by Marie Wathen
Twenty minutes before seven my phone vibrates. Only a small number of friends and family have my personal cell phone number. I don’t even give out my real number to men. Dating isn’t a priority in my life. There have been a few men who have caught my attention, but I’m so focused on my job that their needs are way down on my list of concerns.
I groan and roll over to see what fool would be sending a message this early. A freaking winky face beside Russ’ picture tells me that he is waiting outside for me. Protocol for this kind of job dictates that he doesn’t have contact with family so coming inside is off limits. I chunk my iPhone into the bottom of my suitcase and shove my prepaid work cell into my backpack. I throw my long, dark brown hair into a scrunchy and pile it on top of my head. Needing to look disheveled, I intentionally haven’t washed it in two days. My work attire is trashy and revealing. I laugh thinking about how my pretentious mother would freak out if she ever caught me dressed this way.
Tossing my backpack over one shoulder, I lug my suitcase down the porch steps. Approaching Russ’ GTO, I notice his lopsided grin before I stow the suitcase in the back. When I get in the car he leans in with lips puckered and I actually flinch away.
“What the hell Russ?” I snap at his attempt to kiss me.
“Ah, ah, ah, my name is Rad. You’re on the clock now so you are officially my girlfriend. And any good girlfriend would give her man a kiss when she sees him.” I tilt my head to the side giving him an appalled glare.
“Why would she do that?”
“Because she’s happy to see him,” he says matter-of-factly through a goofy smile, those damn lips pressed together and eyes closed waiting for me to follow through with his challenge.
Kris’ taunting from last night punches me in the throat and I swallow back the flaming bile. I glance back at the house, wondering if Kris is awake and if she can see us. Noticing that all the curtains are closed, I lean in really close to Russ and just before pressing my lips to his I punch him in the gut…hard.
Grunting and clutching his right side, he groans, “That is not nice Angel.”
“Whatever! Don’t play that shit with me again Ru–Rad.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I quickly use the correct name and threaten, “Any future unnecessary kissing or groping, for that matter, will get you more of the same treatment. Now, where are we going so damn early?”
Still rubbing his stomach, he chuckles, starts the car and then backs out of the driveway. Today’s plan is to integrate me into his life by having me seen at his house and in his car. Hopefully enough eyes will notice us together and spread the word back to Russ’ group. That way when I make my appearance tomorrow night it won’t raise too many suspicions. After dropping my stuff off at his house we drive down to the local Kroger’s and fill up the grocery cart with tons of crap junk food–all for show of course because druggies don’t eat properly when they do actually shop–but I sneak in an assortment of fresh veggies and a couple of packs of chicken. For the most part, I eat clean and the shit Russ is buying definitely is not part of a healthy lifestyle.
Returning back to Russ’ house we quickly unload his brown bags and on the last return to the car a slow moving vehicle creeps by with a couple of guys staring a hole through me. I flash my brilliant smile–aligned immaculately by wearing braces for two years–and the two guys give me a lifted chin signaling that they acknowledge me, but their stoic expressions don’t change in the least bit. Back inside I let Russ know that my presence has been duly noted by his friends.
“That’s it then. You, Angel are officially mine.”
“Angel?”
“Yeah, that’s the best nickname I could come up with. Sending you in there with the fake name that the Captain provided just don’t work for me.” Grinning, he shakes his head as he thrusts an envelope at me.
“What’s this?”
His smile grows before saying, “That is you.”
I rip through the tape and unfold the paperwork. At the top of the fake document I read the name and glance back at Russ with the most disgusted look I can muster. Not that it would really take much effort after reading that my name is now something that I would slap the shit out of my mother for if she was this cruel. With Haleigh Walker as my mother, that’s saying a lot. She’s a far stretch from mother of the year.
“Fucking douche,” I growl in complete disgust and slam the paperwork down onto the countertop.
“It’s okay. I won’t let anyone make fun of you–Huldah Johnson.” He barks out laughter so obnoxious that for a brief moment I consider treating him as if he was the one who picked out the damn name.
Chapter Two
Pulling my three day, unwashed hair into a loose braid, I randomly tug a few strands out so that it gives me a messy look. I glop on the eyeliner in a thick line, cake on the black eye shadow and then follow up it with a hooker-red lipstick. I immediately smear it, rubbing off some so it matches the dark and dirty look I’m going for. My knotted blue tank top hits right under my boobs, displaying profound cleavage. The denim shorts I picked up at the local thrift store last week already came appropriately stained and torn. That makes me really happy. I loathe destroying totally good clothing just for shits and giggles. I finish off my look with some shredded fishnet stockings, a leather cuff and short black boots with spikes. Look out, Atlanta drug scene, here I come.
I make my appearance in Russ’ kitchen, catching him shoveling a pile of nachos into his mouth. A stupid grin breaks across his gorgeous face and I toss a napkin at it before food falls out.
“Damn babe, you look hot,” he blurts, emphasizing his appreciation by roaming his eyes over my body repeatedly.
I cross my arms over my chest and stab him with a fierce glare. “Dammit Russ, are you going to be like this the whole time?”
“Like what Sam?” Straight-faced, he holds his arms stretched out to his side, palms up and his eyebrows sink down.
“The comments, the devouring looks and the drooling,” I point at his chin.
He lazily swipes the back of his hand across his mouth while his greedy eyes blink rapidly, still drinking in the sight of me.
What the hell?
“Sorry,” he mumbles through a stupid grin while shrugging one shoulder. Clearly his heart is not in that apology because he continues staring at me like he wants to do bad things to me.
“I swear to all that is holy, if you keep this shit up they are not going to believe that we are a couple after I beat the living hell out of you.”
Pissed off, I stomp out of the kitchen feeling hostile toward Russ’ true thoughts exposed through his unusual behavior. How the hell am I supposed to pull the job off with him creeping me out the whole damn time?
After sitting in the car alone for about ten minutes, I get my shit together and calm down before he decides to join me. He doesn’t say a word until we are a couple of miles from the drug house near the southern end of Atlanta.
“If something goes down –”
I cut him off. “I’m ready Russ.”
“Rad,” he corrects.
“Yep.”
“Are you going to stay mad at me all night?” He glances sideways at me.
Exhaling slowly while staring out the side window, I shake my head. “Just tone it down. I know they are expecting Rad and Angel to behave as lovers and I can do it–for the job. But when it’s just us, I need you to be Russ–my best friend’s brother and my sergeant.”
“You’re right.” He sighs. “I crossed a line that makes you uneasy. I’m sorry, Sam. I’m just a little on edge about you coming in on this one. This crowd isn’t just pushers and users and this job is more dangerous than anything you’ve done before, including Mad’s fuckery. The Xkapz’s are into some really fucked up shit with a gang out of Mexico. I’m sure there’s more going on besides drugs, they just haven’t let me in on it yet…” He trails off, but I know what he’s implying. He’s worried about me.
Russ’ admission of guilt feels real. Finally. So I
accept his apology, relax and focus on the details and rank in this particular bunch of criminals and then break it all down mentally.
There are a handful of minions that helicopter around The X’kapz (I’m still wondering where they came up with this stupid name for a drug mafia) and a smaller group of officers who strictly oversee the illegal business dealings. Users will congregate around the trap house, but they will be forbidden in the big money house (the drug lords’ houses). Getting in the grungy sell house or trap house, as we refer to them, is easy as cake, but the houses with the actual Kings will not be as simple as throwing a few ingredients together and topping it off with ooey, gooey sweetness. No, we have our work cut out for us. This is the reason the DTF assigned me to the case. I will have to be crafty and use my womanly persuasions to finagle our invitation up each rung on the ladder to the top. It will be a slow progression, but in this line of work, when is it not?
Russ gave me the rundown of what to expect from tonight’s small gathering last week when the Captain called me in to discuss my assignment change. Luckily, it couldn’t have come at a better time. He’s right, my last assignment was rough and near the end one of the lower level pushers was getting close to busting my cover. If that would have happened a two year investigation could have been blown to shit. Thankfully, Mark “Mad Hatter” Hatfield will be on the inside of a cell for a couple of decades with the distribution and manufacturing charges, on top of the other felonies he got popped with just before the administration pulled me off the case. His general weirdness was getting completely out of hand.
I don’t know if Mad Hatter’s out of control drug usage is a contributor, but some time away from the public might be a damn genius idea. That crazy motherfucker was selling to kids in elementary school and training them on producing shake ‘n bake meth.
Good riddance jerkoff.
“Are you feeling alright?” Russ’ concerned tone brings me out of my haze.
“Yeah,” I nod, “Just getting all of my ducks in a row before we get there.” Taking in our surroundings, I notice that we’re creeping down a dark street, dodging potholes the size of a small car. “Damn, this side of town looks rough.”
Russ laughs. “Just wait until you see the house. It’s a total shit hole. Not exactly the kind of place you want to eat in.”
Now this makes me laugh. Russ will eat anything, anywhere. The ten second rule isn’t even in his vocabulary. If food hits the floor and he’s not hungry for it at the time he will let it stay there before he decides that he is ready for it. Then without a dust off or anything, he will pop that shit right into his mouth. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Well, not exactly that extreme, but I’m sure he would do it. This place must really be bad.
“I’ve got the names and bios down, but who do you expect here tonight?” I ask checking my reflection in the mirror on the sun visor one last time.
“You can expect Decks’ full crew tonight. They know you’re coming with me and will want to put you through the tests. Other than Lourdes, you shouldn’t have any problems being accepted. She’s a total woman hater and you will be a prime target.” He grins. “Just remember your role and let her believe that her title of Queen B is secure.”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “Got it. I’m playing bitch to some stupid chick who thinks her blueblood ass is in charge.” I shake my head thinking about all the Queen B’s I’ve come up against in the past. Each one was nothing but all mouth. A bunch of empty threats and nasty looks don’t make you a queen in this game of high-stakes chess. This one is the niece of the highest ranking officer, Nelson Kennedy, the lord of the X’kapz cartel. I just wonder why her majesty chooses to hang out at this shit hole when she is the top of the food chain. Like it or not at some point this Queen B will challenge me, just like all the others.
“Lourdes is feisty and vulgar.” He laughs. “You’ll get along like besties.” Facing forward, he continues to smirk at his lame ass dig at me.
I pin him with a look that he can’t resist peeking over at, and then follow it up by snarling, “I really think you should just shut the fuck up and drive.” I give the idiot a hard time, but I’m really glad to have Russ with me. Faking a pout with his bottom lip poking, he answers my command by gunning the gas.
Chapter Three
“Damn, you weren’t kidding about this place being a dump,” I say as we park along the curb on the abandoned street. Scanning the tiny house on the corner of the block surrounded by a chain link fence darning a sign that reads, ‘FORGET THE DOG, FEAR THE OWNER,’ I notice a couple of out-of-place luxury vehicles parked alongside several more-at-home-in-the-gutter pieces of shit in the driveway. Through the rusty links of the house’s barrier, a large Rottweiler’s bark booms over and over through the quiet street, his razor-sharp teeth drip foamy spittle looking at me like I’m a rare porterhouse steak. Thank goodness I’m still sitting inside the car.
“I know it ain’t the Ritz Carlton, but…yeah, I got nothing.” Russ jokes to break up the tension that sits with us like a third and unwanted passenger.
Giggling at his dry sense of humor, I announce, “Curtain call.”
Nodding as he reaches for the car door handle, Russ replies. “Break a leg, Ms. Angel Johnson.”
Carefully walking up the broken concrete sidewalk, I survey the busted up wooden house and mentally cuss myself for not taking a hefty dose of zofram before coming. I’m sure the stench in this place will make my stomach roll. Taking me by the elbow, Russ assists me with climbing the broken planks gingerly stacked on top of cement blocks, posing as front porch steps. These little land mines are exactly the reason why I wore my low heel boots. Distribute your weight unevenly or catch a heel on the board and you could die from blood loss before the ambulance arrives out here in the hood. Even armed EMT’s don’t rush out to this part of town.
Russ runs his hand around my back slipping a finger through one of my belt loops, drawing my body close against his. This sweet gesture lets me know that he will protect me at all cost. Exhaling loudly, I smile at him and nod with confidence. He winks once before opening the door and together we cross the threshold into the world of drug hazes, sex fogs and gun stupors.
“Rad,” a raspy voice screeches as we enter.
“Hey, Momma, you’re looking especially beautiful tonight,” he says teasingly, guiding me toward an elderly lady propped up on a recliner in front of the blaring television.
Momma, Merilyn Braxton, is the legal proprietor of the eighty something year old house and she doesn’t look much younger herself. Her wiry short hair lays flat in the back from not washing in weeks. She is a plump lady, wearing a worn thin house coat that’s missing a couple of snaps, partially revealing a bare buxom chest. She glances from Russ to me and smiles revealing broken and gapped teeth. I return the gesture while he introduces me.
“Momma, this here little cutie is my Angel.”
“Well, it’s about time Rad brought his woman by to pay a visit. He’s been talking about you so much that I feel like we’re old friends. I’m Merilyn, but you may call me Momma. Everybody does.” She winks before reaching into a pocket and pulling out a crumpled up Kleenex. I squeeze the shit out of Russ’ arm signally that I can’t witness this crinkled up old lady blowing her nose or doing whatever it is she has planned with the overused tissue.
“I’m going to take Angel to meet the boys,” he tells her, spinning us around quickly.
Placing the wadded up white paper under her nose, she replies, “Yeah.”
“Thanks,” I whisper as Russ ushers me toward the room across from Momma. A shiver runs through my body when she honks repeatedly as we rush away.
In the next room there are several tattooed and pierced men and women sprawled out around the small dining room and adjacent den. Three domineering men stand crowded around the dining room table, covered with a few dozen bags of illegal narcotics, several stacks of money and ten guns varying in shapes, sizes and models. Being a gun collector, I survey the loot and
quickly get disappointed in the low budget mini arsenal they have displayed.
“Angel these are my boys.” Grinning proudly after fist pounding each of them, Russ introduces me. “Decks, Murph and Wise this is the little honey I told you about. Angel.” Russ pulls me in for a kiss against my hair.
“Damn brother, she is one fine piece of ass,” the first guy comments like I’m not even in the room or that I might not be bothered by his lack of respect for women in general. Playing my role up, I offer a fake, overzealous giggle in return for his offensive compliment, when what I really want to do is knee the jackass in his sack.
“That’s Decks,” Russ offers. Hillary “Decks” Kennedy is tall and lean, with dark hair and dark eyes, in his mid twenties. He looks exactly like his mug shot. He is the nephew to Nelson Kennedy, the lord over all that lies before them. Decks’ eyes latch onto my bouncing chest and the guy beside him punches him to break it. His stupid nickname derives from his love of card games. Criminals aren’t always so creative with their aliases.
“Hey Angel.” I turn my attention to a man matching the late twenties, ruggedly handsome dark haired description of Jude “Wise” Kingston. He pleads, “Ignore my disgusting friend. I’m Wise.” Yep, I knew it, I applaud my brilliant memorization skills. “And this big guy here is Murph,” he bumps him with his elbow, “say hi to the pretty girl, Murph.”
Wise gestures toward the mammoth size guy, Shane “Murph” Murphy, standing with his bald head tilted slightly to the side. The guy is so tall his head literally skims the low ceiling in this run down shack. His hazel eyes lock onto mine fiercely and I stifle a shiver. Dude is freaking scary as hell. Not much for talking, Murph grunts while giving me a small, sideways chin lift. The action makes me remember the guys in the car that passed Russ’ house yesterday. I glance between them recognizing Murph and Wise as the two occupants of said vehicle.
“Hi guys. It’s a pleasure to meet y’all,” I respond, inflecting my southern drawl slightly and all three guys smile at me. Truthfully, Murph just grimaced.
