Spencer : Unpleasant Truths

I really hated Kyla right now. There was a huge bump at the back of my head, preventing me from getting a good night's sleep. Not to mention the splitting headache and constant dizziness I felt. Chelsea had suggested I go have it checked out, but would it be surprising if I mention that I don't follow orders that well? I don't know why I like to punish myself like that. Surely by now I'd realize every instruction I dismissed had consequences? One day I'd be caught up in a bad consequence and probably hate myself for it.

"Officer Carlin, are you following?"

What?

I looked up at Paula, the blank look on my face spurring on the repugnance she radiated towards me.

"Sergeant Lewis, I suggest in future, if we get high profile cases like these again, I want to screen the officers that you plan to put undercover. I cannot work with – "

"Special Agent Montanio, I can assure you that Officer Carlin is one of our best," Chelsea defended me angrily. I felt so bad for putting her in this position every single time. "She's gone through great lengths last night to get this intel, and despite my instructions to get the head injury checked out, she is here right now. So can we please continue?"

Wow. I've never heard Chelsea lose her temper like that before. I felt partly guilty for driving her insane. The other part, not so much. Special Agent Paula needed to chill. Just a little.

"Very well," Paula agreed. She threw me a dirty look and started pacing the kitchen. Yeah, we were at the house-turned-headquarters again. It never ceased to amaze me how many people were positioned here, yet I was the only one making progress. And Paula wanted to give me shit? What about Mr. Douchebag Patrick over there, who was already a detective in our department, but couldn't even come up with structured sentences, never mind leads to this case? It annoyed me so much that he was here. With us, in the kitchen. I couldn't remember extending an invitation.

"My superiors are flying in from D.C. the day after tomorrow, and I need something to show them. Now; we have a garage full of cars, automatic weapons, and dare I even mention hundreds of boxes of sound systems and TV's? Each member of Carmen's crew has rap sheets against them, and they all sport general psychotic behavior, taking in consideration what you've told me about last night and your previous encounter with them. So tell me why we shouldn't move in on Carmen Mendez right now?"

I stared at Paula, wondering if she was for real. "Because all we have is behavior! Don't you think we should get some hard evidence? Because what we have now is just circumstantial eviden – "

"What we have is probable cause. And truckers arming themselves planning to take this situation into their own hands." I wondered for a moment if Paula had bought her position as a Special Agent, or if she'd actually gone through all the years of training all the normal people did, including maybe school, to you know, grow some common sense?

Chelsea knew me well. Before I could voice my opinion, she changed the subject. "Tell me more about Glen, Carlin?"

I sighed and leaned back against a tall cupboard, careful not to rest my head against it. "Glen's still working on the engines for the cars, but the tires don't match." It would've been the bust of a lifetime. I could still see myself stepping up onto a stage to be commended for single-handedly cracking this case by scoping out the cars of all these crazy street racers.

"And what about Kyla Davies?" Chelsea calmly persisted.

Another sigh. This headache was killing me. "Well, I told you, I think she's too controlled for this. She's heavy into the whole street credibility thing and her father's name, they're a tight-knit family. She doesn't seem like the kind who would jeopardize that."

Patrick spoke up. "I think the kid's sister is blurring your perspective a little." Oh, no you didn't…

"What did you just say?" My blood was boiling. How dare he bring Ashley into this?

"Just saying, Carlin. I'd get off on those surveillance photos too."

What the fuck?! I didn't even think of consequences – sound familiar? – when I jumped forward and pushed Patrick for all it was worth. After all, I had some muscle in me. He was just a dainty little detective who probably stopped going to the gym decades ago. Patrick crashed to the floor, and Paula stepped in between us. Chelsea grabbed my shoulders from behind. Shit. What a fucking great day this is turning out to be.

"Carlin! Knock it off!" Chelsea yelled at me. She turned me to face her. "Are you going native on me, Spencer?"

I looked her in the eyes, pleading to let it go. They were partly right, but my head was on the case. I would not jeopardize my job, my life, for a girl. Stop lying to yourself, Spencer Carlin.

"Have you read the Davies' sisters file lately, Carlin?" Chelsea asked, turning her attention away from me. She had to clean up my mess again, as usual. Paula looked quite pleased with my misbehavior. Shit.

"Yeah, I've got it memorized." I looked over at Patrick, daring him to open his mouth again. I could so take him down. Wanker.

"Well, read it again," Chelsea suggested calmly. "Wait, no, actually, take a look at these." She grabbed a manila envelope and pulled out some photographs. "Remember I told you about the guy Davies nearly beat to death?"

I nodded, not sure where she was going with that.

Chelsea dropped the photos on the kitchen counter, one by one. "Ashley Davies did this with a torque wrench. 'This too controlled for the Davies' for you?"

I gasped. The guy really looked terrible. It was painful for me to look at the photos and believe that the girl who I had such a big crush on, did that. Was Ashley really capable of something like that? Was I going to have to take my gun on our date? Fuck, the date! I suddenly felt extremely nauseous.

How did I allow this to happen? How did I allow myself to get emotionally involved? How did the guys do it? How did cops do undercover work for years and not allow themselves to get attached to people, their lives, their circumstances? Honestly, how did they do it?!

The truth of what I had to do was staring me right in the eyes. And it hurt to think about it. I was going to have to use Ashley to get more information – on Kyla, on herself, their entire history, and their crew. Somebody was bound to make a mistake in their story somewhere. I just hoped it wouldn't be me.

"I need a few more days."

I had resolved to set aside all my feelings towards the Davies' and their extended family, and treat the night strictly like the undercover cop I was.

"So uh, I heard you've got big plans tonight?" Kyla hinted kindly.

I was taken aback. I finished up connecting wiring to the left headlight of the Toyota Supra, and finally looked up at her. "Yeah, we're going out to dinner."

"If you break her heart, I'll break your neck." She kept smiling but I could tell she was dead serious.

By now I knew that Kyla wasn't joking. I was concerned, because I knew things were going to get bad real soon, but I tried not to think about it. Detective Badge… you can do this … "That's not gonna happen." I confirmed with a straight face.

Kyla kept her eyes on me for a moment, then put her tools down. "Come on, I want to show you something."

She was acting quite strange today. But I tried not to read too much into it. Things have really not gone that well for me, and I knew that I was in trouble. I followed Kyla outside, and she gestured for me to get into her car.

It was a short drive back to their house. Kyla seemed to know LA quite well with all the back streets she'd taken. We pulled into the driveway, and Kyla continued onto the path right to the back of the house, and parked in front of a shed. My heart leaped at what I saw when she opened the door.

It was Raife Davies' 1970 Dodge Charger, in all its glory. He had only been photographed with this car, never raced it.

"I helped my dad build this car. It's a beast."

I could hear a trace of sadness in Kyla's voice. I wondered what made her bring me here. It seemed like a sacred place for her, and I suddenly felt humbled to be included in this. Focus, Carlin.

"He'd taken her for a couple of drag tests. Best record 9 seconds flat."

I was stunned. That was close to impossible to achieve. "Have you?" I gestured to the car. "Driven her?"

Kyla shook her head, wiping across the side, collecting dust on her fingers. "I'm too scared." It took a moment for her to recollect herself. "That's him, right there," she said finally, pointing up to a picture on a wall covered with newspaper clips of all his races. "I remember the day like it was yesterday… It was a big race, last of the season. He was coming around the final hairpin bend, and this guy named Peter came up from the inside. Clipped his bumper and pushed him into the wall at 120 miles per hour. Ashley and I watched my dad burn to death. He never had a chance."

I remember reading up about the death of Raife Davies. I couldn't even begin to imagine how his daughters must have felt to have witnessed that. My heart went out to Kyla for sharing that day with me.

"I-Ashley saw Peter about a month later; he came by the garage to offer condolences. She grabbed a wrench, and she hit him. She was so broken, she couldn't stop. By the time she was done she couldn't move. He uh, his kids look after him now. He can't support his family anymore."

Chelsea's words regarding the Davies' and self-control echoed in my mind. But listening to the story from Kyla, it put things into a different perspective. I wished I could run to Ashley and hold her.

"She was only 18 years old. Old enough though to go to prison and not juvie – spent two years serving her time there. It's changed her. My dad's death changed her. Sometimes I really worry about the person she'd become. It's like she's living in a shadow of the person she used to be."

I could understand that. Of course significant life events like that would change people. But Kyla should be grateful that Ashley was trying to make good by going to college and almost graduating. She was a hard worker and wanted to live an honest life. Or was I just blinded by what I wanted to see?

Spencer Carlin, you are in so much trouble…