With A Twist(11)

So yeah… I was now fully in the circle. I went back to the club and relayed again in detail to Simon and Lance what happened. They didn’t seem to have a doubt over my veracity, and in fact, Lance muttered that he was afraid they’d given her too much of whatever drug they had pumped into her, hypothesizing she was probably high on something else and overdosed.

I assured them both that I weighted her body down and dumped her in Falls Lake, and that she would never be found. I said it with almost a pride in my voice over having done such a bang-up job for Simon, sounding like an eager puppy looking for praise. They accepted that as well, and then proceeded to bring me in on the details of their sex-slave trade. There was some concern that Carla’s buyer would turn tail and run, but after a call to him to explain the situation, he said he’d wait for another girl.

So, as Lance just instructed me, I am now in charge of getting some new talent.

Operation Bust Simon’s Ass is now in full force. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow with Mike and the female FBI agent they’ve brought in to go undercover, so I can fill her in on the details of the case so far. Since I’m in charge of all hires now, it won’t be a problem to get her in the door. I just hope the FBI chose someone that could handle the delicate, yet stressful nature of this situation. I wasn’t worried about the background alias they would provide for the plant. The FBI is good at that shit.

I just hope the woman is tough enough for what is about to be thrown her way. She’s going to be playing an important role in this operation, and she’s going to be in incredible danger. While I will do everything I can to protect her, if we’re lucky enough for Simon to target her as an appropriate item of merchandise, she’s going to need to be prepared to see it all the way through to the end.





Chapter 4





Andrea





Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I close the file I had been perusing and toss it on the couch beside me. It’s probably the fourth time I’ve read the investigation into Simon Keyes in its entirety, and I feel like I have a good bead on this man. I think I know exactly how to handle him, although I’ll have to wait to meet my undercover partner to be sure. His insight will be invaluable.

I glance at my watch.

1:23AM.

It’s a cheap Timex I bought at a thrift store a few days ago, where I used some of the cash I was provided by the FBI to extend my wardrobe a bit. Upon my arrival in Raleigh, I was immediately deposited into my new home, a hovel of an apartment in the worst area of downtown imaginable. Every night, I could hear other tenants screaming at each other, booming music, and once, even a gunshot.

All the clothes I brought with me were going to be taken tonight, assuredly stored back in the Raleigh field office, along with my suitcase. Two days ago, I was told to buy a new wardrobe that was more in line with what a down-and-out stripper might wear. That meant tiny Lycra miniskirts, tank tops that were two sizes too small, and slutty red bras to wear underneath said small tank tops. I bought a good chunk of my attire at a thrift store and the rest from Wal-Mart. My new ID was handed to me, which I deposited into a beat-up old wallet I got for two dollars, which was housed in an ugly, brown leather purse with leather fringe along the edge that I got for six. I bought garish makeup, also at Wal-Mart, and hot curlers for my long, blonde hair. However, until such time as I had to step foot in The Platinum Club, I was still Special Agent Andrea Somerville and was dressed accordingly.

But when the time came, make no doubt, I was ready to display trashy Andrea to the world.

I mean… trashy Nikki O… my new alias. The “O” stood for Oliver, but I was prepared for it to stand for “Orgasm,” which was my even trashier stripper name.

Nikki O.

Nikki Orgasm.

Ugh… I didn’t have to deal with something so terribly perverse when I stripped through college. There I was just good ol’ Andrea, dancing her way to a higher education. I showed up to work in my faded jeans and UVA t-shirts, and went home dressed in the same with my pockets stuffed full of green, green cash.

Sliding my gaze to my watch again, I see it’s now 1:27 AM, and I let out a tired yawn.

“He should be here soon,” SA Mike Gomez says from his seat at my kitchen table. He’s typing away on a laptop, his blue sport coat draped over the back of a ratty recliner that sits perpendicular to my couch and his tie loosened.

Mike arranged for this meeting with my undercover partner, who I’ve only been told is a member of a local police department on the east coast of North Carolina and has been undercover at The Platinum Club for just shy of four months now. I don’t know much about him other than his real name is Wyatt Banks, but his undercover name is Charles Hawkins, but as with any good criminal alias, his nickname is Raze.