ONE SMALL VICTORY Read online

“Oh?” The single word was pregnant with curiosity that Mitchell was obviously too polite to voice aloud, but Jenny ignored the inferred invitation to explain. What was she going to tell him? That she needed time off to learn how to make drug deals?

  “It won’t be often,” she said. “And I can let you leave early sometimes to make up for it.”

  “Sure. I can be flexible.”

  “I appreciate it. But you should check with Jeffrey. Make sure he doesn’t mind. I feel like I’ve taken quite a bit of advantage already.”

  “No problem. And we could use the extra money.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jenny’s muscles turned to Jello. She felt the quiver and knew her arms were about to give out. She struggled to hold, but knew there was no way she was going to push her weight up one more time. Damn. I was so close.

  Steve stood on the other side of the mat but didn’t say anything when her arms collapsed and she fell flat on her face. He threw her a towel. “Come on.”

  Wiping the sweat off her face, Jenny followed him out of the gym. “Twenty-two was pretty good, wasn’t it?”

  He didn’t answer. What’s this? I flunked so I’m given the bum’s rush? She headed toward the locker room and that’s when he spoke. “Come to the Chief’s office as soon as you’re changed.”

  She waved an acknowledgement before stepping into the locker room and closing the door. She quickly mopped the rest of the sweat from her body with the towel, and then pulled her sweats on over her workout clothes. She wasn’t comfortable using the big open showers.

  After putting her hair in some semblance of order, Jenny went through the door that led to a long hall back to the office area of the station. She stopped at the door to Gonzales’ office and knocked. His distinctive voice told her to come in, so she pushed the door open and stepped through. Steve was leaning against the wall beside the desk. Gonzales motioned her to close the door. “Steve was waiting for you before he gave his report.”

  Jenny nodded, afraid if she opened her mouth she’d whimper.

  Gonzales turned to face Steve.

  “She passed.”

  Jenny almost fainted. That was not what she expected to hear. Obviously, Gonzales didn’t either. He looked at her, dark eyes wide with surprise. “She did?”

  Steve stepped over and passed a sheet of paper to his boss, avoiding eye contact with her as he stepped near. “Got the results right here.”

  Gonzales studied the paper for a moment, then shook his head. “Now what the hell are we supposed to do?”

  Steve stepped back from the desk. “I think we sign her up.”

  “She’s a civilian for Pete’s sake. We can’t sign her up.”

  “A deal’s a deal.”

  Gonzales huffed and his face turned an alarming shade of crimson. He turned to her. “Uh, give us a few minutes. Tracy can get you coffee.”

  Jenny stepped out but stayed by the door. She could hear Gonzales clearly, “I never dreamed she’d actually do it.”

  Did that mean he was just stringing me along? That thought made her want to storm back in the room and confront him, but practicality held her back. Venting her anger would probably destroy any chance she had - slim as it was. She put her ear to the door, trying to make out what Steve was saying, but his response was muffled.

  She had to step back when Gonzales shouted again, “Christ, it’s my ass if she screws up and gets injured. Or worse.”

  Again, she couldn’t hear what Steve said, and for the next few minutes both voices were muffled. A short, scrawny officer in blues stepped out of the break room, stopped and stared at her. “Can I help you?”

  She motioned to the door. “Just waiting for Steve.”

  Wariness controlled his expression and he made no move to leave. “I can show you to his office.”

  “No need.” Jenny turned and walked down the hall, feeling the officer’s eyes on her as she went. The door to Steve’s office was open and she stepped in, nodding to the officer who still had not moved.

  The perpetual coffee pot on the tall filing cabinet was half full of what looked like sludge, but it was better than nothing. She found a Styrofoam cup and poured it half full of the dark liquid that flowed like two-year-old motor oil. She doctored it with two creamer packets, and that made it almost drinkable.

  Fifteen minutes later, she was contemplating another cup of the coffee. Just to keep her hands busy so they didn’t respond to the temptation to read some of the case files strewn on Steve’s desk. The Wanted posters tacked to a bulletin board had only provided five minutes of interest.

  Her stomach was given a reprieve when Steve stepped through the doorway. She looked at him, letting her expression ask the question.

  “Come on. The Chief wants to talk to you.”

  She tossed her empty cup in an overflowing trashcan and followed Steve back down the hall. He opened the door to the Chief’s office, and Jenny walked in. Gonzales still sat behind his desk, and he motioned her to sit in the chair facing him. Steve pulled up another visitor chair and sat beside her.

  “You have to sign this waiver.” Gonzales slid a document across to Jenny. “You’re still a civilian and the department can’t be held responsible.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “You mean I’m in?”

  Gonzales nodded toward Steve. “You’ve got quite an advocate.”

  Jenny shot Steve a quick glance and noted the little smile that softened the hard planes of his face. She whispered a thank you, then picked up the paper. It had a bold heading:

  CONFIDENTIAL INFORMANT

  “It’s not too late,” Gonzales said. “You can still back out.”

  His tone made the statement sound a plea and she glanced at him, realizing it would probably be easier for him if she did. Too bad, Chief. You’re stuck with me.

  She scanned the document. It had general wordage to the effect that should she be injured or killed while acting in a limited capacity for the Little Oak’s police department, there would be no compensation. Short, sweet, and to the point.

  Jenny put the paper back on the desk. “Where do I sign?”

  “Right here.” Gonzales pointed to a line at the bottom of the page.

  “May I borrow your pen?”

  After the slightest hesitation, Gonzales pulled a thin silver pen out of the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it across to her.

  As Jenny scrawled her name in the space, he kept up a running commentary. “You call in every day. Even if you don’t think you have anything important to report. Despite what it says on this paper, we are responsible for you. It doesn’t look good if people die on our watch.”

  “I’ll be your contact,” Steve said, handing her a piece of paper. “Here’s my cell number. Use it to set up a time and place for a meet or a secure phone call. When we do meet it will be out of this area. A different place each time.”

  “Pretty cloak-and-dagger kind of stuff.”

  “It’s essential. We’re dealing with the worst of the bad boys.”

  The seriousness on his face kept her from a flip comment about chewing the paper after she memorized the number. And she wasn’t quite sure why her mind was going in silly directions. Maybe to keep from latching on to just how dangerous this could be? She’d been so busy just getting in shape; the effort had crowded out any scary thought that dared raise a monster head. But she couldn’t ignore the reality today and a tight fist of panic squeezed her stomach. What on earth have I done?

  An instinct for self-preservation tempted her to back out of the room with some lame apology for wasting their time. But the desire to squash the drug-dealing vermin held her resolute.

  “When do I start?” she asked.

  “After I show you what you’re facing.” Steve took her arm and led her to a conference room that had several long tables with a multitude of chairs. “This is our version of a roll-call room.”

  He disappeared for a moment, then returned with coffee in two heavy, ceramic mugs. “Got this
fresh from the break room.”

  “Good. I’m not sure I could stomach another cup from your office.”

  Steve set the mugs down, then motioned for her to sit across from him.

  “I saw you at the funeral yesterday,” he said as he spread a folder on the scarred surface of the table.

  “You were there?”

  “Yeah.” He grinned. “Way in the back on the other side. Made it easier to slip out when I wanted to.”

  Jenny flushed at his obvious reference to her early escape. “It was just too—”

  “I know.” His smile vanished. “It was nice of you to show up at all.”

  “It was the right thing to do.”

  His expression turned so serious for a moment, Jenny wondered if her comment had come across too pompous. But then he gave her a slight nod and touched her hand lightly. “Yes it was,” he said.

  She shifted slightly and motioned to the folder. “Maybe we should get started.”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  ~*~

  Later, driving home, Jenny’s mind swam in a jumbled sea of all the information she’d tried to assimilate in the past hour and a half. That big beautiful ranch just outside of town that she’d always admired so much; Steve said it was the headquarters of a Cuban man who controlled the drug business in North Texas, Oklahoma and part of New Mexico. And here she’d been naïve enough to think that the price of cattle must have taken an upswing to support a spread like that.

  She also realized how incredibly naïve she was about the whole drug scene. Steve had bandied terms about - mule, runner, dealer, distributor, and main man. Other than mule, the rest sounded like they could be applied to any legitimate business. When she’d voiced this thought, Steve had assured her that except for the product and some of the means, the drug trade was very much like a legal enterprise.

  Her first challenge would be to make a connection with the street dealers. She’d have no trouble locating them. God knows she’d seen them often enough around town. But she’d have to actually approach them and convince them she was a customer. Not something she felt adequately prepared to pull off, but then Steve had said they’d meet with someone from DEA tomorrow. Maybe she could learn how to be a druggie in one easy lesson.

  ~*~

  The back door banged open and Alicia bounded in. She bounded everywhere. “Mom. You’re home.”

  “Yep.”

  “Something smells yummy.”

  “Chile.”

  “Real chile?” Alicia shrugged out of her red warm-up jacket and hung it on a peg. “Not out of the can?”

  “Real chile.” Jenny scrounged through the cabinet and found a box of Jiffy cornbread mix. Maybe it wasn’t too old to rise to the occasion.

  Scott lumbered in and dropped an overflowing book bag on the table.

  “Guess what,” Alicia said. “Mom’s cooking. Real food.”

  “That’s nice, “Scott said to his sister, then looked at Jenny. “Trying to fatten yourself back up?”

  “I was never fat.”

  “Oops. Sorry. Didn’t mean to insult.” Scott opened the refrigerator and grabbed a carton of juice.

  “But I am glad you noticed the new, improved version of me.”

  “How could I not? You were out running all the time.” Scott started to drink from the carton and Jenny gave him a stern look. He took a glass out of the cabinet. “Is that over now?”

  “Is what over?” Jenny dumped the cornbread mix in a bowl and grabbed milk and eggs from the refrigerator.

  “Frozen dinners.” There was just a hint of an edge in Scott’s voice and Jenny gave him a searching look. ‘And you missed two of my soccer games.”

  “I like frozen dinners.”

  Jenny had to smile at her daughter’s comment. Dear Alicia. Always the peacemaker. How she must hate the extra layer of tension that had lived in this house in recent weeks. Has it only been weeks? It feels like years.

  Pausing in the stirring, Jenny looked pointedly at her son.

  “I’m sorry I missed the games.”

  “Yeah. Whatever.”

  His tone invited an argument, and Jenny took a deep breath to avoid a sharp retort. You’re the adult here. Act like it.

  She crossed the distance to him and touched his cheek lightly. “You know I’d give anything to make our life normal again. But I don’t seem to know what that is anymore. We’re all getting through this the best way we can. You’re moody and sullen. Alicia escapes into her imagination. And I choose to be active.

  “So, no. It’s not over. And I don’t know when it will be.”

  Jenny hoped for some small concession from Scott, but he stood as if made from wood. Neither moving into her offer of comfort nor out of it. She consoled herself by relishing the latter.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It was more like winter than autumn, and Jenny pulled her leather jacket tighter against the cool night air that left a trail of goose bumps where it touched her bare midriff. Should’ve worn a turtleneck.

  Not only would that be helpful now, a decent shirt might have gotten her out the door without the silent accusation from Scott as he checked out the little jersey tube top she wore and the gold chains that currently lay like thin strips of ice across her upper chest. He hadn’t said anything since the little spat the other day, but body language spoke loud and clear. Most of the time she could almost see the questions spinning through his mind. Then again, she had a few of her own.

  When this whole mess started, she hadn’t anticipated ending up looking and feeling like a hooker to play the role of a drug-user. But Steve, along with Burroughs from the DEA, had spent an afternoon coaching her on how to be “Connie who’s just looking for a little fun,” and the image included a wardrobe straight from a brothel. Frank Burroughs had worked Vice in Baltimore for ten years before applying to the DEA. She figured she could trust him to make her come across convincingly, even if the part felt so alien.

  So here she was now, dressed like a tart and ready to make her first approach to the pushers. She was proud of herself for using the right term. Thanks to the in-depth briefings with Burroughs that had followed up on what Steve had told her, she knew the chain of command from pusher up the line to the main man. Jenny had almost laughed when Steve had first used that term. She remembered it from high school, but it used to mean something totally different. Or was that main squeeze?

  Recognizing the mental stalling tactic, Jenny shook the thoughts aside. Concentrate on what you’re here for.

  Earlier, she’d parked her car three blocks off Main Street and walked to the edge of the Dairy Queen parking lot. Another piece of insider knowledge from Burroughs. “Always have a get-away route and don’t let them see what you’re driving.”

  Now she watched the same three men who’d been plying their trade by the school; but tonight it was a drive-thru business. Two men in a small, black compact car indistinct in the shadows, one outside, a tall, lanky black man who looked barely out of his teens. He wore a fleece parka with a large front pocket. Cars pulled up and a flurry of movement had money exchanged for little plastic bags. Jenny knew they were probably Baggies. She couldn’t even count how many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches she’d packed in those over the years. How did something so innocent become a carrier of such horrible destruction?

  While she stood trying to talk her legs into carrying her toward the pushers, a boy about fourteen sidled along the building then hustled toward the car. He didn’t run. The action was more like a fly moving from one piece of garbage to another. From her intense two-day course in drug use and addiction, Jenny recognized the nervous jangle of movements as signs of someone desperately in need of a fix.

  Only the imperative of not breaking her cover kept her from doing a ‘mom’ thing and dragging the boy home by his ear.

  She turned away so she wouldn’t have to watch him make his score, then dipped into her well of resolve and stepped out of the shadows on the side of the building.

 
She wasn’t worried about the pushers recognizing her. They weren’t the type to frequent a florist shop. But the lack of recognition could be a detriment as well. She had a big hurdle to overcome because they didn’t know her. They would be cautious about someone new.

  She approached the tall black man who lounged against the rear fender. When she got close enough that he could see her clearly, she flashed the money just like Steve had taught her. “For it to ring true,” he’d said. “It has to look like you’ve done this a million times.”

  They’d decided on this approach after realizing that she had no hope of connecting to local parties. The kids wouldn’t accept her at theirs, and there was too much risk at the adult parties. Someone there might recognize her.