Chapter One
Darnell rubbed sweat from his brow, taking a moments rest under the burning Los Angeles sun, looking around the docks. His eyes kept wandering back to John and Michael, talking quietly in the midst of all the noise. Every now and then, John would point at another worker, and say something to Michael. Sometimes the two would talk briefly. Often Michael would nod and make a note in a grubby, dog eared notebook.
He flexed his shoulders, trying to work the stiffness out of them. They were picking the team to work on the next shipment. He kept glancing at them out of the corner of his eye, wondering if they had considered him yet. He had to get himself on that team. The case needed it.
"Hey Darnell! Could you give us a hand here?"
"Sure!" He ran over to the side of the barge, bracing himself against the ridge of the dock. Sliding his hands underneath the crate. "Easy now. Just let me get a grip on this sucker. Easy." He tightened his hands around it, feeling the rough wood cut against the calluses on his hands, the nails cold against the damp sweat on his palms. "Ready? Okay, 1, 2, 3. Lift."
He straightened his knees, grunting with the effort, careful to keep his back straight. He took the strain for a second while Jim adjusted his grip. Then Darnell glanced over his shoulder and started to walk backwards, keeping the pace nice and slow.
The damn crate was heavy.
He could feel the sweat trickle out of his hair, dripping past the bandana. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his eyes.
Then Jim slipped, just at the edge of the barge, his hands losing their grip on the crate.
"Fuck!" Darnell staggered backwards, trying to keep his grip, feeling it slip from his fingers. He heard Jim swear, heard pandemonium break out at the docks, his muscles tensing as the crate started to overbalance, fall from his tenuous hold.
Strong hands caught it, steadied the load.
"Shit, this fuckers heavy!"
"Hurry the fuck up!" Darnell tried to move, tried to give Michael a better place to grip. He could feel his arms starting to ache, his muscles driven off balance by the sudden shift in momentum. "I don't know how much longer I can hold this fucking thing."
"Just a second." Michael fumbled, for a second longer. Then the pressure and load on Darnell eased. "There. Got a grip on the fucker."
"Where are we going with this, boss?"
"Just back and to your left." Michael gestured with his head, sweat beading across his own brow. "Just into that warehouse. Yeah, that one."
Darnell, looking over his shoulder, guided the load towards the warehouse. He pushed the door open with his foot, manoeuvring to let Michael slide easily through the door. "Where do we put this?"
"Just put it down in the corner. Fucking carefully, now. That fucking asshole nearly got you both in the shit."
Darnell eased the load down, watching the concentration in Michaels' face. He pressed his hand against the small of his back, grateful to be out of the sun.
"You okay man?"
"Yeah." Darnell grimaced as he stretched. "I just strained myself a little when that fucking nimrod let it slip. I'll be okay."
Michael smiled, glanced at the door and then took a step closer to Darnell. "Listen man, are you busy later?"
"No, not really." Darnell was careful not to let his excitement show in his face. "Supposed to meet my girlfriend at about ten, but nothing before that."
"Bunch of us are going for a beer in Haddocks. You wanna join us? I got a little extra business, and I like to push some of it on to the dock crew."
"Sure."
"This guy is a real dick."
Heather put the file down on her bed and walked to her dresser, towelling her hair dry. She sat down in front of her mirror, pressing her fingers against her cheekbones. "How do I want to play this?"
She stretched out behind her, managing to reach the file and lifting it by her fingertips. "He's married." She scanned another few lines. "Fifteen years. No mention of either of them straying, at least not in the gossip pages." She put the file down and stared at herself in the mirror. "So. Sexy, professional, yet just out of reach." She smiled at her reflection, knowingly coy. "Maybe."
"So enthusiastic and helpful, but not too enthusiastic. Not too much make up either, fresh faced. Professional, and skilled rather than a whore." Heather frowned, watching her forehead crease. "I hate to admit this, but Lily would probably have been a better choice for this." She smoothed cream across her skin, watching as the blotches and imperfections faded away.
She loved this part of the job. Getting ready, slipping into the role.
Satisfied with her make up, she walked across her room to her wardrobe. She looked at the clock, making sure that she still had time to get cross town and meet her new boss. It would not do to be late on her first day.
"So, trouser suit or skirt?" She lifted both out of the wardrobe. Holding first one, then the other against her body in front of the mirror. "I think the skirt." Even her voice had changed, slipping into the mannerism of the character. She tried to pretend that she wasn't talking to herself. "I don't want him groping me from the very start." She looked at the photo and shivered. "But I do want him to notice me."
She held the skirt against her again and nodded. "The skirt it is. And I have a nice blouse and blazer that'll complete the outfit." She started to dress, checking her appearance in the mirror as she did, making sure that they looked the part.
Her cellphone, lying on top of her bedside dresser, started to ring, while she was choosing shoes. She picked it up, looked at the number and pressed the answer button.
"Hey Joe."
"Heather? I barely recognised your voice. I like the accent."
"Thanks. One of my better efforts." She crouched down, lifting a pair of sandals out. She looked at them for a second, then put them back.
"You okay? Ready for your first day?"
"Yeah, I'm just trying to pick shoes."
"That's good, your ride's going to be there in about five minutes."
"My ride?"
"I booked you a cab. Marvin's the driver. He's another one of our guys. If you need to get information to me. Phone…you got a pen?"
"Just a second." She flicked open her diary and lifted a pen. "Fire away."
"077196775538, and ask for Marvin." Joe's voice was slurred around his cigar. "Means you can get information to me, even if you cant get near a phone."
"Good plan."
"Keep your phone on anyway, you hear me? Be careful." Joe broke the connection.
She heard a horn beep outside her apartment. She looked out and saw an LA cab. She raised her hand, then grabbed a pair of shoes and hurried out the door.
Joe hung up the phone, setting his cell phone down on his desk. Resting his aching head in his hand. Resisting the temptation to rub his burning eyes.
He hadn't slept much.
He'd spent his time looking into the Church of the Repentant Sinner, reading over Tim's files. The more he read about the organisation, the more convinced he became that Tim was right. The Church of the Repentant Sinner was wrong and needed to be taken down.
The more frightened he became.
Sweet Jesus, he was sending Lily into this?
What had he been thinking when he had agreed to take this case? When he had let her talk herself into taking this role?
When he had talked her into doing it?
He shook his head angrily. Trying to banish the dark thoughts. She was good, maybe even good enough to pull this off. Darnell had had his doubts about her, about her stomach for the work. But she had been good recently.
She might be good, but she was only a fucking kid.
This was one play where he needed control. Needed control to keep his agent safe.
He picked up his desk phone and dialled Tim's number. Drumming his fingers against his desk in impatience.
"Hello?"
"Tim? It's Joe."
"Joe." He could imagine Tim, suddenly alert, sitting upright in his chair. "Did you talk to your agent?"
"I did."
"And?"
"And she's prepared to play the role."
"That's fantastic, Joe. This could really make the case…"
"Lets get the ground rules clear, Tim. It's your case, but it's my agent. I get control of the play book, I make the decisions, especially when it gets too hot for her."
"I want to be there for the briefings."
"No way. They know your face, Tim. I'm not going to put my agent at risk for your pride. I give you my word that I'll give you anything relevant."
"And that's the deal is it Joe?"
"That's the deal."
"Well I don't have a choice, really do I?"
"Mr Mulholland?" Heather extended her hand. "I'm Julie Carson. I'm your new assistant."
His handshake was cool and dry. "Hello, Ms Carson." He pointed at the seat on the other side of his desk. "Please. Have a seat."
Heather sat down on the edge of the seat, pretending to rearrange her skirt. Knowing his eyes were fixed on her legs.
When she looked up, his eyes, cold and impassive were fixed on her face. She fought against the urge to shiver.
"Welcome to the team." His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, still fixed on her appraisingly.
"Pleased to be a part of it sir."
"Has anybody explained your duties to you?"
"Not yet sir."
His eyes didn't leave her face. "You'll have normal secretarial duties, typing and so forth. But you'll also have responsibility for my diaries, both professional and personal."
Heather nodded once. "I understand."
"This is a busy office, Ms Carson." He threw his pen on the desk. "I know what you think of me, what the papers say about me. That I'm nothing but a small time loser politician. Isn't that what you think of me?"
"Sir, I assure you…"
He waved his hand irritably. "It doesn't matter what they say about me now. It's all going to change in a few years. It's going to take a lot of work and some time, but I really think we can make a difference."
Heather knew political bullshit when she heard it. She also knew the right answer. "I'm sure we can sir."
She knew she'd said the right thing when he smiled, his eyes lighting up for the first time. He stood up. "Come on. I'll introduce you to the rest of the team."
"Darnell! Over here!"
He raised his hands to acknowledge Michael's greetings and started to thread his way through the crowds in Haddocks. The smell of cheap, strong booze and cheaper stronger cigarettes filled the air and the crowded bar, making his eyes water. He gritted his teeth, trying to hold the smell at bay.
Michael, John and three others from the crew where there. Darnell slide into the only free seat.
"You want a beer?"
"Sure."
Michael poured him a glass of beer from the pitcher. Darnell lifted it to his lips, nearly gagging on the sour smell. He moistened his lips politely with the beer, swallowing a mouthful. Then set his glass back down. He needed his wits about him tonight.
Michael topped up everybody else's glasses, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I got some more overtime."
This provoked a chorus of whoops and high fives around the table. Darnell sat back in his seat, painting a confused look across his face.
Michael caught his expression. "Look Darnell, it's easy. We just unload all the crates and then transfer them onto a lorry. Quick and easy." He light a small, black, ugly cigarette, and blew an unpleasant smoke ring across the table. "And its $300 a piece for two hours work, max. Easy money."
Darnell let his eyes widen. "That easy?"
"That easy." Michael took his cigarette out of his mouth, watching it burn down. "Look there's no pressure Darnell But I need to know now. Are you in or not?"
Darnell lifted his beer. "I'm in."
The End of Chapter One