by Radclyffe
“That’s a switch.”
Mitch followed the others into another cavernous dark room that looked a lot like the Troc except there were two elevated stages instead of one and they were in the center of the room. The stages were separated from the rest of the space by a low brass railing, and small tables were arranged around all sides. Four nearly nude girls, none of whom could have been more than eighteen, danced two to a stage in small cones of harsh light directed from spots suspended from the ceiling. They were topless and wore minuscule swatches of fabric that covered their sex, but just barely.
Men sat at the tables in the darkened room and watched the girls writhe in a parody of sex, occasionally placing money in their G-strings. A bar ran the length of the room along one wall, and most of those stools were occupied as well. Other girls, some of whom dressed and looked a lot like Sandy, leaned against the men, talking and drinking.
“This place isn’t gay, like the Troc,” Ken explained as the four of them took seats around one of the tables along the rail. “We like to come here, well, you know...”
“Yeah,” Mitch guessed. “To be guys.”
“In a manner of speaking,” Dino remarked. “It’s a good chance to perfect our drag and, well, just to push the envelope a little.”
“The girls,” Mitch said, indicating the dancers moving suggestively a few feet from his face. “Do they know?”
“That we’re kings?” Phil asked.
Mitch nodded.
“Sure, but they don’t mind. They know we don’t come here to hit on them.”
“In fact,” Dino added, “I get the feeling that they’d rather it be us slipping bills into their panties than some of the johns in here.” He nudged Ken playfully. “Of course, then there’s King Stud here. The girls all seem to want to fuck him, even when he isn’t doing anything but sitting still, drinking a beer.”
“Yeah?” Mitch remarked, genuinely curious. “How come?”
Ken shrugged. “Because I’m good with tools.”
They all laughed, ordered beers, and traded stories about the Troc, their shows, and the drag scene. Mitch tried to keep up with the conversation while surreptitiously studying the layout, the clientele, and the employees. From what he could see, it looked like a run-of-the-mill club. The commodities were sex and liquor. The dancers seemed to be of legal age and didn’t seem particularly unhappy, even if they did seem in danger of dying of boredom. He nursed his beer and settled back in his seat, watching his fellow kings flirt with the girls who brought their drinks.
Around three, the scene changed subtly.
The four dancers on the stage disappeared one by one, and four new girls appeared. They were completely nude, however. And they were younger. A lot younger. Mitch looked around the room. Many of the men who had been present previously were gone.
“Where’d everybody go?” Mitch asked.
“It’s after hours,” Ken explained. “Private club now. You gotta have a membership. We do, ’cause we do shows here every once in while. Jasmine and some of the girls from the Troc, too.”
“Oh. I got it.” Mitch tried not to seem too interested, but he was sweating. Not a good time for nerves. He wanted to see what the setup was like in the back. Where the girls came in. Who might be with them. “Listen, I gotta hit the head. Uh...”
“Use the men’s room. The stalls have doors.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
He took his time making his way through the bar. A blinking red sign above a dark recess said Bath oo s. He headed that way. As he passed the end of the bar, a hand caught his arm, and he stopped. A tall, thin, pale-faced blond sat on the stool, dark eye shadow making huge deep-set eyes seem even darker. She looked young, younger even than Sandy, maybe, but with the dim light and heavy make-up, it was impossible for Mitch to tell. Her mouth was full, her lips shiny with artfully applied color. She wore skin-tight satiny slacks, green in the half-light, but they could have been blue. Her lace top was nearly transparent, and the blush of areolas and tight nipples accented high, firm breasts.
“You are new?”
“First time,” Mitch replied, trying to place her accent. Russian? Czech? No idea.
They were nearly in the dark in the rear of the bar, and the closest customer was half a dozen stools away, eyes glued to the stage. The bartender was cleaning glasses at the far end. The girl drew Mitch near with her eyes and with her slim fingers curled around his wrist.
“You would like a dance?”
Her leg brushed his thigh. Her other hand stroked down his chest, lingering where his black T-shirt disappeared into his pants. A finger traced the inside of his waistband.
“What’s your name?” Mitch asked, edging back a fraction. Her perfume smelled earthy and rich.
“Irina.”
“Pretty.” Mitch glanced down, watched red-tipped fingers drift up and down along his fly.
“What’s your name, new boy?”
“Mitch.” He caught his breath as her palm lightly cupped him.
“A private dance. In the booth.” She bent forward and the very tops of her nipples were visible. “You would enjoy. Mitch.”
“How much?” He worked at ignoring the slowly increasing pressure between his legs as she leaned closer to him.
She laughed. Her laughter was light. “I did not say you would pay.”
“Sorry, I—” He stiffened as the hand between his thighs began a subtle up-and-down movement. He could feel the slow stimulating friction, and he felt himself respond. Felt the sudden rush of blood, the electric pulse of nerve endings, the hot arousal seeping from his swiftly swelling flesh. “You keep that up and I won’t need the dance,” was all he could think to say as he moved her hand onto his thigh.
“Hey!” a male voice interrupted. “You’re gonna be late for your entrance. Come on.”
Mitch backed away as a heavyset, dark-haired man in a two-piece suit took Irina’s arm.
“Let’s go.”
Irina murmured something to the stranger in a language Mitch didn’t understand and brushed against Mitch as she got down from the stool. “Next time, yes?”
“Yes,” Mitch replied quickly as he watched her walk away, her arm firmly in the grip of the interloper. Alone, Mitch sagged against the bar, stomach seizing with the unexpected arousal. Oh man, what just happened?
He tried to tell himself he’d just been caught by surprise, that it didn’t mean anything, that next time it wouldn’t happen. He didn’t want it to happen. But what if it did?
“Dell.”
Mitchell swallowed, forcing back the sensations that accompanied the memories.
“Dell,” Jason repeated. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “We went to Ziggie’s, which is just what we’d hoped for.”
“And?”
“Too soon to tell.” Mitchell forced a grin. “But I’m set to go out again tonight after your show.”
Jason studied her intently, then looked at the group across the room. Watts was talking, and Rebecca was shaking her head in a vehement negative motion. He kept his voice low. “Did you sleep with someone? Is that it?”
“No!” Mitchell glanced at Sandy. “But what if...what if something happens, and I have to do...something?”
“Like sex?”
Mitchell nodded.
“No one expects you to do anything you don’t want to do.” He leaned forward, patted her thigh. “Draw a line, Dell. Whatever you can live with.”
“What if I can’t?” she asked miserably. “Jesus, Jase—I got turned on from just a little hand action.”
He tried to stifle a smile. “Dell, were you enjoying it?”
“Hell, no. I was ready to jump out of my skin.”
“So, you didn’t go looking for it to happen, right?” At her swift negative head-shake, he shrugged. “So what’s the problem? It’s okay if you responded, it happens. Jasmine practically implodes every time she dances with Sloan.”
Mitchell’s brows
rose. “Does Sarah know?”
“She knows.” He smiled tenderly. “She doesn’t mind as long as that’s all it is.”
“I think Sandy might kill me.”
He laughed. “I think you’re right. Maybe Mitch had better keep that kind of thing just between us boys.” He looked up. “Speaking of Sandy, here comes the team.”
“Time to talk,” Rebecca announced. “Sandy has a proposition.”
Mitchell rose, a question on her lips, but Sandy walked by without looking in her direction.
Chapter Twenty-Four
We got a real break when Sandy found Trudy,” Rebecca said. “Finally, we’ve got a direct link to the porn ring, at least the part making the videos. Now we need to work this angle as hard as we can.”
As Rebecca outlined the newest plan, Mitchell clamped her jaws tightly together and stared straight ahead. Beneath the table, her hands were balled into tight fists on her thighs and bile churned in her gut. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Letting Sandy work a sting on the guys who were running the live sex videos? Frye and Watts couldn’t possibly think that would work. Sandy was good. Okay, Sandy was very good. But she was still an amateur, a novice, where this kind of undercover operation was concerned. It would be like sending a cadet into the front lines of a skirmish. It was crazy. And Mitchell was scared. Scared right down to her toes. If something happens to her...
“The first meet will most likely just be for a talk,” Rebecca continued. “Hopefully we’ll get a location and a time for the video shoot from that.”
“What about a wire?” Watts interjected. “It wouldn’t hurt to have this guy on tape setting up the job when it comes time to get him to roll on the higher-ups.”
“Not a bad idea.” Rebecca looked to Sandy. “What do you think?”
Sandy shrugged. “Depends on how big it is, and where I need to put it.” Watts sniggered, and she gave him a cutting look. “I don’t, you know, wear a whole lot of clothes most of the time. It would look funny if I was all of a sudden covered up.”
“We can have the tech people put together a small thigh unit,” Rebecca said.
Mitchell couldn’t stand it any longer. “What’s the point of her wearing a wire if we can’t monitor what’s going on? There’s no way anyone is going to be able to cover this meet.” She finally looked at Sandy. “You’ll be out there on your own.”
Before Rebecca could reply, Sandy spoke. “Look, we don’t even know for sure that this Trudy chick is going to come through on this. If she puts me in touch with the guy who’s lining up girls for the videos, it’s just going to be a look-see. He’ll want to check out the goods. I don’t need anybody following me around on this.”
“You’re wrong—”
“Officer,” Rebecca said quietly. She wasn’t entirely happy with the idea herself, although Sandy’s suggestion had merit. They hadn’t had any luck tracking the origin of the video feeds from the data Sloan had downloaded the night of the bust. None of their street contacts had turned up anything of value. Sandy had been the only one able to get even close to the operation. She’d been able to find Trudy when no one else had because people would talk to her. She was part of the scene. She was part of the life.
Rebecca had resisted the proposal at first, but Watts had pushed for it. She never liked putting her people into dangerous situations, and although on the surface it seemed that the risk was low, the fact remained that Mitchell’s assessment was accurate. In all likelihood, if and when Trudy actually did contact Sandy, it would be for an immediate meeting. Which meant that they would have no advance notice and no time to put a surveillance team into place. Sandy would be alone.
On the other hand, every time Sandy met with anyone for information, there was always the possibility that word would get around or someone would become suspicious. What Sandy did was dangerous. She knew it, Rebecca knew it, and they both accepted it as part of the job. Officer Mitchell, however, appeared to be having difficulty with Sandy’s new role. Rebecca watched the internal struggle play itself out in Mitchell’s eyes, and she was afraid that Mitchell’s training would not prevail. Before the young officer could say something that Rebecca would not be able to overlook, she softly said, “This is a command decision. If you’re having problems working on this team, I can have you reassigned.”
“No, ma’am,” Mitchell said, biting off the words. “No problem.”
“Good.” Rebecca worked her shoulders to ease some of the tension, then she looked at Sandy. “If Trudy or anyone else contacts you, I want you to at least try to postpone the meet until you can call me. Watts will fit you out with a wire—”
“Uh-uh. No freakin’ way is he doing it.”
“Aw, I can’t believe you’d say no to a little fun.” Watts grinned. “Believe me, you’d like it.”
“I don’t think your heart could take it.”
“As long as I live long enough to slip it up—”
“Shut up, Watts.” Mitchell said the words quietly, calmly, as she turned in her seat to face him.
He stared at her in surprise. There was something cold and lethal in her expression.
“Dell—” Sandy’s voice was soft, gentle.
“Mitchell, you’re dismissed. Wait in the other room.” Rebecca didn’t even spare a glance in Mitchell’s direction. Instead, she turned to Jason. “Bring me up to speed on the background checks.”
As Jason began his report, Mitchell stood abruptly and walked from the room.
*
“Let’s go, Officer.” Rebecca turned and headed for the elevator.
Mitchell rose from the chair where she had been sitting motionless for thirty interminable minutes and followed into the elevator without a word. When they reached street level, Rebecca turned right and began walking toward the river. Mitchell fell into step.
“We have a problem,” Rebecca said flatly as they crossed Front Street at Market.
Mitchell said nothing. She knew what was coming. Another disciplinary action. And this time it would mean the end of her career. Again. She put her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, hoping that Frye had not seen them shaking.
“What’s going on with you and Sandy?” It was none of her business, and Rebecca knew it. But Mitchell was her business, and so was Mitchell’s future in the police department.
“I’m in love with her.” Mitchell couldn’t see any point in lying. Not any longer.
“That’s just terrific.” Rebecca sighed. Silently, she led the way onto the concrete footbridge that arched over Delaware Avenue to Penn’s Landing, climbed to the top, and stopped. Leaning her elbows on the waist-high railing, she watched the cars stream by on the street thirty feet below. Mitchell stood beside her, an expression on her face that Rebecca had never seen before. She looked beaten.
“What if I ordered you to choose between Sandy and the job?”
“I’d quit.”
“Christ,” Rebecca muttered. She turned her back to the wall, leaned a hip against the stone, and faced Mitchell. “You’ve got the makings of an exemplary officer in almost every way—you’re intelligent, dedicated, trustworthy.” She didn’t add brave, but she believed it.
“Thank you, Sergeant.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m not done yet.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“But you’ve got a very serious weakness, Officer Mitchell. Your temper. You were insubordinate back there, and it’s not the first time. I’ve let it slide before, but I can’t do that now.”
“I understand, ma’am.” Jesus, just tell me I’m out. Just say it.
“I don’t think you do.” Rebecca watched Mitchell carefully. Beaten, maybe, but not defeated. “Ordinarily, a little bit of temper isn’t a bad thing. You need that fire burning inside to face danger without flinching. Do you understand?”
Mitchell thought about going down the alley in the dark, in the rain, alone, barely able to see an inch in front of her face. Knowing that whoever was waiting was probably bi
gger, probably stronger, and probably armed. But she’d heard a woman scream, and that had made her angry. It was the anger as much as her sense of duty that had carried her into that alley. Softly, she answered, “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
“But a fire you can’t control will eat you up, and something’s eating you up now.”
Mitchell said nothing. Her insides rolled, and for a minute, she feared she might vomit.
“You need to take yourself off the team if you can’t deal with what Sandy is doing.”
“Aren’t I off already?” Mitchell looked at Rebecca, confusion in her eyes.
“That depends. I can’t tell you who to sleep with. I can’t tell you who to love.” Rebecca looked past Mitchell to a ship that slowly made its way into the port of Philadelphia. The sun glinted off the hundreds of steel containers loaded on its deck that would soon be off-loaded, their contents shipped by rail and truck up and down the East Coast. She thought about Catherine, and how having Catherine in her life had made her a better cop because her own fires consumed less of her now. “I can tell you that if you can’t give her up, you’re going to have to learn to live with who she is.” Rebecca turned her gaze back to Mitchell’s face. “And what she does.”
“Sandy said something like that to me this morning.”
A smile flickered across Rebecca’s mouth. “Sandy is very smart.”
“I’m trying.”
“Not hard enough.”
Mitchell nodded.
“You need to sort this out, in a hurry. I can’t order you to, but I think maybe you need to talk to Dr. Rawlings.”
Mitchell regarded Rebecca steadily. “I don’t want that kind of thing in my file.”
“I understand. You’d have to discuss that with her.”
“I know about her and you.”
Rebecca’s eyes hardened. “No, Mitchell. You don’t. But if you don’t want to see Dr. Rawlings, then find someone else. Because this is your last chance.”
