Undercovers Detective Ch 06

Alexia

When Janine gave me the address to The Slice Club, she said to meet her there at 1:30 pm and don't be late. This was to be my interview with Inna Grekov, the club manager. All my undercover training and months of preparation would be wasted if she didn't hire me. I had dressed as provocatively as I could, using Janine's makeup instructions carefully. The fake eyelashes and dark eyeliner made my appearance look sexier. .

It wasn't like the guys would be focusing on my face, but I had to look the part from head to toe. My pleated skirt was short, about four inches above my knee, accentuating my long legs in fishnet stockings. I wore six-inch stilettos, and my low-cut top that was stretched over my braless breasts. That finished off the look. The only thing missing was a sign around my neck that said, whore.

Driving past the address twice, I had a hard time finding a sign... or anything else that would indicate that I was at the right address, so I parked on the curb and called Janine. After a few rings, she picked up.

"Where are you!?"

"Sorry, but I've been driving around. There's no sign out here. How am I to find this place?" I asked in frustration.

"I told you, this is a private club. And what do you think that means? There wouldn't be a sign, would there?" she paused and then added, "Employee parking is in the back. Hurry up and get your butt in here. Inna is waiting."

The rear of the club was like the front, painted green. The back door was bordered by a dumpster and waste cans. I opened the spring-loaded door and made my way past the kitchen toward the front room. My heels were clicking on the tile floor as I walked through the narrow corridor. One of the cooks brushed past me, sporting a big shit-eating grin. I pushed open the café doors leading into the main room and I found Janine standing near the reception desk next to a middle-aged woman, that must be Inna. They were both dressed in shorts, t-shirts and tennis shoes.

"Hi, I'm Alexia," I said, offering my hand as I approached them.

Inna ignored my extended hand and stated, "We are looking for a waitress, not a hooker!"

"I'm sorry. I thought..."

"You thought we were hiring a dancer," Inna interjected. "That will come, but for now, all we need is a topless bar girl."

'Great! This is going well,' I thought to myself.

"Strip!" Inna commanded.

"Here? Now?"

"Come on! I don't have all day," she glared at me.

Several employees were setting up tables and stacking glasses in the bar area, but every single one of them stopped what they were doing to watch me disrobe. What the fuck was this? A free strip show? I undid the Velcro fastener on my skirt and let it drop to the floor before I stepped out of it. My bare ass was now exposed, and I stood there wearing only my skimpy thong and garter belt.

"The top too," Inna demanded.

I pulled off my top, exposing myself to the world, and shook my head, so my hair fell to one side. I had never felt so naked in my life. There was a loud whistling and an overzealous applause.

"Shut the fuck up and get back to work!" Inna screamed at the idle laborers. "Ingrates," she muttered.

I was shocked when she reached out and pinched my right nipple. "Make sure you ice these up before you start tomorrow at seven. Go to the office and give them your payroll information."

Then Inna looked at Janine and ordered, "She'll do. Get her an outfit, she starts tomorrow."

Once I had pulled my clothes back on and had a moment alone with Janine, she decided to unload on me.

"I told you to be here on time! You are going to fuck around and blow this entire operation. I said wear something sexy, not dress like a fucking street walker!"

"Sorry, I just..."

"Stop thinking, and just follow instructions properly! Come with me into the dressing room. I'll give you some clothes to change into. So, you don't walk around looking like a two-bit whore."

I followed her, scanning the venue as we walked. This place was huge and It was not a dive. There was a thirty-foot long, gloss, black-lacquered bar, and multi-level stage that looked like it was made for theater, with a band pit and elaborate lighting. The tables and booths were modern black and stainless with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

Janine led me through a door off the stage, just next to one with a guard. In the dressing room there were rows of connected makeup tables under long, lighted mirrors. Past the makeup area to the right was a locker room with showers you might find in a gym. Janine opened a locker and tossed me some shorts, a t-shirt, and some white tennis shoes with pink trim.

"Here, put these on. You don't want to go to the main office dressed like that. These should fit you."

"Can I ask you something, Janine?"

"Be careful what you say around here," she said, looking around.

"What's in the room with the guard out front?" I whispered.

"I'll tell you later at home, now shush." Then added, "One more thing is that I think you and Frank should move in with Tom and me. After today, you will be in a fishbowl. They'll be monitoring your every move for a week or so, and you must be extra careful. How's it going with you and Frank?"

"Good."

"Just good?" Janine asked with a knowing grin.

"Well, better than good. We aren't able to keep our hands off each other."

"He's a hottie! Enjoy each other. In this fucked up world, you need to find joy where you can, and don't worry, you won't wear each other out," she chuckled.

I put on the shorts. They fit but were tight, squeezing in between my butt cheeks and giving me an embarrassing bit of camel-toe. I tied back my hair in a ponytail, and looked at myself in the mirror. I was satisfied with the way the polo shirt formed around my breasts, not leaving much to the imagination. The Slice Logo wrapped around my left breast and disappeared in my cleavage. In my real life, I had never dressed provocatively, but this undercover operation liberated me somewhat, and I liked it. I can't lie, I love the attention.

As I entered the office area, I was startled to see Frank and Sargent Mike McNeal leaving.

I wasn't sure how to react, but that was swiftly solved when Frank walked up and gave me a hug that lifted me right off the floor before he kissed me.

"Mike, this is my girlfriend, Alexia. You've met before, haven't you?"

"How could I forget? You throw a wicked punch," Mike answered, staring at my breasts. "What are you doing here?"

"Seeing how I am now recently unemployed, I was here for a job interview. A friend of mine that works here said she could get me a job as a waitress that pays well."

"Did you get the job?" Mike asked.

"Yup, I start tomorrow."

"Outstanding!" he replied.

"I heard what happened to you at the department. That sucks, but I am looking forward to seeing you in the club!" He winked at me.

"Yeah, I agree, it sucks! I figured if I was going to be treated poorly by men, I might as well get paid for it... generously," I added.

"We got to run, we're on the clock. See you at home, sweet cakes," Frank said, slapping my ass.

Sweet cakes! Seriously? I knew he had to play the part, but... sweet cakes? Anyway, us being revealed as a couple was good for undercover purposes.

-oOo-

Frank

Running into Alex at The Slice was spontaneous, but it worked out well. Our plan was for it to be revealed that she was my girlfriend. That afforded her an extra level of protection, seeing how criminal associates don't hit on each other's girls. It's right up there in the criminal's honor code, if there is such a thing.

Our meeting with Victor Grekov was more of an exam than an interview. He wanted specific things from me, mainly intel from the police department. There were several killings under investigation he wanted closed. Being in homicide, I would prove useful by making them go away.

We were prepared for that contingency. Greer was five moves ahead in this deadly chess game. He anticipated they would have to put a temporary hold on those investigations, then post them closed on the department white board. That would help Victor to believe those cases were no longer active.

There were also several items in the evidence locker that Victor wanted retrieved and returned to him—things like guns, ballistic results, and crime-scene photos. Greer was way ahead of Victor on that too. He had told me they would make duplicates of the evidence and put the originals in his safe to preserve them for a later investigation. We needed Victor to fully trust me, but that meant stretching the rules.

Mike had gone on to his department, and I was headed to meet with the Captain at his office. Suddenly, Johnny Cash started playing from my jacket pocket, and I looked at the screen to see who was calling.

"Hi, babe. What's up?" It was Alex.

"Not much. Janine and I are at the apartment, packing my things to take to her place."

"How come?"

"She said it will be safer for me to stay with her for a couple weeks. You're invited also. We can use the fold-out sofa bed. What are you doing?"

"I'm on my way to the precinct. I will discuss what's going down with you tonight."

"Could you pick up something to eat on your way over? Don't forget to stop by your place and pick up some things."

"Okay, will do. See you later. Gotta go, love you..." Oh my god, I can't believe I said that.

-oOo-

Greer was waiting for me in his office with a look of anticipation, and as soon as I entered, he regarded me with a stern expression. "Close that door and lock it."

I did as I was instructed, and then pulled up a chair on the opposite side of his desk that was cluttered with stacks of file folders.

"How goes it with Grekov?" Greer asked.

"It's going as you planned, so far. I'm being tested to see if I'm to be trusted. Victor requested several cases to be closed because they could implicate him, including the murder of the girl in the alley. Plus, he wants the evidence in those cases given to him. All just as you figured."

Greer was lost in thought for several seconds before he replied, "That all seems pretty easy for us to do. Is there anything else?"

"Just one more thing. He wants me to knock off the eye witness that is due to testify against his drug lord, Jerome Johnson. I know we can't go that far."

"Not necessarily," he pondered aloud.

"What?"

"Not literally, but we can delay the trial and set it up so that it appears like you offed him. We can put him into a witness protection program and announce his murder publicly, complete with staged photos. That should cement you into Grekov's operation. Besides, we need more time to strengthen the case anyway. How's our girl doing?" Greer inquired.

"Alex is good. She secured a position at The Slice. I'll be seeing her tonight. She's moved in with Janine, and I'm going to join her. One more thing. McNeal wants me to join his outfit on a drug bust in an hour. He has inside information of where the Mexican gangs are making an exchange. This gang is an opposing drug cartel to Grekov's operation. McNeal gets to be the hero for a bust and gets paid by Victor Grekov at the same time. Quite an operation."

"Alright, keep me informed. This meeting is over."

"Whatever you say, chief."

-oOo-

Mike and I sat in the old Dodge van he had checked out of impound, waiting for the suspects to show. This industrial section of east LA was deserted, as a predominance of warehouses were closed because of the bad economy. Mike had a couple snipers on the roof covering most of the parking lot.

"Frank, take the shotgun. It has six oought shot and could stop an elephant," he said, pushing it at me.

"We might not need it if they surrender, which they will do when they see your firepower."

"Surrender? This is not a bust. It is a statement! No prisoners! These scum gotta learn who is running this fucking town."

After about twenty minutes, a late model, blue Ford quad-cab pickup stopped in front of one of the buildings. It was not possible to see in the windows because of the tinting. No one got out. Mike was on his handset telling the snipers to keep a sharp eye.

After a few minutes, the passenger door to the truck opened and a large, balding Hispanic man emerged. He went to the door, unlocked it, and slid open the roll-up. He then motioned for the truck to drive inside.

Mike's plan was to take them outside, in front of the buildings. With it happening inside, his snipers were out of the picture. Mike was immediately on the two-way telling the men to reposition themselves when a second truck drove up, a white, Chevy Econo-Van. It paused and then moved forward into the building. We were now at a disadvantage, not knowing how many we were up against or what they were armed with.

"Come on Frank, get out, we're going to take them out before they even know what hit them," Mike said, stepping out.

"Don't you think we should call in backup?" I suggested following him toward the building, lagging a bit behind.

"What's the matter, Frank, no balls? We're going to make short work of these clowns."

We approached the building from the East side using extreme caution. The two snipers were moving in from the opposite side, crouched low, with their automatic rifles at the ready. Mike used hand signals telling them to stop short. Then, he pulled out what looked to be a military hand-grenade from his flack vest and yanked the pin. I thought to myself how this broke every rule of police procedure.

Without announcing our presence, he tossed in the grenade. The explosion rocked the whole building. Mike and his crew attacked through the doorway. I had not heard that much gunfire since I was in Kuwait. The sound of automatic weapons and bullets careening off the metal cars and concrete walls made this a war zone.

I entered the smoke-filled building last, but as soon as I turned the corner, a man with a pistol was running straight at me trying to escape the carnage. I didn't hesitate as my military reflexes took over and I fired a shot gun blast into his midsection. The power of the recoil kicked the gun back like a mule and the blast almost cut the suspect in half. The firing stopped after less than two minutes and the smoke started to clear. The smell of nitrocellulose hung heavy in the air and there were bodies lying in grotesque positions. Five, no six bodies. One of them moved slightly and Mike fired a shot in his head. He was grinning at me like a kid that just finished a roller coaster ride.

Mike approached me and said, "Welcome to the drug enforcement division. Your report will read that we approached these suspects and asked them to surrender but they fired on us, and during a drug arrest we were forced to return fire, resulting in the unfortunate demise of these fine upstanding citizens."

"So where are the drugs?" I inquired.

"Right over here in the van, but it seems there was no cash," Mike answered, stuffing stacks of money in a trash bag.

"Well, Frank, you did well. That guy splattered like a ripe pumpkin. Kinda makes you feel... alive. Don't ya' think?" He grinned.

"Yeah, whatever... I gotta go. You made this mess, you clean it up." I handed him back the shogun.

-oOo-

It wasn't until about seven that I arrived at Janine's place with two pizzas in hand and my travel bag. Before I could knock, the door flew open.

"Hi, handsome!" Janine exclaimed. "Put the pizzas on the bar. I'm starving."

She opened the sausage-pepperoni, and a delicious aroma filled the room. It was like a scent given by the Gods.

"What took so long?" asked Alex, descending the stairs in her robe.

"Friday night—the wait was long and the traffic was a bitch. Where's Tom?"

"He's out of town until Monday. Tom was called back to the agency to clarify why we still need federal funding for this operation," Janine explained.

We gobbled down some pizza, drank beer, and laughed about Inna's reaction to Alex's getup. I knew this operation depended on Janine and her expertise. After a while, Alex turned our light-hearted conversation to a serious one with one question.

"Janine, you said that you would tell me what was behind the guarded door at The Slice. What is in there?"

Janine's face went somber as she answered, "This is what this whole thing is about. Behind that green door is the crib."

"What's the crib?" Alex inquired.

"It's a network of small rooms and each room has a girl. They are categorized by age, body type, and specialty. What happens is that the servers and dancers get the clients worked up in the bar, and then they go through that door for the girl or drug of their choice. All that for a mere three grand. The Bureau suspects the girls are brought in from Europe, South America, or China. Girls abducted in the US are most likely taken to Europe because they are too recognizable. They are strung out on drugs and used as sex slaves."

I could see Janine was getting extremely emotional talking about this subject, and the strain showed in her face, but I had to ask, "With all the evidence we have, why not just bust these scum bags right now?"

"I have thought the same thing for two years. Every time we get close, there is one more suspect they want to include. We thought Victor was the king pin, but he is just another player. If we took him down, he would be replaced in a heart-beat. This is an international investigation that includes Interpol and Scotland Yard. When this goes down, it will be one of the biggest busts in history. I want to see these lowlifes burn and put a bullet in Grekov's brain myself."

"I have no right to ask you this, Janine, but it seems you have a greater stake in this than the average undercover cop. What is it that drives you so intensely and makes you risk so much?"

"Since you and Alex are in this dangerous game, you have a right to ask," Janine paused, took a deep breath, then a sip of wine, and continued. "It all started four years ago. I was working in the Atlanta bureau at the time. My family lived in New Orleans."

"I was called into my supervisor's office, Jim Ryan, and thought it was just another case to be briefed on. He instructed me to sit, and then informed me that my sister was on the missing list. Her name is Julie. She was sixteen at the time. He went on to say her disappearance matched the profile of several abductions in that area. I was devastated, along with my parents."

Janine wiped away a tear and continued, after regaining her composure. This was the first time I had seen her show vulnerability.

"Jim said they were doing all they could, but the evidence led them to believe that it was not a random kidnapping... it was the sex slave trade. There was an eyewitness that saw a van pull up, open the side door and snatch her off the street. She was gone in seconds. A year passed with no leads, and they got a report of a girl that was picked up in LA for prostitution that matched Julie's description. I flew out to Los Angeles to see for myself, but by the time I arrived, she was dead in the holding cell from an overdose."

"What?" Alex exclaimed.

"I identified the body as hers, but could barely recognize her. She was completely made over; different hair color, enhanced eye makeup, and the look of a worn-out street whore with plenty of track marks on both her thighs."

"What happened from there?" I asked.

"Well, I knew that she didn't overdose herself in the holding cell, so I asked for an autopsy. The medical examiner concluded that she died from an overdose, but not drugs. It was an overdose of insulin. Obviously an inside job. She was killed to keep her from talking."

"How did you end up convincing the FBI to let you be part of this investigation?" I further questioned. "Don't they have a policy that keeps an agent from investigating a crime they are personally connected with?"