I scratched the back of my neck in irritation; rubbing the area that creature had attached itself to only seconds ago. If it wasn't so dark I would be able to see it, but I forced myself to just let it go as I faced to the building now in front of me. This was only supposed to be a simple and brief reconnaissance. That was until I found out the head honcho himself was in town, which led to spending more time in North Carolina that I originally intended. I don't know why, but I was still amazed that large drug circles had somehow filtered their influence to cities like Fayetteville.
Managing to peel off my wetsuit, I took the ridiculously conspicuous disguise off my head, throwing the offending object in the large body of water behind me. Also tossing away my snorkel, I turned to the man standing beside me; sans wetsuit and smart enough to go through the neglected front gate.
"Don't say it," I whispered harshly. Even in the dark, I wasn't completely unaware of the smirk creeping on his face. It didn't really bother me, but it was one of those few instances where he liked to take the opportunity to mock me.
Though, it was something I was used to, having grown close to him in the past years that we've known each other. Formerly known to me as an international informant turned quasi-agent of intelligence for Great Britain (though spending the majority of his time in America working with the CIA), Warrick Brown was a man I had grown to trust – even with my life. And that was something rare considering our line of work.
His initial merit lay in his dual-citizenship; born in Bristol, England and raised in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It was an advantage that let him travel more easily across continents. Not that my own merits made it any more difficult, but his heritage was something that always stayed in the back of my mind. Though, I was happy he preferred his American accent to his mother's pronunciation, which had gradually dwindled over the years. Or at least that's what I've been told.
Still, I wondered if the English accent would have made his remarks seem less...blunt.
"Nah," Warrick said, "Next time, I'll just drag your lame ass with me."
"Thanks, man," I said, not keeping the sarcasm out of my voice. Ignoring him for the time being, I was grateful he was at least discreet not to laugh out loud. Though, I wouldn't expect less from him. I knew it had more to do with the fact we were supposed to be on an assignment that actual courtesy, but that didn't stop me from feeling a little better about having a stuffed bird on top of my head.
Albert Robbins –or R as he prefers to be called – may not have been as...innovative as many others in his field, but his inventions served their purpose. And while it was possible to find Puffins in North Carolina, I was pretty sure they wouldn't be found by a water fountain this late at night. But as long as people were none the wiser, I didn't really have cause to complain.
Personally, I believed the inclusion of a Puffin in his latest set of emissary gadgets was R's way of poking fun at my fascination with birds. I wasn't sure if it was just a coincidence or if I should have been offended. Still, it may have had to do with the fact that I wouldn't stop running my mouth about my vacation with Dr. Mandy Webster to the northern coasts in Europe; where I discovered new ways to keep warm in cold weather.
And despite what my colleagues thought about me, I was not a womaniser (even if I did find myself flirting on more than one or two occasions). For Mandy and me, there was nothing exceeding the status of platonic in our relationship. Not to say that I didn't enjoy her company, but Mandy was strictly an old friend, with whom I happened to cross paths on a mission. She was someone my parents tried to set me up with when we were younger, but things never advanced in that direction. And even if I tried to suggest something between us, money (not to mention the fact neither one of us was ready to settle down) would have been a problem.
Since, aside from the alleged perks and romanticism surrounding the notion of secrecy, being an undercover agent for the government really didn't pay that well.
It only looked expensive.
I sighed deeply as I began to manoeuvre my way in the dark; the layout of the poor imitation of a hacienda (which was the base for the drug lords) I explored earlier in the day still fresh in my mind. Now, I wasn't biased or anything, but I'd seen better imitations back home. It was literally two small houses right next to each another: one for entertaining and lodging and the main and larger (though, not by much) edifice, which was predominantly used as a storage area.
The irony didn't escape me.
Urging Warrick closer with my hand, I pressed my back flush against the wall, my newly dry cleaned white suit suffering for the act. I should have waited to take my wetsuit off, but I'll just have to remember to put my suit on my list of work related compensations.
When I determined the coast clear, I reached for the pistol in my back pocket – one of R's more useful contraptions – and shot above me; a small hook escaping and successfully landing on the roof of the main building, in which Warrick and I had already assessed was where the barrels of nitro were stored.
Now, why they happened to have barrels of nitro stored (with the drugs) and what purpose they had in the business of illegal drug distribution, I had no idea. But it did make things easier for us.
I pulled the thin rope once, twice, and two more times for good measure. Though, I knew the rope (more like string) was durable and could hold three times my weight, I didn't want to take the chance of falling a fourth time because the line wasn't secure.
R did say something about more budget cuts this month.
I looked to Warrick expectantly, urging him closer with my head as I wondered why he hadn't followed suit.
"Um..." he began somewhat warily, pointing to a pretty large serrated area in the wall beside me...which, after looking closely, turned out to lead to a side door of some kind.
"...I knew that."
"Yeah..." Warrick nodded slightly, though I knew it was only to appease me. "That's why they sent me with you."
After entering through a hidden section of the main building, Warrick and I had set up the plastic explosives, which were hopefully enough to really cause damage...not actually having the usual amount with us. I assumed the rationing was probably a consequence of the budget cuts, as well. Warrick didn't have much to say, raising his eyebrows at my remark and leaving me to take care of some unfinished business while he left to care of his own.
Or so that's what I've been told.
I heard bits and pieces of Spanish and drunken laughter before I even entered the building, but I admit I expected more people instead of the small crowd, which I supposed was adequately accommodated by the appropriated size of the room. Truthfully, I could see everything from the entrance and surprisingly through the thick haze of smoke; the musician in the corner (the only one who supplied some form of music) playing an upbeat harmony that a few people danced to. The place was furnished with only a couple of tables, a few questionable looking chairs (not that the entire place wasn't questionable) and of course, the long bar that supplied the rudimentary alcohol.
I looked at my watch inattentively, not surprised when a large noise sounded behind me, the explosion causing the place to empty quickly. I walked patiently down a small stairway, five steps in all as people rushed passed me. Screams and sounds of panic replaced the sound in the once relaxed atmosphere as I made my way to the bar to greet a familiar face: Sam Vega.
An older man, he was a local authority who had been trying to unravel the small scale drug operation before it had a chance to expand. We didn't speak long, not really having much to talk about outside of him reiterating what I've done. He warned me of the possibility of quick retaliation from the more prominent members of the drug ring, who imported their supply from international dealings.
It wasn't that I didn't appreciate his input, but he was becoming repetitive with his warnings and the hazard from being an agent was lost on me. So, after telling me about an opening flight to Miami, I nodded off to him, making my way to a sight that appealed more to me that Vega ever could. It was a woman, one of two dancers I noticed earlier and one of the few people who hadn't immediately run away after the explosion.
She wore a revealing outfit; the majority her skin showing and leaving little room to the imagination. I held her gaze, seeing the recognition shining in her eyes before she retreated up a flight of stairs. We'd met a couple of times before, when I was first getting accustomed to the area. And I admit we shared a little bit more than some choice words...and in some cases, very few words at all. But I'd at least want to give something close to goodbye before I left and never saw her again.
It was that and a reason to get rid of the pent-up energy in my system.
I entered the room quietly, taking my jacket off as I saw her getting out of the tub. I turned my head away, some part of me surprisingly still considerate despite what my true intentions for following her were.
"Don't be shy now," she said; a slight flush on her cheeks as she used one her hands to beckon me over. I smiled as I walked closer to her. The towel once wrapped tightly around her was now more than a little loose; almost threatening to fall off when she pressed herself her body into mine.
My lips formed a smile as I pressed my mouth against hers, the smell of soap and water intoxicating as she wrapped her arms around me. The proximity of our bodies the only thing keeping the towel around her and I could feel her breasts through the thick material. By familiarity, I knew they were soft and pliant; the thought making me a little more eager.
But I retreated for a second. My arms were wrapped around her waist as I backed away to look at her, enjoying the sight of her. Her face was smooth and round, with some of her hair falling over it. Her eyes were expressive; large and brown, and apparently reflecting a man approaching from behind with a knife evidently intended for me.
Though, I did enjoy the feeling of a woman in my arms, my mind wasn't completely preoccupied to the point where I missed an attempt on my life.
Acting fast, I switched our positions. Considering the fact she didn't seem too surprised, it was obvious she was aware of what was going on. I almost felt hurt at idea that she was simply using me, but didn't think much more of it when the unknown assailant pushed her aside and advanced to me; narrowly stabbing me in the chest.
Eyes widening, I dodged the assailant's knife again, backing away into a more spacious area of the room. He walked toward me slowly, as if he was trying to analyse my movements before he lunged; this time the knife getting stuck in the wall when I ducked.
I used the opportunity to take advantage of the situation, turning him around and pressing him against the wall. He hit me in the face, stunning me momentarily before I returned with a knee to his stomach.
I cursed to myself when I thought of the holster I placed on top of my jacket in the other corner of the room; the same holster that held my gun. But catching sight of something on the floor, I decided to improvise.
Grunting after he grabbed my shoulder, I steered him in the direction of the tub still full of water. I planted my feet firmly on the ground, giving him a final shove and pushing forcing him into the tub. I grabbed the electrical heater on the floor I saw earlier and quickly threw it in with the man before he had the chance to get back up.
I only turned away when I heard the sounds of his jolting body in the water and his last, laboured breaths; the smell of burnt flesh already permeating in the air. I didn't have much compassion when it came to people who tried to kill me.
Sighing heavily, I made my way to the corner of the room where my jacket was, putting on my holster first and then slipping my arms through the sleeves of my jacket. I took a glance at the woman still huddled on the floor. Having yet to move, she held the towel tightly around her and for once I didn't feel the need to help her as I made my way out of the room.
I really needed a vacation.
One week later
Miami was very nice this time of year.
The skies were that rare share of blue and the air was surprisingly clean considering how much Miami had grown in the last few years. Despite spending the last few days in a resort (one of the better perks of the job) I relaxed enough to almost be reminded of home.
Except that Texas didn't have ladies like Holly giving me one of the best messages I've ever had in my life. I don't even remember how I met her. She was German and didn't speak much English, but I didn't really mind much because touch was a universal language.
"And here?" she asked, her voice heavily accented. I was grateful she wasn't aware of the kind of power she had over me because at this point, I was pretty malleable. I can't lie and say it wasn't extremely comfortable and that I would mind spending a few more hours face down on the lounge chair with Holly's hands travelling over my back.
Honestly, I wouldn't have moved if I didn't hear a familiar voice from behind; probably one of the few people who would have actually caught my attention right now.
I gently pushed Holly's hands to the side as I sat up, a smile already on my face as I saw Warrick grinning back at me. While it was true we'd just seen each other just a few days ago, I never minded having him around because we really didn't get to see each other much outside of sharing some assignments.
"Trust you to be lying down on the job," he said, hands in his pockets as he gave a quick glance to Holly.
I felt my smile widen as I caught his reaction. He really wasn't one to judge me, considering the fact that his habits with women were even worse than mine. But my mood changed slightly when I realised what he said.
"Warrick, meet Holly," I said, nodding to the other man and then gesturing to Holly with my hand. "Holly, meet Warrick, then say goodbye."
"Hmm?" She asked artlessly and I wasn't sure she actually understood what I was saying. I ignored the fact that Warrick was raising his eyebrows at me as I took hold of her shoulder, guiding her in the opposition direction. "Male talk," I said simply as I gently pushed her away.
"Still letting them down easy, huh?" Warrick asked when Holly was out of sight; a typical smirk on his face.
I rolled my eyes and didn't bother to comment as I moved to stand beside him. "And here I thought they were actually paying for my vacation. There's always a catch, right?"
"Like they'd actually pay for you to stay at a resort without wanting you to do something," he said, scoffing at me.
"So...what are they putting me up for, now?"
"Actually, not much this time. You're supposed to be strictly observing Jim Brass."
"Never heard of him." I shrugged. "Am I supposed to meet him or something?"
Warrick gestured to a man entering into the pool area. He looked...mature; maybe in his late forties, earlier fifties with the receding hair line. He wasn't much to look at and no one who would immediate hold my attention nor was he anyone to remember by first impression alone.
"He's from the States?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"Looks kind of Irish to me."
"No, he's actually from New Jersey," Warrick replied.
"Irish ancestry, then."
"Americans always have to get the last say, don't they?"
I ignored the comment because technically he was an American, too. "So, what do I need to know about him?"
"An ex-cop gone rogue a few years back, but there was no evidence to actually prove he went to the wrong side of the tracks. It's mostly speculation as far as the books are concerned."
"And you want me to..."
"Get a feel for him; figure out what he's up to. See that man at the table Brass is walking to?" Warrick asked, nodding his head in the direction of the table where Brass was seating himself.
"Yeah, that's Ray O'Riley. He's small time wealth, nothing to brag about." Though, I knew for a fact he was Irish. And this furthered my belief that Brass had some kind of Irish history...no matter how misleading the deduction actually sounded in my head, which I was why I didn't relay the information to Warrick.
"But he's also Brass' newest victim," Warrick said as I watched O'Riley fiddle with a deck of cards, eventually deciding to deal some to Brass and himself. "This is the third consecutive week Brass has taken money from him, but it's a one-sided situation where O'Riley hasn't won at all."
"Really, now?"
"We already know Brass isn't winning his weekly hand based on skill," he said tightly, lips set in a straight line. Warrick had a general dislike for people who swindled others or just didn't play fair. It was one of the few things of his past he didn't like talking about.
"How much on the line are we talking about, here?"
Warrick crossed his arms, looking away before he chose to answer me. "...no more than fifty dollars."
If I didn't feel the hard pats on my back, I wouldn't have recognised that I was coughing. "You serious, man?" I asked him.
He nodded his head slowly. Though, I guess I really shouldn't have been surprised. These were the kinds of assignments we were always stuck with, anyway.
"You sure you want me to have all the fun?" I asked; something similar to a pleading tone in my voice because I knew I would be alone in this one. Warrick was just the messenger.
"Definitely not my type of game," he said, confirming what I already figured.
Shielding my eyes from the sun, I looked at the hotel behind O'Riley, where Brass kept glancing at periodically; his eyes darting back and forth between there and his hand while simultaneously touching his hearing aid. In general, he just looked suspicious, which was surprising since he was an ex-cop.
Warrick had the nerve to laugh when I sighed, no sympathy in his voice as he waved and began to walk away. "I'll call you later."
I smiled charmingly at the maid by the door, taking out the key that was attached to her pocket. She was pretty. Dark skin and long, wavy black hair, but she wasn't quite my type.
"But that's Mr. Brass' room," she said, clearly unsure of what to about my audacity.
"I know," I said as I gave the keys back to her; the door now open, "thank, sweetie."
I heard a soft voice as I entered the somewhat spacious room, obviously feminine but with an edge to it. She was lounging on a couch by the window, sitting by a radio and a pair of binoculars perched on the window sill. She had blonde hair with a slightly reddish tint that told me the colour wasn't natural.
"He just picked up the last eight in the deck, still stuck with the three, ten, and four," she continued into her microphone, not yet noticing my presence. "And he's waiting to make a pair with a six.
So, that's how Brass made was making his money, which meant that the hearing aid was probably a farce.
I took another step forward, seemingly the one that finally grabbed her attention as she quickly turned around.
"And just who are you?" she said sprucely, but I could see a warning glint in her narrowed eyes.
"Stokes. Nick Stokes." I said, appreciating her black bikini and what little it left to the imagination. "And you are..."
"Catherine," she said shortly.
"Catherine who?"
"Catherine Willows."
"Well, Catherine, mind if I join you?" I asked as I walked closer, not waiting for her response as I began to lean over her to turn the radio off.
She raised an eyebrow at me as she sunk further into the couch, granting me better access to the binoculars. "Go fish."
My lips curled into a smile as I looked through the binoculars, the breeze from the open window cool against the warmth caused by our proximity. I wasn't too surprised when I saw Brass and O'Riley through the lenses, or more specifically, O'Riley's cards.
Not that I understood why someone needed to cheat at his game in particular (or why someone even bothered to bet on it at all), but this did explain why Brass kept sending fleeting glances to the hotel and why he kept messing with the hearing aid.
Reaching to turn the radio back on, I took the microphone from her hand and looked through the binoculars, again. Brass was trying to tamper with the hearing aid. He probably thought it was broken.
"Listen up, Brass," I said, watching him flinch because of the feedback through the microphone. "I don't think the local authorities would be too happy if they found out what you were doing."
He stilled and I could see his hands beginning to shake in anger. "If you agree with me, nod your head," I told him, continuing to speak when he did so. "Good to see you do. Now, I want you to start losing. Let's start with...twenty dollars."
I looked to Catherine for affirmation, but she didn't say anything. "No, let's be generous. How about fifty dollars," I suggested as I looked through the binoculars, again.
"You going to let me see, too?" she asked, smirking when I made room for her to look. When she finished, she turned the radio off, leaning back on the couch to look at me.
"That'll keep him busy for a while," I said as I stood, watching her to see what her reaction was. "He doesn't seem like someone who likes losing money."
"No, he's just cheap," she said, scoffing at her own words. "Though, I think I'm actually starting to like you."
"Then, it's a good thing I already like you," I replied; because I did. Still, I wondered what someone like Catherine was doing with someone like Brass. It was obvious she didn't like him because she had little objection to what I did. But then why work for him? Unfortunately, with that train of thought, my mind went to matters of the more personal kind. "And just for the sake of curiosity," I said, "just how close are you to Mr. Brass?"
She gave me half a smile. "Not what you're thinking, that's for sure."
Not for the first time, I spent the night in my room and not with the warmth of another body beside me. Regardless, Catherine had her own suite, but I had more interest in her intellect than her appearance, anyway. Though, being easy on the eyes definitely kept my attention while we were talking.
As I walked through the hall, I ran my mind through the conversation we had last night. It turned out that Catherine was being blackmailed into working for Brass; the man extorting her on the promise that she would be able to see her daughter. I asked her how she came into the situation, but she wouldn't really divulge the details, not so subtlety telling me to "drop the subject".
I took the key out of my pocket, the extra she had given me by my request. Originally, I wanted her to stay with me because I wasn't sure of Brass' opinion when it came to disloyalty, intentional or not. But her mind was already set and she told me she could take care of herself.
Opening the door slowly, I was surprised when I didn't immediately see her. I called out her name once, twice, feeling my brow crease when I didn't receive an answer. I took my gun out and cautiously entered the room. I tried not use force when it wasn't necessary, but there was a sense of dread that developed within in me. While I haven't even known her for a day, Catherine didn't strike me as the type of woman who would let someone wander around in her space; especially if that someone was male.
As I made my way to the main bedroom, I paused, noticing the door was slightly ajar. And when I opened it further I saw Catherine lying down in her bed. She was face down and there was some kind of metallic substance covering her body. Moving closer, I noted how stiff she was and already worked out that she was dead.
I leaned down to touch her shoulder, but my fingers ended up hovering over her skin. The metallic substance looked like it was some kind of paint...brass coloured paint because it wasn't quite gold. And that's probably what killed her, then. She suffocated through her skin. It was a shame, too, because if she really did have a daughter...
I shook my head.
As much as I hated to admit it, I didn't have time to think about that now. It looked like I had to call Warrick earlier than I originally planned. I knew I was essentially to blame and I doubted this is what he had in mind when he said strictly observation.
But there was definitely more to Brass than what the higher-ups were willing to tell me.
:insert standard issue disclaimer here:
I'm honestly not willing to tell what brought me to this. Suffice to say, I couldn't deny the syllables. Come on, Nick Stokes?. And even though I'm not a huge fan of James Bond, Goldfinger was an awesome movie (from Honor, to Sean...). And I just wanted to do something silly while hopefully keeping the allusions to the actual movie and assuming the same timeline; my first attempt at some kind of parody.
The story is only four parts and mostly finished with the exception of some tweaking here or there. For those who care: yes, there will be some semblance of Nick/Greg by the third part. It was too tempting not to have Nick and Greg take Sean's and Honor's roles. But it won't be the focus of the story, because surprisingly, there is a plot to this.