks on me.”

  Thirty-eight

  Mark and I spent a couple of evenings together that week, hashing out my anger issues with lemon drop martinis and Irish car bombs. It turns out I didn’t quite care for the clientele at the strip club, constantly being on alert and in fear of being discovered, and there were some residual issues regarding the close call and subsequent shootout with the Lords. When the only people you can rely on are criminals, it makes trusting difficult and self-reliance a matter of life or death. Add that combination to my already loner-like existence and I was asking for trouble. Thankfully, Martin was too wrapped up in business, and the forty-eight hour moratorium was pushed back another seventy-two hours, giving me a few more days to get comfortable in my own skin.

  In the meantime, my days were spent in the office. Working behind a desk and sorting through evidence and statements were welcome and familiar tasks. My resentment over this assignment was fading by the hour. Sure, I spent two months being objectified and used by pretty much everyone, the OIO included, but at least this was the tangible proof that it hadn’t been a complete waste. Or so I kept telling myself.

  “I’ll run by the hospital and get an official statement from Joe,” I offered, leaning inside Mark’s open office door. “He has some armed guards outside his room, but from what the hospital staff said, he’s awake and alert and expected to make a full recovery.”

  “Just don’t give the guy a heart attack,” Jablonsky warned. “He might still think you’re a stripper.” He smirked, and I laughed. “It’s good to see the old Alex is still in there.”

  “Yeah, well, we closed the bar last night. I’m probably too hungover to pretend to be anyone else.”

  “In that case, take Cooper or Lucca with you.”

  Something was still bothering me about the Black Cat. Maybe it was the girls selling ecstasy underneath an undercover narcotics officer’s nose or Veronica’s attack and disappearance from the club. Mark had explained the Lords were behind it, but she had been the KXD member that Steele was supposed to handle. There was something more there, and that would be the first thing I’d ask Joe.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Lucca said on the way to the hospital.

  “Any clue where Francisco Steele might have gone, Mr. Analyst?”

  “Being an analyst doesn’t make me clairvoyant.” I gave him a look from the corner of my eye, and he let out a dramatic exhale. “I can tell you that Steele was orphaned in his early teens, but he has an aunt a few states away. Maybe he left town. We haven’t had any sightings or heard any chatter. The KXDs were his family, but since they’re incarcerated, maybe Steele took off. It really doesn’t matter since Bard was in charge, and the KXDs are basically dismantled, unless you count gen. pop. as their new haunting grounds.”

  Upon entering the hospital, we flashed our credentials and were given directions to Joe’s room. Outside, a few uniformed officers were keeping a close watch on visitors. We flashed our badges again, and after some scrutiny and not so friendly quips, Lucca and I gained access to Joe’s room. The man I knew as a gay bartender looked up from the photos Detective Heathcliff was showing him and offered a smile.

  “Wait outside, Lucca,” I said, not giving the analyst any time to protest. He mumbled something under his breath about not having to follow my orders but stepped back into the hallway and shut the door. “Detective.”

  “Parker,” Heathcliff said, stand
ing, “allow me to introduce Officer Joe Aronne, narcotics division.” He turned to Joe. “This is Alex Parker, federal agent or private investigator.” He cocked his head to the side. “It’s hard to keep track.”

  “Officer Aronne,” I said, sticking with the formality for now. This wasn’t the best time for Heathcliff to be busting chops, but I would deal with him later. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  Joe jerked his head toward the empty chair at the end of the bed. “It’s good to know you aren’t a coked-out whore. Because I was convinced until this numbskull showed up and vouched for you.”

  “Well, I knew you were hiding something, but I thought you were in the closet,” I replied, and he chuckled. “Obviously, you’ve done this enough to know how to cover one lie with another.” I bowed my head and gestured as if to say, ‘my hat’s off to you, sir.’ “Now, can we get down to business? I’m sure you don’t want to spend the day answering questions that I’m sure you’ve already been asked.”

  Joe went into a vast amount of detail concerning the PD’s interest at the club. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard or read before, but I let him continue with his rendition, just in case there was a new angle or something that we’d missed while going over the various interviews and police files. Heathcliff would interject occasionally, but for the most part, he sat in the chair next to Joe’s bed, silently observing. We hadn’t spoken since the night Francisco stepped in, and I owed Heathcliff my gratitude for that dumbass move he pulled.

  “Joe,” I began when he was finished, feeling embarrassed for acting so familiar with this man that I didn’t really know, “sorry, Officer Aronne, I know this is difficult, but can you go into further detail concerning your involvement with the KXDs?”

  Heathcliff glared, but Joe waved him off. “Joe’s fine, Alex, but I’m not sure what to tell you.” He pulled his hand free from the blanket, and I saw three of his fingers had been cut off. “They determined I was a snitch and wanted to know who I was working for and who else was informing on them.”