Chapter Nine: Instinct
The clothes Myka found in her closet had her gulping. She didn't know what she expected to find, but after discovering dresser drawers full of an absurd amount of lace and silk, she had convinced herself it couldn't be worse. And besides, those would be covered- in theory at least.
Now looking at the clothes that hung in neat rows on black hangers, all of which seemed to be a size too small despite what their labels claimed, she wasn't so sure.
She was going through them one at a time, trying to find something that wouldn't make her blush just looking at, when there was a knock at her bedroom door. The caller didn't wait for her to answer, choosing instead to simply walk in without invitation.
Myka sighed, but it was half-hearted. None of the agents on her team ever seemed to respect the symbol of a closed door. In reality, she was lucky they had bothered to knock at all. Normally they didn't even announce their presence, or she would find them sitting on her bed waiting for her return. She supposed she shouldn't have expected that to change just because they were no longer at the New York training facility.
The steady tapping of high heels across the wood floor had her glancing with slight curiosity over her shoulder, so used to the soft thump of tennis shoes or the near silent shuffling of socked feet. What she saw had her spinning quickly around.
"I feel fucking ridiculous," Rebecca declared as she stood before Myka, hands on her hips, daring Myka to say something contrary to what she was feeling.
Myka couldn't quite recall how to form words or control her eyes as they roamed freely over her friend's form. The dangerously short, black skirt coupled with the suicide heels making her toned legs look impossibly long, the blood red button down shirt tied so her midriff was on display. Her hair fell in heavy auburn waves, tumbling around her shoulders. Her sever make-up magnifying her smirk and quirked eye brow as she watched Myka flounder for something to say.
"You have a belly button piercing." Was what finally came tripping off Myka's tongue.
Rebecca scoffed and rolled her eyes before snapping her fingers in front of Myka's face, "If you're done ogling me, I want to see what outfits the Regents have deemed practical for someone sleeping their way up the Mob food chain. So have you picked something yet?"
Myka's lip twitched in disdain when reminded of what her particular mission was, to fuck the secrets out of the mobsters, apparently. Not that she wasn't going to do everything in her power to change that to something less demeaning. Such as maybe join the Brotherhood herself. When was everyone going to stop living like they were stuck hundred years ago? Was it so crazy to have a woman in a powerful position?
"I can't believe they give the cool undercover assignments to the guys and stick us in the leather and high heels." Myka groaned before turning back to her closet.
"You got leather?" Rebecca piped up, "No way, let me see-,"
"Nuh-uh," Myka slammed her closet doors shut, blushing furiously as she used her body as a barrier between her closet and her friend, "Besides, shouldn't you be, I don't know, out turning tricks or something?"
"You're no fun," Rebecca rolled her eyes, "I just wanted to check in with you before I went out for the night, you have my number right? I don't care what they say, if you need me to back you up, I'll be there."
Pete and Myka, both assigned to MacPherson's trail, had been deemed partners. The same went for Rebecca and Jack, whose goal was to track Sykes. But Myka knew she would drop anything if any one of her team members called for help. It was nice to know some felt the same for her.
"And what about you?" Myka tried to turn the mushy feelings into normal banter, "If you get into trouble, you'll, what, stab them with a high heel?"
"No, I'm armed." Rebecca argued.
Myka couldn't help her eyes from searching over Rebecca's body once more, "Uh, where?"
Rebecca merely chuckled and turned on her heel with a wink, "I'll see you in the morning, Mykes."
"Have fun hooking!" Myka called out after her with a smile before groaning and going back to the task at hand. Surely there had to be something that wasn't too bad on her…
Steve Jinks was nervous, and he was afraid it would show in the form of soaking his uniform in sweat. The setting sun had relieved the town of some of the stifling heat, but it didn't feel that way to the under-cover agent as he pulled at the starched collar around his neck.
He glanced up at the clock for the hundredth time since sitting. It was as if the hand hadn't moved at all.
The police chief had sat him there as he checked out his story. That he was a transfer from another district. Fear was rotting in Steve's stomach that he would be found out before he could even start the job.
The chief came an unhappy scowl on his face, a heavy giant as he strode to Steve's seat, he had a blonde woman, an officer, in toe, her face no less unhappy.
"Officer Jinks," The chief finally smiled a bit, "Welcome to the force. I hope you don't mind if we start you on a shift already. You know how it is, when the temperature goes up, so does the crime rate. We'll start you on the night shift, eight to four. This is your partner." His scowl returned as he waved to the blonde.
That's when Steve realized that he hadn't been found out, the grimace wasn't for him, but rather for the woman he was with. He had done it, he had gotten the job! He was in! Steve was on his feet, hand out to her.
"Hi, I'm Steve," he shook his head, "Jinks. Steve Jinks." He swallowed.
The blonde smiled slowly as she looked him up and down before finally accepting his hand, "Sally Stokowski," her voice was dripping with honey, a southern accent softening it to deceptively sweet, "And while I must say it is a real pleasure to meet you, Stevie, I don't need a partner."
"And as I told you," The chief barked at her, "You don't have a choice, it's department policy. And as I told you last time, if you chase another one off, it won't stop us from replacing them again." He stomped off to his office without another word.
"Well," Sally turned back to her newest partner, "I guess we better get started then." She pulled her long, corn silk hair up, "I don't know what backwoods town you came from, but let me assure you, this is no small town."
Steve nodded, "Let's go then."
"Let's." She smiled before leading him off, trying to decide if this Steve Jinks would be so different from those who had to learn the hard way that she didn't play nice with others.
Jack, his hair having grown over the last few months, had slicked his hair back with a ridiculous amount of gel, allowing him to blend in well with the shady individuals crawling around his half of the city club scene.
He had dressed in a tacky silk shirt, dark jeans, and ostentatious shoes. One too many rinds adorned his fingers, and a fake Rolex encircled his wrist.
He strolled the avenue, watching carefully the dealings going on around him. It took no time at all to identify who the local dealers were and what they were selling. The clientele where interesting enough, seeing who was buying, and what certain types of people tended to buy. Business men being slipped bags of white powder, a few twitchy individuals taking off-white, nearly brown powder, teenagers and young adults seemed to favor the green stuff.
Jack scoffed, this was going to be too easy. He was authorized to make deals, and had a few bags of nearly everything being sold that night on him. But how was he going to get people to buy from him? Drug addicts were creatures of habit, they weren't going to seek out someone they didn't know.
So instead, he made himself appear as if he belonged, mimicked the stances of the dealers he saw. He put his sun glasses on, despite the only light available at the hour was the dim street laps and the flashing neon. He picked a corner, in-between a shady massage parlor and a liquor store, and leaned against it casually, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it between his lips.
Now all he could do was wait to find a contact for him.
Rebecca thought wearing what she was would make her feel degraded. But, for some reason, the dropping jaws mixed with the steady sound of her heels clicking against the pavement served as a confidence booster as she slowly gave in to the persona that had been created for her.
She walked right past Jack, who did a double take but didn't otherwise acknowledge her. She wasn't even completely sure he had recognized her. It didn't take the sting form it though, the fact that they hadn't spoken since leaving the Facility. She was trying her damnedest to not let that bother her.
God, she hated him something awful.
She had spent the last two months trying to figure out if he was a good guy pretending to be an asshole because he was uncomfortable with the situation, pretending to be an asshole because he wanted to hide what he was feeling, pretending to be an asshole because his emotional pool ran shallow, or if he was genuinely an asshole.
The latter seemed more likely now that he seemed to be avoiding her like the bubonic plague since their… well, whatever the fuck that was between them after drinking far too much their last night at the facility…
Whatever, if he was going to be so blasé about it, she was damn sure not going to let it affect her. Especially not now that she had an actual job to do.
With that thought in mind, she fixed her stride, zeroing in on the women she could see working the streets. She would need to work a special brand of charm she hadn't tried before. She needed people to want to work for her. They would still be stuck in the same shitty life, hopefully they wanted it to be a little more comfortable for them.
She popped her gum as she zeroed in on one woman. She couldn't have been older that nineteen, and from the looks of the conversation she was having with the man twice her age, she was the perfect target to flip.
She put her phone against her ear so she wouldn't look like she was talking to herself, "LANA," she let her eyes wander, seemingly aimlessly over the crowds, always reverting back to the girl and man locked in a heated conversation, "I need you to run a check on those two. Man, in his late thirties, black hair, at my two o'clock, and the girl in the animal print skirt and pink halter top."
"You've got it," Her AI chirped in his decidedly feminine voice.
When she had first been getting acquainted with her AI, she thought it odd that the computer with a female voice would identify as male. But as he pointed out for her, he was only programmed with a female voice by the hacker who wrote his code. But she had just gone with it, deciding it was up to him, and she didn't care either way.
"Zeke Killian," LANNA came through a moment later, "Thirty four, Univille citizen, arrested four times for illegal trafficking, and another five for battery and assault. No convictions. And the girl is Taylor 'Candy' Bryant, twenty. Ran away from home at sixteen, originally from Kingsbury County. Arrested twice for solicitation. No convictions."
"Can you get into hospital records for Bryant?" Rebecca asked, still looking for her angle, keeping her voice low, though no one was paying her much attention. She was blending in disturbingly well with the crowd that crawled this underbelly of the city.
"I can't get any specifics, but I can tell you she should have a bed reserved for her in the ER for the amount of times she's visited." If LANA was real, Rebecca would have thought he was shaking his head as he spoke.
"Got it," Rebecca nodded before putting the phone away, decision made.
She knew throwing herself between a prostitute and her pimp wasn't the smartest decision. But it was the only one she could think of off the top of her head, and she really hoped all those hours spent sparing with her fellow agents would pay off.
They'd given Pete an in. It was nearly as good as Jinks', but while Steve's position was a given, Pete had a more fragile chance. Where Steve was walking on a steel cable hundreds of feet in the air, Pete was shimmying his way across a stretch of floss holding him the same hundreds of feet in the air, only sharks awaited him at the bottom.
He was sitting at the back of some seedy club called Curiosity, the music blasting through the bass blown speakers muted as he sat across from three other large men in a private booth. While it definitely was not his scene, Pete was at least glad he and Myka had been placed on the north end of the strip, an area that catered more to college life and the middle class.
While he was sure there was some shady business going on around him, he was sure it was nothing compared to the night the two other undercover agents must've been having.
"So, Lattimer," the front man, Justin Hall, let his icy eyes glare through Pete, and the ex-marine had to call on all his training not to break under the pressure, "You were in the military?" he went on when Pete's only reaction to the intimidation was to call on his inner Myka and quirk an expectant eyebrow at him.
"Well, that depends on your definition of military," Pete crossed his arms, not quite used to the tight fabric of the black t-shirt stretching across his chest. He would feel much safer if he had on his Kevlar, "I never worked under a flag, but I was sent in to handle… difficult situations."
"And you left being a mercenary to join a security company?" Hall challenged.
Pete knew full well this security company was a front for MacPherson's personal army, and he was guessing the man across from him now knew Pete had that information, "What can I say? I was looking to slow down, not completely stop. Guy like me can't just retire and golf. I wouldn't know what to do with myself."
"Look, Lattimer," Hall seemed to relax, "Pete, you seem like a good enough guy, but we don't trust outsiders too easily. That being said, we don't want to give you up only to have another… security company to pick you up. So, until we can find something a bit more befitting of the skills a man such as yourself has acquired, we'll higher you on as club security. For this club. You understand?"
"I understand," Pete nodded, "But once you finally get your head out of your ass and realize you could use me for a lot more than babysitting the privileged college kids, I expect that job, how did you put it, more befitting my particular skill set." He was calling on ever badass he had seen in every movie to pull this off, but a part of him worried it wasn't going to work.
For a moment, Hall just stared at Pete, trying to read him. Whatever he saw, however, had him cracking a grin, "I like you Lattimer. What do you say you start tonight, and we'll draw up the papers for you tomorrow?" He stuck his hand out.
Pete accepted the hand shake, and the men all rose from the table together and went about normal banter with one another as they moved to their stations and Hall took Pete to the office. He wasn't so naive to think that he was out of the woods with his cover just yet.
As they had pointed out, they didn't trust easily. And this was going to be one rough trial run. Of that he was sure.
Despite having slept most of the day away so she could stay awake for the nocturnal side of the city, when three am found Myka, she was exhausted. Her feet were aching, and while the clothes she ultimately pulled from the closet were mild in comparison to the rest, she was supremely uncomfortable in them.
She had been bar and club hopping since ten, trying to get a fee for the different joints in town, seeing if she could pick out the few she suspected of being involved with the darker elements of Univille. She had only allowed herself half a drink at each stop, not near enough for her liking. Not enough to make her comfortable in her own skin, and for damn sure not enough to make her comfortable with the presence of other people.
This was it, she decided, the last club for the night. She hadn't even gone the whole strip, but if she got groped one more time, she wasn't going to be able to stop herself from doing something stupid, like breaking the poor guy's arm.
There was a different feel about this place, what was it called? She couldn't quite remember, not having bothered to look at the sign over the door. But the music was different from the last five places. Not much, but enough that it caught her off guard, and was almost a relief to her ears.
People were dancing, people were always dancing, but this too was slightly different. The patrons were moving with abandon. The atmosphere was darker, the lights less harsh, a heaviness settled over the place. Though it wasn't uncomfortable. On the contrary, this was the first establishment that Myka had walked into that she didn't want to immediately leave.
She winds her way to the bar, already deciding that, since this was her last stop, and she could have more than half a beer here. It was packed, and while people were gyrating against each other over almost every inch of the place, it was rather easy to weave her way through.
It was her luck that someone abandoned their stool as she arrived, sweaty and panting, part of her itching to join the carefree souls on the dance floor.
The bartender noticed her as soon as she walked through the doors. She had merely glanced up from the endless stream of drink orders pouring their way into her, but what she saw had her looking for a lot longer than was probably appropriate.
While the woman's tight black jeans and leather jacket helped her blend in with the crowd, something about her was setting her apart in the bar tenders mind. Something that didn't quite fit. Something intriguing.
For the time being, she had to turn her attention back to the drink orders, so she didn't realize the woman was now sitting four feet away from her.
Myka was watching the bartender move through the different drink orders with ease, never having to ask a customer to repeat an order or double check ingredients. She moved with a grace Myka though absurd to see behind a bar. Her dark hair swished with every twist and turn she made, it was what had caught Myka's attention in the first place. And now she found she couldn't take her eyes off of her.
Myka noticed, in the minutes she sat there, that drink orders came in waves, and this last one was reaching its end for the time being. So that when the woman turned almost unconsciously to one of the few remaining bodies at her bar, Myka had her full attention.
"Hello, can I fetch something for you?" Her voice sounded odd to Myka, the accent catching her off guard slightly. She was almost convinced the woman was faking it, but it was a ridiculous notion, and an even more ridiculous accent to fake, so Myka quickly brushed it off.
"Yes I need a drink," Myka smiled, finding herself trapped in the gaze of the beautiful woman behind the counter.
"I figured that's what brought you here," the woman smirked, "What would you like?"
"Hmmm," Myka made a show of letting her eyes wander to the racks of alcohol behind her, "Long island?" It was an old drink that Myka knew people used to order quite frequently in bars, but the trend had fallen out. It was a sort of test for the bartender, one Myka didn't understand why she was giving, but the challenge was clear in her gaze.
The bartender pursed her lips for a moment before pulling out a tall glass, she scooped ice into it before filling it with the four types of alcohol required, and when she stuck a straw in it and slid it to Myka, both woman were smiling at each other.
"You'll have to try a bit harder than that, darling, if you're planning on tripping me up at work." The bartender shook her head, her dark hair curtaining her face for a moment before she ran her hand through it, brushing it back with a wicked grin.
Myka took a huge gulp of her drink when the other woman was distracted with another customer. Then another. She needed the courage to flirt with the beautiful woman, she decided, taking another drink.
It was half empty when the bartender came back around.
"How's the drink,-?" she trailed off with a tilt to her head.
"Myka," she supplied.
"Emily," the other woman smiled, "So? Did I pass your little challenge?"
"For now," Myka allowed with a chuckle, enjoying the warmth the drink was offering her, "Don't take this the wrong way, Emily, but what is up with this place? I've been to a few other clubs in town but this one is…." She trailed off with the shake of her head.
"You're new to town, aren't you?" Emily's dark eyes were lit by humor as she looked over Myka slowly.
"Guilty," Myka nodded.
"Well, Instinct is different from the other pubs in town, that's for sure." Emily looked around, "The mood seems to change each night… you should see this place on Friday night."
"Maybe I will," Myka took another drink, not letting her eyes stray form Emily's as she did it, "That is, if you'll be here to accept another drink challenge from yours truly."
Emily smiled, "If the day ends with a y, I shall be here. I'm the only one who works the bar."
"Doesn't that get hectic?" Myka tilted her head.
"Terribly so," Emily nodded, "I've been meaning to get some help. Say, you wouldn't happen to know how to make any of these drinks?" Emily quirked an eyebrow.
"A few, but I am a quick study," Myka found herself leaning on her elbows, ever so closer to the bartender.
"If you'd like to pick up a few shifts with me…"
Emily's offer was interrupted when a large man stumbled into the seat beside Myka with a huff, facing her with a crooked smile that would have been endearing if not for the stench of alcohol that clung to him.
"Hey, gorgeous," He drawled to her, "You're new around here, aren't you? I mean, I work MacPherson's places, and I haven't seen you around here…"
"Kurt," Emily's voice was low with warning, something dark flashed in her eyes, so quickly that Myka wasn't all together sure she'd actually seen it.
"Having a conversation here Em," the man- Kurt- growled at her.
Emily rolled her eyes and went to the other end of the bar where a patron was hailing her.
"I am new here," Myka bit down her disappointment at the other woman's retreat, but Kurt's mention of MacPherson was the first she heard of the man that whole night, "And I thought this place was Instinct, not MacPherson's…?" Myka trailed off, doing her best to sound ditzy.
"Oh, sweetie," he drunkenly shook his head, "Every club is MacPherson's, he owns the strip." He hiccupped, "But enough about my stuffy boss, let me buy you a drink."
"I would really like that, but," Myka let her hands drift over Kurt's arm, swallowing the disgust she felt at the contact, "I'm working," she hoped up onto the bar before sliding over to the opposite end with a wink at a chuckling Emily.
Kurt smiled at her, ignoring the subtle brush off, "I guess that mean's I can catch you here later then?"
"Of course." Myka nodded.
As Kurt sauntered away in search of another target, Emily sidled up next to Myka, "I see you've decided to accept my offer then?"
Myka suppressed the shutter that threatened her when Emily's breath brushed over her neck, and instead, turned with a flirty smile, "Girls' gotta make a living? Why not have fun while you're at it?"
"I guess I'll need your full name then, and phone number then," Emily took a step so she was in Myka's personal space, "If I'm going to be making checks out to you, I mean."
"Bering," Myka's voice was lower than she meant it to be, so she had to clear her throat and repeat it, "Myka Bering." She stuck her hand out, blaming the alcohol she'd consumed for her dizziness.
""Emily Lake," she accepted the hand, though she held it for longer than necessary, and the women stood staring at each other until patrons calling for drinks pulled them out of their small world.
Emily winked at Myka and set her loose on the customers.
"Oh boy," Myka huffed, knowing as she shot her new boss' stellar figure one more fleeting glance, that this undercover job might just have a few perks she wasn't counting on, before turning to the impatient customers, "What can I get you?"