Tough Justice Series Box Set: Parts 1-8. Carla Cassidy
Читать онлайн книгу.
organization ran three things,” she started, building up to the memory she was supposed to recount. “Drugs, guns and humans. All three veins were expansive, strong and thriving. I originally requested I go undercover in the human trafficking side—I wanted to save as many as I could—but was told that’s why I couldn’t. I wasn’t there to save people in the short-term. I was supposed to find a way to get to Moretti. Cut the head of the snake from the body and save everyone in the long-term. Dealing directly with hard stuff like heroin and meth was also something everyone decided I would avoid. That left running guns. Smuggling ammo and weapons would put me in direct line with the top tier of the syndicate if I played my cards right. So, that’s what I did.”
There was a man named Spike, and he was waiting for her inside the bar. It was a total dive and had more drunken customers outside on the sidewalks than in. All huddled together, talking loudly and smoking one last cigarette before they stumbled back to wherever they came from.
She knew all of this because “Eve” had been coming to the bar for months. She recognized the people who frequented the joint just as quickly as she recognized the people who didn’t. Faces became familiar to her and vice versa. So when she saw a man with an aged fedora sitting at the edge of the bar, head bent low over a pint, she breathed a sigh of relief. Not only was he finally there, but he was sitting in her spot.
“Hey, Shorty,” Eve greeted the bartender, leaning against the bar. Shorty, real name unknown, gave her an appraising look and a nod. She wasn’t wearing a low-cut blouse or a high-rise skirt but a skintight black shirt and form-fitting leather pants. Her body may have been covered, but still she caught attention from the locals as soon as she walked in. “Who’s the hat in the corner?” she followed up. “He’s in my seat.”
Shorty paused his pouring to glance over to the man.
“He was a local way before you,” he answered. “Though I haven’t seen him in a while.” He shrugged. His bar might have been a hotbed of criminals converging, but Shorty was clean among all the scum. He ran his business right, serving whoever had the cash to pay. “They call him Spike, if I remember right.”
The man was called Spike and was nastier than the scabs grown on the inside of some of the patrons’ arms. Thin, tall and with pale blond hair that was perpetually greasy, Spike also had a twitch. Even in the dim light of the bar, Eve could see that. She supposed she’d form one, too, if her job entailed gun-running for the infamous Moretti.
Then again, that’s exactly what her goal was.
Eve ordered a beer on tap and pulled a pen from her bag. She took two of the paper coasters no one used and scribbled on the top corner of one when Shorty turned away. When her beer was ready, she took it and the coasters over to the bar stool next to Spike. She sat down with a twinge of excitement.
“This seat taken?” she asked. His eyes, a dull blue, scanned her body, pausing on her more intimate areas before returning to her face. She met his stare with smile.
“It is now,” he replied, perking right up.
Spike had been profiled as a man who craved attention from beautiful women but had gotten turned down by so many that he’d grown a complex against them. He’d eat up the attention, fall over himself to please his target, but the moment something didn’t go his way, he’d resort to violence. Aside from drug charges on his record, he’d also had two nasty past assault charges.
Eve sat on the bar stool and slid the unmarked coaster beneath her drink. The other remained in her hand.
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” she started. “But Shorty says you’re a local? Must have been on vacation the past few months.”
“You could say that.” His eyes narrowed. “I’ve never seen you here before. You’re no local.”
Eve had been ready for his suspicion. It was well deserved, but he wouldn’t know that for a while.
“I had to relocate recently,” she said, pausing to take a big swig of her beer. “Let’s just say my career took a turn, and now I’m looking for new opportunities.” She half shrugged. “I heard this was a good place to start.”
Eve knew how Spike operated within the syndicate. He was low on the totem pole, a physical mover of product between transactions, but he knew the people who could connect her to the higher-ups. She also knew that Spike rarely stayed in one place long, only cycling back to his favorite bar between jobs. This might be her only shot at getting an introduction in the foreseeable future. Before he could reply, she put the other coaster on the bar top and slipped it over slowly, tapping the top corner with her index finger. Spike’s eyes widened as he took the symbol she’d drawn in. He put his glass over it.
“And what kind of business are you in?” he asked, voice lowering. “In a place like this it can’t be anything good. Unless you’re a cop.” Even as he said the word, fear and anger moved across his expression. It was her turn to snort.
“I’m definitely no cop,” she defended. “I’ve got the arrests to prove that.” She contorted her face into obvious resentment.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Apparently cops don’t appreciate unregistered guns.”
Spike’s suspicion didn’t ebb, but his interest did grow.
“So what? Now, outta all the bars in the city, you’re here talking to me?”
She gave him a sly smile.
“Let’s just say we have a mutual friend that said this bar has the best beer on tap on this side of the city.” She winked. Spike sat up straighter, his chest slightly puffing out.
“Really? Did our mutual friend tell you what that is?” He pointed to the scribble on the coaster. The MM looked distorted, cut off by the bottom of his glass.
“I didn’t need him to. I’ve known what that is for a while.” Spike’s eyebrow rose. “It’s a rumor,” she explained. “It’s a promise. It’s stability and power. It’s a career someone like me craves.” She dropped her volume. “It’s why I’ve been coming to this shithole bar for months. I have product, I have experience, and now I’m looking at you.”
Spike appeared surprised, yet still intrigued.
“And who the hell are you?”
“Eve,” she said, outstretching her hand. “Now, let’s talk business.”
And so Eve Johannsen was born.
“By now Spike probably has realized he shouldn’t have trusted me as much as he did,” Lara said to Dr. Oliviero. “But I think he liked the attention.”
“The attention?”
“I made sure to respect him. I was interested in what he had to say, and I let him know it. We met back at the bar a few times before he finally set up a meeting with someone who could get me in. All I had to do was pass the background check.”
“Which, I assume, was very thorough.”
Lara nodded. “Dismantling Moretti’s organization was a big thing for us. We had only the best working on my cover, creating a comprehensive, solid background. One that, even through back channels, would check out.” Another memory surfaced as she spoke. “But, still, I was nervous. The man in charge of vetting me had earned a reputation for being thorough.” She took a breath. “The last time I saw Spike was the first time I met Andrew.”
“Tell me about that,” Dr. Oliviero said. He still didn’t have his notes out, but she suspected his memory was sharp. She wasn’t sure. Her attention was on the past.
“It’ll be okay so long as you’ve been straight with me so far,” Spike said, a cigarette between his lips. They stood in the alley