Undercovers Detective Ch. 02

JANINE

Janine poured the contents of her Louis Vuitton bag out on the bedspread, adding a layer of loose tobacco to the embroidered design. She always carried an extra vial of crystal meth to get her through the next job, but those damn vice squad guys busted her connection. She hadn't replenished her supplies in at least a week. This was yet another hazard of working undercover.

For the last three years, Janine Voltaire was an indispensable member of the Special Operation Joint Vice Task Force. However, she was nearing her reintegration back into normal duty. This was not by her request, but the bureau psychologist made it mandatory. Janine had been in deep cover for so long she was losing her identity. Transference was a common condition experienced by long term operatives. The lines were becoming blurred as to what the limits were.

Her base of operations had been an executive suite atop the Embassy Suites Hotel. Janine's assignment was to pose as a high class call girl, gaining inside information in the expanding prostitution and drug trade in Los Angeles.

She was resolute in her commitment to do anything and everything to bring down the suspects, so facing reintegration, she fought to stay in the field. Without a suitable replacement, everyone knew this sting operation would be severely compromised. Since Janine started, several notorious gangsters had been brought down. All the perps were men that displayed the same weakness—a sexy woman.

With her tall, statuesque figure, large breasts, and long blond hair, she completely looked the part. Janine walked with a stride that exuded confidence. She dressed provocatively without looking slutty, and usually garnered the attention of all when she strode into a room.

Her mind went back to when this assignment first started, and how Captain Greer assured her that this would only be a temporary assignment. He guaranteed that at no time would her safety be compromised. Both these promises seemed convincing at the time but proved not to be true.

The original assignment was for her to pose as a call girl and infiltrate the organization from the outside. Then, a year ago, evidence was presented by a local news agency stating the Russian mafia was moving into the city, taking control of the drugs and prostitution. Among the greatest concerns was evidence of a sex slave trade operating in LA. This news completely changed the existing plan and it was proposed for Janine to expand her undercover role. They wanted her to gain information on this slave trade as an inside operative. With this new assignment, her risk increased tenfold. She would be expected to gain the trust of key suspects and work inside the organization as a mole.

It was at this point the Bureau chiefs asked her to make a decision to continue in this new capacity or quit. It was clearly explained that they could not order her to do what was necessary for her to win the trust of the high profile targets. Basically, they were asking her to undertake the life of a whore for God and country. Just pretending to be a call girl wouldn't suffice anymore.

Sitting down on the end of the mattress, she stirred the contents of her emptied bag around on the bedspread. There wasn't any relief coming tonight. She would have to face the next joker with a clear head.

"Lord," she groaned, lighting a cigarette, and clicking the remote to a local news channel. Janine took in a long drag from her menthol Capris, and almost choked on the exhale, as a screen photo of Victor Vanderhoff spread out in full view.

"Fuck this," she mumbled aloud, reaching into her bag, and unzipping the side pocket where she secured her pre-paid cell phone.

In her haste, she broke off one perfectly manicured nail. Cursing louder than before, she flipped the phone open, examining her ruined ring finger. Janine hit the speed dial '444,' and waited for the passcode prompt.

Her heart was pounding, and she didn't have a clue to what had happened. She only knew that if something happened to Victor, the entire operation would possibly be in jeopardy, and her cover might be blown. No one knew she was undercover except Victor, Captain Greer and her crew. She wasn't supposed to contact Greer, unless her situation was severely compromised.

"Damn it!" She snapped the phone shut after the first ring, and started to wonder if it wasn't the drug withdrawal that was making her reckless and impatient. Janine didn't really know what was going on. The news reporter had just flashed Victor's face across the screen again and said he was found dead from an apparent suicide.

How the hell did this happen without someone letting me know about it? She tossed the phone on the bed, and turned her handbag upside down with a violent shake.

Out popped a little clear glass vial with a tiny white rock rolling around inside. "Oh, hell yes," she moaned, as she fished the pipe out of the lining of the bag, and set herself up for release.

She soon forgot about Vanderhoff and his apparent suicide, and anything else she might have been concerned with, until the knock at the door jarred her back into reality.

There was an alarm clock on her night stand, and she made sure to push the button on top of the clock so that it turned on the recording equipment. Next, she walked over to the door and asked, "Who is it?"

"Inna sent me," was the reply.

Clasping the security chain, Janine opened the door a crack, and peered out at a balding, middle aged, overweight man in a business suit. He looked very nervous, and seemed vaguely familiar to her, but she couldn't quite place the face.

"What is it you want?"

"I was told that this is where I could book a trip around the world."

"That is an expensive trip," she said, unlatching the chain, and opening the door to let him in.

Her sheer Victoria's Secret robe opened to her navel, allowing him get a bit of a peek of the goods.

"I was told you were the best booking agent in town." He reached out to grab her tit, but she swatted his hand away.

"You must buy a ticket before you start the trip. The discounted price is two thousand dollars, paid in advanced."

"Shit! That is pretty steep, isn't it?"

"You can book an economy trip down on the street at Wilshire!" she snapped at him, feeling somewhat offended.

"Oh, alright," he acquiesced, digging his wallet out of his vest pocket. She then remembered where she had seen him before. This was Big Bob Davis, the car salesman running for mayor. His picture was posted all over town. She also remembered from briefings that he was known to have connections with some of the most notorious characters in LA.

He counted out a stack of hundreds, and handed them to her reluctantly. She put the money away in the night stand drawer, which also contained her badge, handcuffs and gun.

Janine took his jacket and hung it on a satin hanger. Then she proceeded to do the same with his shirt and pants. All the while, he groped at her large tits. She chuckled to herself as she slid down his boxers, exposing his rigid four-inch cock. The nickname "Big Bob" had nothing to do with his equipment.

He stood there in all his gargantuan glory, anticipating what came next. She definitely did not disappoint, and Davis watched her peel off her nightgown, throwing it over the back of the stuffed chair. Then she posed before him in just her thong and high heels. She certainly had the body any man would pay for.

"Suck my dick, bitch!" he exclaimed, putting his hands on her shoulders and pushing her down to her knees.

Janine felt that out of all the disgusting things she had done in the last three years, this had to be the epitome of the worst. She obeyed his command, getting on her knees. Sucking on this fat, sweaty, smelly pig-dick grossed her out. This was about as low as she could possibly go.

"Not so fast, cunt! I want to get my money's worth." He gripped her by the hair, regulating the speed of his thrusts.

It wasn't long before Bob Davis pumping her from behind, with his hands on her ass and grunting like a sow. She knew this surveillance camera footage would bring him down before he could say "mayor." But for now, Janine had to let him have her ass before she could nail his.

Despite his small size, the man knew how to move, and it disgusted her that he was hitting all the right spots. She actually considered a gratuitous cum.

"You're a little young thing, aren't you, bitch?" he said, as he pounded her body, making her tits sway with each thrust. "I want you to call me daddy," he croaked, "Call me daddy, you whore!"

"Oh, strong, sexy daddy, you're making me so wet... I'm dripping for you, daddy," Janine replied, increasingly disgusted with this little charade.

Where was her fucking backup? They were probably in the van, laughing their asses off, she thought. Normally, they would've burst in and made the arrest after the money was exchanged, but she knew that their absence meant she would have to endure him, so she could pump him for information.

"Yeah, I know how to make you my whore. You'll be there waiting for me every day to make sure my needs are cared for. Won't you, bitch?"

Janine rolled her eyes. "Uh-hmmmmm..." she moaned out to him, as he continued to escalate his fantasy.

"I will have your ass every day, babe, and you will do whatever I like. I'm going to pound you into tomorrow." His flapping obesity hit her with every thrust.

Then he exploded into the condom, and right on cue, she made the usual "oh, you hot stud" remarks, to ensure his complacency.

Davis fell onto the bed, feeling exhausted, and she rolled over to the bedside table.

As they lay there with him catching his breath, she said, "Things have gotten slow for me since the new girls arrived," she pretended to complain.

"Don't be a whiner," he said, as he reached for his pack of cigarettes that rested on the night stand. "All those girls come to me. I get first taste. I let them know who's the boss. If you ever have a problem with one of them, just let me know, and she won't be working here anymore. I would love to have you join me with one of them sometime. That would be ultra-hot." He lit up a Winston, and took a deep drag while staring at her.

Janine didn't respond. She was thinking how she could draw more information from him.

"Still," she whimpered, "I'm not getting the business I used to get," she whiningly expressed, as she slid up next to him in bed, caressing his shoulder.

"I know, babe, but the bottom line is the almighty dollar." He smoked the cigarette, and leaned against the plush pillows. "As long as they give me my payoff, I'm riding happy. You can't trust those fucking Russians, but I have enough info on them to keep them in line."

He then continued to brag about his connections with virtually every area of the underworld, dropping names and telling stories about what a big operator he was. Most of it was probably exaggeration, but it was clear he knew something.

Janine was getting tired of this bullshit. "Let's play, Daddy," she suggested, pulling some handcuffs out of the nightstand drawer, and teasingly dangled her tits in his face. "Let's play a new game," she coyly said.

Janine then leaned across him, slipped the cuffs through the headboard, and took his cigarette away, putting it out in the ashtray. She had him distracted now, and he allowed it, as he licked her erect nipple that was bouncing in his face. Fastening his cuffed hand to the headboard, she straddled him long enough to get his other handcuffed and secured above his head.

Suddenly, the door flew open, and two plainclothes cops stepped in the room. The look on Bob Davis' face was worth the price of admission.

"What the fuck!?" he cried out in shock.

Janine slid off the bed, and slipped on a robe.

"This one is mine, guys." She pulled her badge from the drawer, while Bob just lay there wide-eyed in disbelief.

"You are under arrest for pandering, prostitution, and racketeering. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say, can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak with me?"

"Yeah, I'll speak to you...you fucking cunt! Do you have any idea what you've just done? Clearly, you don't. Wait till you see what happens to you, you fucking bitch! You just wrote your death warrant!"

-oOo-

ALEXIA

The alley was crowded with police cruisers and uniformed officers, as we made our way to the murder scene. The coroner had already removed the body from the dumpster, and placed it on a gurney, and the forensic team had the undesirable task of sorting through the garbage.

"Who's in charge here?" Frank asked the police officer guarding the entrance.

"That would be officer Donahue from the twenty-seventh," he replied, and pointed toward a uniformed sergeant standing with a deputy coroner.

As we had made our way over to them, I noticed this was a typical Chinatown alley, covered in trash, and smelling like a cesspool.

"I'm Frank, and this is my partner Alex from homicide. What are we looking at here?" he asked.

The deputy answered, "We have a body of a seventeen to twenty-year-old blond, Caucasian female with no identification. She was found in this dumpster this morning by some workers from this Chinese restaurant as they were throwing out the garbage."

"Has someone spoken to the workers yet?"

"They don't speak English. We are waiting for an interpreter."

"We'd like to look at the body," I told him, walking over to the gurney, while putting on a pair of sterile gloves.

After unzipping the body bag, I noticed several things. First, this girl had her head almost completely shaved, except for sprigs of hair in random places. Next, was the bruised and swollen face; she had obviously taken quite a beating. Lifting up her hand, I could see her nails were elaborately done, but more importantly, her fingertips were sliced off.

"Have you taken samples yet?" I asked the deputy.

"We've taken photos, DNA swabs from her skin, hair, mouth, and vagina. The rest we will do at the morgue."

"What are some of your preliminary findings?"

"Well, she was stripped naked. Her head was shaved, and she had an inordinate amount of semen in her vagina, anus, and mouth. If I were to guess, I would say she was a party girl and it got too rough. We won't know the cause of death until the autopsy, but there are no apparent knife or bullet wounds."

"Were there any identifiable tattoos, markings, or piercings?" I asked.

"Earlobes and the navel are pierced, but no jewelry. Help me turn her," he said, pulling her onto the left side.

"Frank, come over here and look at this." I waved at him to get his attention.

"Yeah, what is it?" He walked toward me after breaking his conversation with Donahue, and I felt his arm brush against me. The strangest thing happened. I was distracted by his touch. I'm not some school girl. There was a huge question spinning around in my mind, and it had nothing to do with this woman's murder. It had everything to do with Frank McGannon.

"Take a look at this tattoo." I finally composed my thoughts, and pointed at the back of the victim's right shoulder. It was a dragon, standing on a scroll, stamped with the number, 1421.

"A couple months ago, we fished a body out of the aqueduct that had similar ink, but the number was different. The digits were 1023. I remember that because that... is my badge number," Frank replied.

There was something about Frank's voice. It was so deep and manly, but yet so gentle. It suddenly occurred to me that I was quite possibly crushing on my partner. This was not good.

Frank's phone started playing 'Walk the Line,' and I let out a short little laugh. "You really need to change that ring tone."

"Consider it a last priority," he countered with a grin.

Frank spent a couple minutes on the phone and said, "We need to wrap this up. Greer wants us back at the station."

"Did he say what it was about?"

"Briefly. He said they just picked up a person of interest that might help us with the Victor Vanderhoff case."

"Alright, let's go. We've done all we can do here anyway until the autopsy report is in." I replied, discarding my gloves in the trash.

-oOo-

Once we entered Greer's office, I noticed that he was there with three other detectives. The captain rose to his feet and introduced us.

"Frank—Alex, this is Ray, Bruce, and Janine from vice."

We all shook hands in a cordial manner, while Captain Greer continued, "We have a perp in custody that is singing like a Lark. He's given us more in a short time than I ever thought possible. This will take some work to authenticate but if true, it will help in the Vanderhoff case and several others. He's also fingered several high profile suspects, and might solve a lot of unresolved cases."

"How sure are you of his testimony?" Frank asked.

"It seems solid so far. The suspect is Bob Davis. He has decided to work with us after we agreed to give him complete immunity from prosecution." He shoved his hands in his pockets, and sighed.

"Janine was the arresting officer. She has been undercover for several years, and is now being reintegrated back to normal duty. Alex, if you agree to going undercover, Janine will mentor you in what your assignment entails, and Frank will be your liaison. We cannot involve any more people at this level. We suspect there might be informants in the department, and we can't compromise your security," Greer explained.

"There has been a major gang realignment going on in LA," Janine added. "That's why there are so many homicides these last few months. The Russian mob has made a power play, and is now in control of drugs, gambling, and prostitution. They're flooding the market with cheap meth and foreign prostitutes—many of them abducted into slavery. Davis has connected the dots for us."

"What would I be expected to do undercover?" I asked Greer.

"I am going to let you talk to Janine about that, both you and Frank. I want you to be completely informed before you make this decision." he replied.

I looked at my troubled partner and he seemed a bit hesitant. I wasn't sure what he was thinking, but I was curious to find out.

Frank took my wrist and asked, "Alex, may I have a word with you, please—we're just going to step out for a moment, Captain. I hope you don't mind."

"Go right ahead. I need to speak to these agents anyway."

I followed Frank out of the office, and sat in the chair that he pulled up for me by his desk.

"Okay, are you going to tell me what's going on?" I asked.

"I'm worried about this undercover thing. I don't like it," he confessed.

I rolled my eyes at him, and folded my arms in my chest. "Frank, we're detectives and if going undercover is necessary for the assignment, then it comes with the territory."

"Alex, I've been in this field for a long time, a lot longer than you have, okay? You're still a rookie—"

"And what? That's supposed to make me any less capable of doing my job? Everyone is a rookie until they have done something." His comment partly offended me.

"Don't take what I said so personally. Jeez, I'm just looking out for you. You're fresh out of the academy, and this mission is dangerous."

"Danger is part of our job. You should know that best. That's why we carry a gun."

"You do not understand me. This is not just your normal everyday risk. These are some really bad characters that play for keeps."

I honestly did not want to hear it. I didn't sign up for this job to be lectured and second guessed about my job, certainly not from my partner.

"As far as I'm concerned, we're equals. You're not above me. Neutral footing, Frank—so keep your advice to yourself. I want to move up in the force, and if this is my chance, I'll take it," I got to my feet, and walked towards the elevators.