by Denise Wells
Regardless, Quinn is like this brightness in my life I didn’t realize I needed until I had it, and I am so thankful for her. Where I’m dark, she’s light. When I’m half empty, she’s half full. Her chaos balances my compulsive organization. As Quinn would say, she’s the yin to my yang, and it works well for us. It’s rare that women can meet as adults and become friends, but we did. We clicked from the very beginning—I’m not sure what I would have done had David been successful with his abduction plan.
I need to run this all by Mack, he usually knows the best course of action. And is probably the only person who I will defer to, ever, and especially with something like this. I get too emotional and can’t remain objective in crimes against women; and definitely not with human trafficking. Which is why it’s easier to kill first and think about it later. The guilt that I carry over the loss of my sister is tremendous.
She was my younger sister; it was my job to take care of her.
I failed.
I take a deep breath and grab my phone to text Mack.
ME: Call me when you get a moment.
MACK: Give me five.
I set the phone down and mentally prepare what I want to say to him. I need to just deliver the information with no emotion or inflection. Tell him what I know, leave it at that, see if he wants/needs my help after that.
The burner rings after three minutes.
“Hey,” I say, sinking into my office chair and rubbing my forehead with the fingers of my free hand.
“Whatcha got?”
“David is the guy. And Quinn was one of his initial targets.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“You got anything I can legitimately use?”
“No.”
“You at the bar?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
He hangs up without saying goodbye. I know we can’t have extended conversations on the phone, someone could overhear or worse. But having to see him for the second time today will wreak havoc with my emotional well-being.
I try to organize the information Alyssa has gathered to distract myself from seeing him. I’m not sure how he’ll be able to use any of this, if at all. Unfortunately, he must gather intel legitimately and legally. I find it ridiculous that criminals can use any means available in their wrongdoings. Yet law enforcement must abide by a code of ethics that is subjective depending upon how you interpret it. I suppose it’s more a lead by example kind of thing, they stay on the right side of the law to prosecute, because everyone should have been on that same side all along.
Where I’m from in Russia, it's more primitive. An eye for an eye mentality is not uncommon as a means of retribution. You can obtain evidence in any way available to you. And it doesn’t even have to be hard or irrefutable. Getting used to a more civilized, American way of doing things, has been a change for me.
When I’m finished going through what Alyssa has printed thus far, I make sure everything is under control out on the bar floor before Mack arrives. I want to devote my attention to him once he is and to how we plan to take care of the David Tremblay problem.
I don’t consider myself to be girly by any means. Lipstick is my go-to for any kind of makeup at all, but I still make sure it’s touched up and pull my hair from its ponytail and fluff it to make sure it looks okay. It’s pathetic that I go to such lengths, minimal though they may be, for a man that I’ve denied myself to have. It’s almost like I know I still want him, so I want to make sure he still wants me, and the best way I know how to do that is to make sure I look good when I see him.
I look up when I hear a knock on the door frame.
Mack.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
He settles himself into a chair opposite me. His large frame barely fitting into the armed chair—his size is one of my favorite things about him. I’m tall, five feet, eleven inches. It’s hard for a man to make me feel small and feminine when I want to. Mack doesn’t have that problem.
I toss the file at him to avoid thinking about him any longer. I doubt it will work, but at least he won’t notice that I’m watching him if he’s looking at the file. He flips through it, skimming the pages.
“Jesus, he’s guilty as fuck.”
“Anything in there you can use?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“Doubtful. Even if I wanted to use this as a basis for what to look for, we’d have to get a warrant for his house and his computer I don’t see that happening with where we are right now.” He glances at a few more pages. “God, Dar, I don’t even want to know how you get some of this stuff.”
He’s right. He doesn’t.
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“I wanted to know for my edification whether he was guilty. Problem is I can’t show this to Reed without explaining how I got it. But at least I’m not left wondering, and it gives me something to go on. Reed knows I think Tremblay is guilty, so if I push on this, it won’t seem too out of the ordinary.” He tosses the file onto my desk, loose papers from inside slide out like a fan. “I need a plan. I can bring him in on false charges, see what his alibi is like for that night, but the last victim didn’t ID him in the lineup.”
“Oh shit, I’m sorry, Mack.”
“Me too.” He sighs. “She picked the CGI.”
“Oh, that’s bad.”
He nods in response.
“So, what happens in a situation like that?” I ask.
“Technically, we drop it. But that’s the wrong action to take.” He gestures to the file on the desktop.
“You’ve got to tell Reed something.”
Mack leans back in his chair and scrubs his palms over his face, growling. “You know I can’t do that, babe. And you know why.” He looks at me pointedly. I know he thinks Reed would turn me in, but I feel like I see a different side of him, one that might understand what I do and why.
Shit! I’m getting way too easy on people.
Which just serves to remind me that living in America has made me fluffy on the inside. Especially if I think Reed would understand.
I shake my head at myself.
“What?” Mack asks.
“I’m getting fluffy.”
“Fluffy?”
“Yes. On the inside.”
“Not Dirty Daria?” He fakes a gasp and covers his mouth with his hand.
I flip him off.
“Any place, any time.” He pauses a moment. “And it’s soft. You’re getting soft on the inside. Fluffy is like cotton candy or a big pillow.”
I grunt in response, then busy myself with gathering the file and loose pages from my desk. “What about using someone as bait?” I ask returning to the subject at hand.
“We thought of that, it’s leaving too much to chance. He has an engagement party coming up, do you have any girls we could plant?”
“To do what, exactly?”
“I don’t know. I’m grasping at straws here. I need something to convince Reed.”
“I can send a girl in, but I don’t know what good it would do. It’s not like he can hit on her at his engagement party. Or kidnap her even.”
“I just need a confession. Maybe if he thinks he’s in danger, or we’re about to catch him?”
“Okay, how can I help?” I ask. Because I want to help, assisting Mack makes me happy.
“Reed’s already going to the party, he’s the best man. Maybe we could hook him up with a date?”
“Wouldn’t he wonder why one of my bartenders was there?”
“Probably. What about Quinn?”
“What about her?”
“It’s slightly more believable if she’s there, right?”
“No way will she go to David’s engagement party. She’d feel too awkward. Especially on Christmas Eve. She likes to make popcorn and binge on all the holiday movies. I’m supposed to do it with her.”
“What if she didn’t know that’s what
she was doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if she thought she was going in as one of your Dirty Darlings, but really she’s the distraction so I can get Tremblay alone?”
“I need more to go on than that.”
“I don’t have it. This isn’t a fully thought-out plan. I’m just trying to figure out how to appease Reed, get Tremblay alone, and get a confession.”
“How are you getting in?”
“I’ll be security.”
“And then you just conveniently get a confession?”
“It sounds flimsy when you put it like that.”
“Because it is.” It’s rare I’ll go against Mack and his ideas, but I have a feeling this isn’t one of his good ones.
“I think this can work. Help me flesh it out.”
So, I put my doubts aside and concentrate on helping Mack turn this crazy idea into a plan.
9
Reed
We hit a roadblock with the trafficking case once Paula Nelson selected the CGI photo out of the lineup. We didn’t tell her that’s who it was. But I can’t even describe how relieved I was when she didn’t ID David. How the fuck do I handle my best friend involved in something like this?
Easy, I couldn’t.
I wouldn’t.
That was two days ago, and we are no closer to anything solid than we were then. Mack has been off doing his own thing, and I’m happy to let him. I know he thinks David is guilty, but we have no proof. I’m sure that’s what he’s trying to do, and I’ll be honest, a small part of me still worries that Mack is right. Because Paula not selecting David in the lineup does not automatically make him innocent. But as of this moment, I don’t have to worry about it.
For now, all I have to worry about is making sure I’m in a celebratory mood for David’s engagement party tonight. I’m attending as his best man and knowing that he’s not guilty will allow me the freedom to enjoy the festivities with my friend. Though I’m sure he’ll be busy tending to party guests and won’t have time to hang just the two of us.
Which makes me wish I knew his circle of friends better. Or at the very least, have a date for the evening so I would have someone to talk to all night. For the briefest of moments, I’d thought about asking Quinn to be my date. But then I figured she wouldn’t want to go to the engagement party of someone she used to date. That would be weird all the way around. And not how I want to remember our first date.
Not that I’m convinced we’ll ever get one. It’s one thing to have a crush on a girl, but it’s a whole other thing to date her. Even if I could ignore that she dated my best friend, there’s still my job. It comes first and there’s not much I can do about it. I’m just not sure that Quinn is the type to be understanding about it.
The only women who usually get it are those in law enforcement already, like Jenny from research and records. Who I almost asked to come with me as a friend. But then I remembered the unspoken rule is you can’t ask a woman to attend something wedding related if you aren’t in a serious relationship. Why? Because then the girl will start thinking about getting married. Which is asking for trouble in the form of magnified artificial feelings that such occasions seem to procreate.
Solo it is.
Not that I can’t make small talk with strangers, I can. But the first question after the name exchange is always, “So, what do you do?” Once I answer, “I’m with the Bureau,” a litany of questions follows.
“Have you caught anyone famous?”
“Have you caught any serial killers?”
“Should we fear another terrorist attack like September 11?”
“Are you carrying a gun?”
“Who is number one on the Most Wanted List?”
While I don’t mind answering questions, it wears on me after a while. Everyone has a similar version of the same five or so questions. Making me wish I had the personality that could conjure up a profession and just tell a tall tale. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to create a different persona for each person I meet. Mack could pull that off. So could Quinn. Probably even David.
I cannot.
I left work early because of the party; I wanted time to pick up a gift, shower, and review my speech. All of which I’ve done with plenty of time to spare. I have an expensive bottle of rosé champagne as a congratulatory gift, I’ve memorized my speech, and pressed my tuxedo so it’s ready for wear. Because it’s that kind of party: formal, fancy, and über-fashionable. Plus, it’s Christmas Eve, which somehow makes it feel that much more lavish.
Oddly, I’ve only met David’s fiancée, Laurel, twice. He was one of those guys who fell off the face of the earth—so to speak—after he met Laurel. She became his sole focus and everyone else was just forgotten or ignored. I’ve never fallen in love, so I don’t know if I would be the same way, so I try not to fault him. But I miss him and wish we hadn’t drifted apart.
My guess? Laurel is the reason the party is so over the top—requiring formal attire to attend, the promise of a fireworks display, the lighting of a thirty-foot Christmas tree, and a champagne fountain. Not to mention they’ve hired security guards and are supplying valet parking. Laurel comes from a wealthy family, the kind that is written about in the society pages and featured in philanthropic magazines. Their name can always be found listed as a top donor for public radio, the local symphony, and the zoological society.
While I appreciate and admire their benevolence, I don’t know them well enough to determine if a party of this magnitude is how they normally do things, or if it’s for show because their daughter is engaged. I know my tux is appropriate and I look the part, but I’m still nervous about how to act in such an environment regarding social decorum and propriety. I should have asked David for guidance beforehand.
Not that I’ve spoken to him much lately, not even about the party. He included a handwritten note along with my invitation telling me I’d better not miss it since I’m his best man. Just like he would be mine were I to get married. Because that’s how our friendship has been over the years. Hopefully, we’ll have time to talk tonight and catch up.
If nothing else, I can get a feel for what he’s been up to, so I can put my mind at ease about his involvement with this whole kidnapping/trafficking thing.
10
Quinn
I take my time dressing for the party. It’s black tie, but that’s really all I know. Daria rented me an Armani knockoff evening gown that is gorgeous. Strapless, floor-length, sheath style, in a deep emerald green, with a slit up the side. Combined with three-inch heels, I look tall and statuesque. Like how Daria always looks. It makes me want to wear this outfit all the time.
I fashion my hair in a curly half-updo, and put on a deep red, long-last lipstick. My heels are platform, so I feel stable enough to walk fast or even run if need be, and not that I’m about to topple over at any moment. I feel like the belle of the ball.
I’ve properly coiffed, tweezed, moisturized, and accentuated everything that should be. I only cut my legs once while shaving and have yet to chip a nail. It’s as good as it will get.
Daria gave me a dossier which I found out is just a fancy word for file, with step-by-step instructions on everything I’m to do. I kind of can’t believe that two short days ago she barely employed me as a barback, and now I’m one of her hired assassins.
I mean, technically, I’m not an assassin yet, but that is my job tonight. I’m taking down a bad guy. Ridding the earth of his scum. Some guy who’s been kidnapping women and then delivering them to human traffickers who either keep them as forced sex slaves or sell them off on the black market.
This guy deserves to die.
Daria spent the last two days showing me how to shoot a gun and giving me tips on how to blend in a crowd. That’s the only part I have down pat, it’s the rest (read: shooting a gun) I’m still unsure about. Mostly because I’ve never shot a person before. If I’m honest, I’ve barely even fired the gun. When I did, I rarely
hit the target. But Daria says I’ll be at a close enough range it won’t matter. I’ll just trust that she’s right.
I keep waiting for it to bother me I’m about to shoot someone, but so far it really doesn’t. We shouldn’t let certain people coexist with the living. And if even half of what Daria has told me about this guy is true, he’s one of them.
Daria told me she’ll have someone around in case I need help, and I just need to send her a quick message on my cell phone to let her know. But it didn’t occur to me until right now why that person couldn’t be the one to carry out the job. I’m not complaining, doing this for Daria makes me feel important, and who doesn’t love feeling important? Am I right?
I make sure everything I need is in my clutch, then head outside to wait for my ride. Daria is sending a car for me, which sounds fancier than it is, I think it’s just a Lyft or some kind of pay-per-ride deal. She hasn’t told me whose party it is or who my target is. All I know is he’ll be the first speaker in the rounds of toasts and that if I follow my instructions everything will go just fine.
I tried to get her to tell me who it was, but she said it’s better if I don’t know. So I won’t have time to personify the guy. That even if he is a scumbag, he’s still a person, and the more you know about someone, the more real they become. The less you want to kill them. It makes sense, human nature and all that.
Regardless, I’m beyond excited to be doing this. I know killing someone shouldn’t be appealing, but I’ve been in awe of Daria for a long time, even though she’s my best friend. And when I found out she was doing this whole vigilante thing, I was jealous that she had something with other girls that she didn’t have with me. I also know, it’s petty and ridiculous, but it’s how I felt. The idea of getting to join that club, and no longer be left out, is both thrilling and gratifying.
A car pulls up in front of my building. It’s sleek and black, like a town car. I like it. The driver gets out to open my door for me. I’m a sucker for chivalry. I smile and thank him. He doesn’t smile back.
