Chapter Two: Baptism by Fire, Part 2
While Max filled the DI and Sgt Stone in on his findings this morning, I was allowed to get comfortable behind my desk and meet the rest of CID. My desk was right by the entrance and directly opposite DI Manson's office. It wasn't the prime of locations, but I could live with it. Or I would have been able to, if it wasn't for the fact I could see the looks Sgt Stone kept sending me whilst I tried to make my desk a little more like mine.
"So you're the newbie," a thoroughly Essex accented voice greeted me. It belonged to blonde haired guy with a cheeky grin – definitely the most welcoming greeting I'd had yet.
"Alas, that title now falls on my shoulders," I agreed, settling back into the chair. It gave a very loud squeak, and I shot bolt upright at the noise, much to the amusement of guy in front of me.
"Yeah, that chair's broken," he admitted. "I wouldn't lean back on it if I were you."
"Only because you broke it, Mickey," a female called over.
Mickey turned around to face her, his hands in the air. "I think you will find Terry had a hand in that one," he told her.
The man I presumed to be Terry, looked over from the other side of the room, clearly trying not to smile. "I think you will find, Mickey, that you managed to break that one all by yourself."
The woman laughed and walked over to me, offering her hand. "Stevie Moss," she informed me. "And don't worry. We do have a new one ordered, but it's not supposed to arrive before the end of the week. We weren't expecting you so soon."
"Don't lean back on the chair," I noted. "Check." I took her hand and shook it. This was certainly the friendly welcome I had hoped for. "Cheryl," I told them. "And I was asked down earlier because of a 'big case' you were working on."
Stevie pulled a face. "Oh, we might have wrapped that one up last night."
I shrugged. "It happens."
"So," Mickey started, perching on the edge of my desk and playing with a stapler which was sat on it. "You know what's going on in there?" he asked, nodding his head at the DI's office.
I glanced around, caught Sgt. Stone staring at me, and then quickly looked back at Mickey. "Something big?" I offered. "I wasn't really privy to the information."
"Sorry about that," Mickey told me.
I pulled a face at him. "Why are you apologizing? I've had a few informants in the past, and I know how untrusting they can be."
"He's not apologizing for the informant," Terry told me.
"Do I want to know?" I asked, warily. I know I shouldn't judge people on other people's opinions, and gossiping probably isn't the best start, but hey, I'm human.
"I'm sure she will find out soon enough," another new voice told me. "Grace Dasari," she smiled, taking the desk opposite. She looked up at Mickey. "Don't you have something to do?" she asked him.
Mickey gave me another cheeky grin and meandered over to his own desk. I turned my attention back to personalising mine. And by personalising, I mean, pulling out a small passport sized photograph and sticking it to the monitor. It was a photograph of a fourteen year old girl called Hayley.
Back at Manchester I worked with the Abusive Images Unit. I was part of the newly established task force developed to combat child pornography. It sounded like such a brilliant thing to start off with, but in the end, I had to get out. I mean, one of the major things I did was trawling chat rooms, and there's only so many conversations a person can have with an 'eleven year old', let me tell you. It got very depressing, to the point that, after spending ten or more hours a day on a computer, I didn't want to come home to one. So I sold my laptop.
Anyway, Hayley was part of the reason I left. She was chatting with a boy in a chat room, only he wasn't a boy. He was a registered sex offender, who met her and abducted her. I spent six months trying to find her, until she was found, dumped on a scrap of land in Barnsley. She had been left for dead, but the girl is a fighter. You'd think that a happy ending wouldn't result in a transfer to the other end of the country, but I'd had enough of this specialist area. Her picture I keep as a reminder.
The door to the DI's room burst open and DI Manson strode out, Max behind him with a handful of papers. I kept my eyes on those two, ignoring the fact that Sgt. Stone was standing behind me. I mean, seriously, could he not see how mortified I was? I think it was clear that neither of us were expecting a lifetime commitment from each other when we'd ended up in bed, and I think it was also clear that my red face meant I didn't want to talk about it. So why wouldn't he just back off and let me die of embarrassment in peace?
"Right, listen up," Max suddenly spoke up. I had been watching him stick mug shots on the wall, but hadn't really been paying attention. "This is Owen and Philip Wright."
"The Wright Brothers?" Mickey, asked, surprised.
Max nodded. "I have it on good authority that they are about to get their hands on 200k of coke and plan on using their little strip club as a cover for dealing."
"Yeah, but they won't let us get anywhere near them," Mickey told him. "We've been breathing down their necks for months on prostitution charges, and they've got their defences up."
"Which is why we're going to use uniform," Neil told him.
I tuned out. I should have listened (another mistake I was racking up at this point), but I could make out Sgt. Stone's outline just to my side again, and I was spending more time focusing on that. It wasn't until Max mentioned my name that I suddenly started paying attention again.
"... Likes her. He's already got Cheryl a job and no one down here recognises her. It's win win."
I blinked. "Doing what?" I blurted out.
"Relax," Max told me. "It's just bar work."
"The main aim isn't to get the girls for dealing, but to find out where the Wright Brothers are getting their drugs from, and when this next shipment is due," Neil added. "We will keep our presence up regarding the prostitution using the officers the club is familiar with, whilst anyone else uniform can spare will be there as customers to offer support."
Great. Life was getting better. Not only had one of my colleagues seen me naked, it seemed that the rest of them were going to witness me wearing very little. I slumped back into the chair, already forgetting Mickey's warning, and found myself continuing to fall backwards into the shelving unit behind me, to the nice accompanying soundtrack of that awful screech. And if everyone wasn't looking at me then, the few books that decided to come crashing down around me, certainly got their attention.
"Kill me now," I said, loud enough for everyone to hear, as I lay there, staring up at the ceiling.
"Cheryl? Are you alright?" I heard Neil call over to me.
I stuck my hand in the air and gave him a thumbs up. "Just waiting for the floor to swallow me up," I called back. A hand appeared in front of my face. Figuring there was nothing else I could do to successfully humiliate myself in front of him, (and boy, was I wrong about that), I took his hand.
As I suspected, everyone was staring at me when I finally found myself upright. "Is there anybody in here who didn't see that?" I asked hopefully. At the lack of response, I sighed and slumped back into the shelves. "Great," I muttered. "Let's see how well I do with pint glasses." Max had continued with his briefing at this point, so the only person who heard me was Sgt. Stone. He didn't look at me, but he did clear his throat in an attempt to stop the laughter.
"What will it be?" I asked Max.
Marty had arranged the job for me, and Owen was expecting me when I arrived at Fantasy. He'd introduced me to Kandi, who was the person in charge of the girls. She seemed nice enough, but a little suspicious.
"Why are you in London?" she asked me.
I sighed. "To see my son."
Her expression lightened. "Your son?"
"He lives with his father," I lied. "I got into a bit of trouble in Manchester," I told her. "He took custody and moved back here. I followed him down here."
"What kind of trouble?" she asked me, the suspicion back.
"Drugs," I admitted. "But I'm clean now. Six months sober."
"And you think you can stay sober?" she asked me.
I shrugged. "I've got to if I want to be able to see my son. Regular drug testing is part of the requirement."
After that, she was fine with me. Apparently, she was in a similar situation.
She provided me with my 'uniform'. It was gorgeous, don't get me wrong, but it was underwear. Whereas the strippers all had a character to play, the bar girls all wore a similar outfit. Mine was green. A beaded corset that Kandi had had to lace up at the back for me. The bust area dipped quite low, but was mercifully quite modest, the green barely showing behind the black lace. The central panels were the opposite – the green silk much more visible underneath the thinner lace, before the bottom matched the top, flaring out. It even came with a pair of black shorts, which, although figure hugging (and I was eternally grateful for my mountain biking hobby), were long enough for me not to feel completely uncomfortable. The stockings I wasn't overly bothered with, but the four inch heels? I'm already five-eight. I didn't need to be six foot.
"A bottle of Becks, please love," Max replied.
I wasn't surprised to see him there. Apparently he had given the Wright Brothers a wide berth, so they had no idea who he was. Marty was also trying to give him an 'in' as an extra member of security.
I grabbed the bottle, snapped the top off and placed it in front of him.
"Thanks," Max said. He pulled a note out of his pocket, and then he had the audacity to lean over and stick it in my top. "I knew you'd have a good set of legs on you," he muttered. He stood upright as he was joined by Marty. "Keep the change," he told me, brightly.
I turned my back and stalked over to the till. He could have his change back, and I knew exactly where he could stick it as well.
"Smile," Kandi told me. "You're in a strip club. It's normal for money to be stuck down your top."
"He just gives me the creeps," I muttered.
"You go do some table service for a while," she told me, sympathetically. Or maybe it was that she was up for the extra tips from Max, who remained at the bar.
I'd been here for a week now. And it wasn't too bad, really. Max had been in daily, so even though he wasn't my favourite person in the world, it was nice to see a familiar face. Stevie and another detective, Banksy had been in, but accompanied by two uniformed officers as they did a spot check for under agers.
A week and I was getting nowhere. I hadn't seen a speck of white powder, or mention of anything. The only thing I could confirm was that a few of the stripping girls were doing a little more than stripping in the private rooms upstairs.
According to Max, who was less than pleased with my lack of information, Philip, the brother who was in charge of the drugs side of the business, was away in Liverpool. He'd been there since I started, so it wasn't that I wasn't trying.
I stepped out from behind the bar and walked straight into Philip. Obviously, he was back. Owen had the whole Jason Statham bad boy look about him, where as Philip resembled more of a Josh Hartnett, however, I had already been warned that it was Philip I was to watch out for.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"Cheryl," I told him. "I'm sorry, but only staff are allowed back her."
He glared at me for a moment, before smiling. "I own this place. I'm allowed." I stared at him, giving him my best dubious impression. The smile turned into laughter. Suddenly, he grabbed my arm and pulled me out into the club area, leading me to the bar. "Hey, Kandi," he called across the bar.
Kandi hurried over. "Yes, Philip?"
"You hiring new security?" he asked her, his hand still clamped around my arm. I was certain he wouldn't try anything with so many people in the place, but that didn't stop my heart beating a million miles a minute.
"Cheryl?" she asked him.
I tried not to roll my eyes. I may look harmless and defenceless, and whilst I wasn't about to suddenly bust out with some impressive kung fu moves, I could take care of myself.
"She tried to stop me from going in the back," he continued.
"I didn't know who you were," I told him, lying defensively.
He laughed. "And you keep that attitude up," he told me, pulling out his wallet and extracting a crisp fifty pound note from it. Thankfully, he didn't repeat Max's moves but instead, placed it in my hands. He let me go, and wandered over to Max and Marty.
"Looks like you made a good impression," Kandi told me. "Now keep it up. There's a table over there without drinks."
I headed over to the table she was referring to, ready to take their order, but the girl on the pole completely diverted my attention to her. She was doing a move that seemed completely and utterly, physically impossible. It was impressive, don't get me wrong, and I was completely in awe.
Someone clearing their throat drew my attention away from the acrobatics and I glanced down. "Of course," I muttered. It was Sgt. Stone. Who else would it be? He was seated with two other men – I knew they were officers, as I vaguely remembered passing them in the station – but their names had yet to be told to me. It had been a case of, introductions in CID then straight to the bar.
"Cheryl?"
I turned, and found Kandi waiting for me. "I'm just about to take their order," I assured her.
She shook her head. "You made quite the impression on Philip. He wants you to serve his table. I'll take care of these guys," she told me.
I walked away, not looking behind me, feeling exceedingly relieved to have escaped that one. It was the first time any of those three men had entered the club, so I had been doing well at avoiding him, especially as I hadn't been able to get to the station much.
Philip was deep in conversation with Max and Marty when I arrived at their table in the back of the club. I took their order, dropped the drinks off and I was ready to head in the back to restock the ice. Somebody grabbed me and pulled me to one side.
I nearly screamed, but Max quickly hushed me. "What the hell are you doing?" I hissed at him.
"The drugs are coming in tomorrow night," he whispered back at me. "I need you-"
"Look, I'm sorry, but you're not allowed back here," I said loudly.
Max frowned, but then, stoked the side of my face. "I was hoping we could go somewhere a little more private," he told me.
"What's going on here?" Philip asked, appearing behind Max.
Max turned to him and shrugged. "I like your girl. I was hoping we could go somewhere a little more private before we had to disappear."
"What you're implying is illegal," Philip pointed out.
"So are a lot of things that I do," Max retorted.
Philip grinned and looked at me. "Take Mick upstairs," he told me, after ushering Max back into the club.
"I don't understand," I muttered, uncomfortably.
"Mick wants a private showing," he said, as if it was completely normal. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you get paid for it," he added.
"I'm just a bar maid," I pointed out, my voice a little higher in pitch than I wanted it to be.
He pushed me back against the wall, his hands clamped on my shoulders as he leant down to speak into my ear. "Not in this club, you're not. And if you want to keep your job, you'll do as I say," he threatened. He stepped back, straightened his tie, and stared at me, waiting.
You have no idea how much I wanted to tell him to stick his job. I made to move past him, refusing to meet his eye, but he grabbed my arm again. "You should know, we have cameras in there."
I yanked my arm free and stormed back into the club, trying to pull myself together. Kandi must have seen me, because she intercepted me before I could make it to the stairs. "Are you alright?" she asked me.
I nodded.
She looked over my shoulder, spotting Philip, before looking over her own and seeing Max. "He wants you to take him upstairs," she realised, putting two and two together.
"Are there really cameras?" I asked her. A tiny part of me – the police part of me – wanted to know for the sake of evidence. The large part of me wanted to know so that there was no record of this ever taking place.
"There is," she admitted. "But it doesn't record."
"Well why are they in there?" I yelped.
If I didn't think life could get any more embarrassing, it did. I was upstairs in a room, alone with Max, literally, dancing in his lap. "If you tell anyone about this," I told him. "I will kill you."
"You do realise you're threatening a superior, don't you?" he asked me.
"I honestly don't care," I told him.
"I won't say anything," he promised. "But I don't understand why you're so against doing this, and yet, you don't seem to be stopping."
"Because there's a camera over your shoulder," I told him, through gritted teeth.
"Fine," he nodded. "Just keep on dancing. I'm in with Philips, but he wants me with the money at a separate drop to the coke. I need you to find out where the drugs are going to be. You think you can do that?"
I stepped back and slowly began undoing the ribbon on the corset. "Keep your eyes on mine," I growled at him, very slowly.
"Relax," he told me. "I'm about to walk out of here anyway. It's going to be easier to give you a microphone if you're still wearing clothes and can hide it." He got up, pulled out a few twenties and stuck them down my corset, along with the microphone. "Get that in Philip's office."
He disappeared, and I sank into the seat he had been in, my head sinking into my hands. I was getting in way over my head on this one. Suddenly feeling the need to get some fresh air, I quickly fastened the corset back up and dashed out of the room. The corridor led back into the club, but hurried through it, and out into the back alley, ducking down between the dustbins to catch my breath.
Wow! I am surprised at how many of you are actually reading this - thank you so much. I have to admit, this is really the first thing I've ever really written, aside from stuff at school, a zillion years ago, and reports at work so I never really expected anyone to like this. I have ideas to cover the next seven or so chapters, much of it written out during my lunch break and journey to and from work. That being said, if there's anything anyone wants to see, I will certainly consider it - especially if it's ideas for cases! - and I am open to the ideas of certain pairings too. ")
PCJAL - While I get used to writing, I will be sticking with it being mainly from Cheryl's POV, mainly because she's mine and I can't really write her wrong. The amount of times I have re-written most of this - I'm not quite confident to get in the heads of other characters. I love that show too! Thank you for your review!
RH lover 11 - Yay, i'm glad you like her! Yeah, I know how you feel. It's a Tuesday night and I have nothing to do anymore. "(
133 - ") Thank you! I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long!
DarknessDeadly - I'm glad you like. Watching the best show in the world, and then trying to write the characters is two completely different things!