Mike had made a judgment call and did not bring in an EMS unit. He felt it would call too much attention and didn't want it out on the airwaves. Instead, he insisted they'd take the girl to a hospital for treatment.
We made the transfer quickly as I assured Mike I had a plan. He accepted me at my word although his face held worry, and as soon as they were out of sight, I pulled my phone out and called Simon.
"What?" he whispered harshly into the phone, so I knew ALE was still there.
Putting on my best frustratedly panicked voice, I said, "Fuck, Simon. We got a major problem."
"I'm listening," he said quietly.
"She started convulsing, man … vomit and foam coming out of her mouth … shaking and shit. I tried, man … I tried to save her. Fucking did CPR … got her fucking vomit in my mouth. SHIT," I yelled for good measure and then groaned into the phone. "She's fucking dead, Simon. What in the hell did you give her?"
I heard some shuffling noises, and knew Simon was moving somewhere for privacy. "You're sure she's dead?" he asked urgently.
"Yes," I yelled into the phone. "Fuck, what in the hell do we do now?"
"Just ease the fuck up, Raze. Listen … you dispose of the problem, you hear me?"
I took a deep breath and let out a shaky breath, but I was smiling on the inside. Simon just bought my panicked lie hook, line, and sinker. "Yeah, man … I got it."
"Don't fuck this up," he warned.
"I won't," I said with confidence. "I got this. Don't worry."
"Come straight back here when you're done," he said and then disconnected the call.
I leaned back against my car and looked up at the stars in the night sky, immensely relieved I just saved Carla's life and kept the operation intact.
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.