Chapter Text
“I hope I don’t have to remind you all that this is what happens when people OD on this shit,” Harris said, holding up the photograph and forcing everyone to look up from their coffees. Perhaps he expected his officers to be more alert, but it was early, and the case was dragging.
Ria’s gaze fell to her file; scare tactics wouldn’t motivate her more than she already was to rid the world of Gold. She knew what the drug was capable of and didn’t appreciate the ugly reminder. Like most narcotics, if you took too much—all at once or over an extended period—you came out the other side damaged one way or another. You couldn’t work for Vice without seeing that damage up close every day.
“Time’s running out for us,” Harris continued, throwing the photos onto the table. “But, we’ve had a breakthrough, thank God.” That got everyone’s attention. “Thanks to a very interesting recording made by one of our informants, we have a date for a deal between Adams and Paul ‘Butcher’ Brown. This is our chance to finally nail Adams, and Butcher, if we get it right.”
As Harris knocked back his coffee, Ria skimmed through her file for the new information. The first page contained the familiar photograph of Lisa Adams—their target, the inventor and main dealer of Gold—and her profile. Ria’s investigations contributed to the profile, as had those of her colleagues sharing the table; she’d spent weeks observing her. Skipping over new analysis of Adams’ public social media activity, she found the transcript of the informant’s recording.
“Adams will hand over five thousand bottles of Gold at the Spellbound nightclub on June fifteenth, three weeks from today.” Harris rolled the whiteboard to the end of the table. The case information it displayed was rearranged, making room for a map. “Five thousand is not Adams’ MO. She keeps her head down, trades in small batches with people she knows and trusts, so we’re hoping she’ll slip up by cutting corners to meet Butcher’s demand. Even if she doesn’t, we’ll arrest the bitch once money’s changed hands, but we need more to push things beyond reasonable doubt once this hits trial.
"Mae, your surveillance has been indispensable, but I want you to get close to her now. We need physical evidence, whatever you can get your hands on, and a taped confession. I want you undercover as soon as possible. Up for it?”
“Yes, sir.” The fact she’d been trusted with an undercover after what happened last time was nothing short of a miracle; she thought she’d be stuck with the boredom of surveillance—and the aching wrists from that damn telephoto lens—until retirement. A few of the officers sat opposite gave her a disapproving look, as though doubting Harris’ choice. She’d prove them wrong.
“Great. We’ll get you in the field as soon as possible.” Uncapping a black marker, Harris drew a circle around Adams’ apartment on the map, and then another a block away. “You’ll operate from here. Should you get close, we’ll have someone cover you to ensure your safety.”
Ria nodded. The sergeant’s word choice bothered her: should. Should you get close. Most likely he’d used that word because Adams was expectedly private for someone in her line of work. She tried not to read too much into it. If Harris lacked faith in her, this was her chance to change that.
“Hernandez,” Harris continued, “you’ll stake-out Butcher on the fifteenth, so we know things are going according to plan.”
Hernandez’ shoulders sank a little. A dull role like that, when things were finally getting exciting, was a slap in the face. “Yes, sir.”
As Harris handed out further roles, Ria found herself staring at Adams’ photo in the file, grainy from frequent copying. Regardless of the number of times she’d seen her face—printed, on a computer screen, through a camera lens—she never felt anything but contempt for her. This woman ruined lives, addicted people, supplied the city with a new evil. She deserved everything coming for her.
Harris spoke to the table again, his raised voice snapping Ria from her thoughts. “This case will be extremely high-profile now the press has gotten wind of Gold. It’s a hot topic. Civilians are getting worried. We must get a watertight conviction on Adams, shut this down at the source.” He bent to turn a few pages in his file. “Now, Johnson, I believe you’ve got some interesting findings on Spellbound’s recent turnover?”
*
The time it took to create a false ID and churn out two credit cards under the same alias was how long it took Ria to become someone else on paper. She had one day to adopt her new identity, slip into the role of ‘Rachel Smith’, a customer service advisor who worked from home and had recently moved to the city.
Pretending to be a newcomer in a town you know like the back of your hand could be tricky, and undercover officers had to avoid visiting places where they might get recognized. Ria rarely went out these days if she could help it, though, and happily accepted desk duty over proactive police work. She’d always been something of a hermit, and working for Vice, with its endless paperwork, graveyard shifts and research jobs, didn’t offer the chance for much of a social life. That’s why Harris selected her for the undercover. That, and she was Lisa Adams’ type: female. Whatever the reason, she’d put everything into playing the part of being someone else, always did.
The apartment Vice provided was clean and plain, the only signs of life the fake mail she’d brought with her, stamped with her new name: fliers, catalogs, even a utility bill. Little details. The emptiness unsettled her, reminding her what it felt like to move into a new place with nothing.
To defeat the apartment’s vacant feel, she went shopping. She stocked the cupboards, decorated with thrifted objects—a vase, candles, a cork board for the wall, coasters, a rug, and an ugly brass dog figurine—and a large fern that immediately made the place feel less sterile. They weren’t things that would usually appeal to Ria, but Rachel Smith needed her own unique stamp on the place.
It was important to make connections as Rachel too, so Ria introduced herself at the take-out next door and visited as many local stores as she could, collecting fliers and business cards on the way to pin to the cork board. Every introduction was a rehearsal, shaping her character, getting her into the mindset of someone else, someone who only had a day to grow from a name into a person. For her last undercover, she went as far as writing a diary as her persona. She even ran a Twitter and Instagram account. But that had been a long-term case.
She had three weeks in Rachel’s shoes; it was vital she adapted fast. The first day was always the most exciting. It allowed her to be creative and provided a focus besides the target.
As night fell, while she nursed a glass of whiskey—because hey, she was technically off-duty—her gaze passed over the newly-decorated apartment. Had she missed anything? There was no theme, not really; it was all just stuff sharing the same space. The brass dog caught her attention, staring from its alert but frozen position on the windowsill, the only interesting thing she’d bought. That was what Rachel lacked: a special interest.
Using her workstation, Ria printed some dog photos from Flickr and stuck one to her empty fridge. Another, she set as her computer’s wallpaper, along with the new iPhone provided for the undercover. Now Rachel was a dog lover. There was still time to add elements to her new personality—breaking into Adams’ social circle wouldn’t be immediate.
*
There was no easier place to blend in than Starbucks. If the caffeine-fuelled customers weren’t posting photos of their incorrectly labeled cups to Instagram, they were hotdesking: paying for one drink, then leeching off the free Wi-Fi, electricity and chair/table combination for as long as it took to do their work. Ria could be bold around Adams here and, hopefully, craft a natural first meeting.
Lines for coffee were usually long in the morning, so the place was packed. A large crowd gathered around the counter’s end, waiting for the overworked baristas to mix their drinks. Roaring blenders and hissing espresso machines forced those placing their orders to raise their voices to contend with the noise. On second thought, starting a conversation with Adams could be tricky.
Ria had followed Adams since she left her apartment, keeping her distance. Now, she was standing behind her in line. Despite knowing Adams’ routine, and her face, they’d never shared such proximity; her perfume, sweet and crisp, mingled with the heady scent of coffee that permeated everything. Ria tried not to glare at the back of her head, or her polished fingernails—gold, ironically—as they brushed her hair behind her ear. Rachel didn’t know her, or what she did for a living. Rachel’s eyes would wander Adams’ profile as she admired the selection of cakes behind the glass and think she was just another beautiful stranger.
Adams ordered an iced vanilla latte with skimmed milk; the server scribbled her name onto a plastic cup without having to ask. Once she’d paid and joined the others waiting for their coffees, Ria ordered the same drink, keeping one eye on her. Once she was standing beside her, she’d make a comment about how busy it got this time of the morning, get a conversation going.
“Your name?” the server asked.
Without thinking, she answered, “Ria,” and holy shit, that was stupid.
She couldn’t waste another twenty-four hours fixing this. If Adams ever had reason to ask, Ria was short for Rachel. It was weird but probably wouldn’t ring alarm bells.
Trying not to dwell on the mistake, Ria stood with the others, ready to make her move. Adams’s fingernails tapped her cell’s screen as she typed, engrossed in something, headphones in one ear. If she tried to speak to her now she’d come across as rude, maybe even pushy.
As the barista placed Adams’ drink on the bar, calling out her name, Ria acted quickly.
“Excuse me!” Adams called, as Ria grabbed her drink. “That’s mine!”
Ria turned the cup in her hand to read the scribbled lettering on its side. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I thought I heard my name and,” —she closed her eyes, shaking her head before passing the drink to Adams— “I’m so sorry.”
“Easy mistake,” Adams said, flashing a smile before turning away.
“Don’t forget a straw.” Ria plucked one from the dispenser and held it out to her. When she took it, Ria hoped she could hook her in before she tried to leave again. “Did you order a flavored latte?”
“Yes?”
“You know, there’s a coffee place over on Portland Street and,” —she rubbed the back of her neck, her unease not entirely acted— “I don’t normally do this but, uh, they do really good iced lattes with all these crazy flavors and, if you’re interested, I’d love to take you there. I’m Rachel, by the way, but you can call me Ria.” She laughed nervously. “If you like.”
Adams’ dubious expression shifted. “Lisa.” She scanned Ria briefly now that she was more than a stranger.
The barista called out Ria’s name, leaving her drink on the counter.
“Got it right this time,” Ria said, picking up the cup and holding it in the air with mock triumph.
Adams smiled a polite smile. “Want to sit with me? I’m not staying long but it’d be nice to have company.” It wasn’t a yes, but an invitation was more than Ria expected.
As they took their seats at a window table, Ria’s wire tugged at her chest, on the edge of painful—one of many annoyances to deal with undercover. At least the station gave her hypoallergenic tape this time, so she wouldn’t itch all day. Ideally, she’d record conversations on her cell, seeing as it wouldn’t look out of place to have it in her hand or pocket most of the time, but regulations were regulations.
“I haven’t seen you in here before,” Adams said, settling in her seat a little stiffly.
“I just moved here actually, about a week ago. Apparently, my priority is checking out coffee shops.” Opening her wallet, she withdrew a flyer she’d picked up the day before from Slurp Shack and started unfolding it.
“Who’s this?” Adams asked, pointing to a photo of a Jack Russell Terrier—one of last night’s prints—displayed in Ria’s wallet.
“Oh, that’s Benny,” Ria replied, thinking fast. “My mom's dog.”
Ria logged her genuine smile at the photo. “He’s beautiful.”
“He died a couple of months ago, unfortunately.” She averted her gaze, hoping a bit of tragedy might tug Adams’ heartstrings, if she had any.
“Oh, that’s sad. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. He had a good run.” Turning the flyer on the table top, she slid it across. “This is the place. They do unicorn lattes.”
“Wow.” Adams raised an eyebrow. “What are they?”
“I don’t know!” Ria laughed, swallowing the unsettling feeling of wrongness she felt about making pleasant conversation with this despicable woman. She’d replace that wrongness with victory once she got what she needed out of her. “I guess, if you came with me, we could find out?”
After a sip of coffee, Adams said, “Sounds good.” Things were going remarkably well so far.
“It’s nice to talk to someone… nice,” Ria said, rubbing the back of her neck again. “I talk to people all day for work, but they’re not usually in a good mood.”
“What do you do?”
“Customer service. It’s mostly complaints.”
“Sounds tough.”
“It is. The only good thing is the shifts. I work from home so it’s pretty flexible. I’m still looking for something else, though.” It was never too early to advertise that she was totally up for a job at the nightclub if one became available. She took a big swig of her latte, the ice-cold milk making her teeth ache. “Thought I might have more luck in the city.”
“I hope so.”
They paused for a moment, drinking their coffees, taking the other in. The atmosphere was tight, Adams still working Ria out, letting her lead the conversation.
Leaning in slightly, Ria asked, “Where do you work?”
“I manage a nightclub. Spellbound. You might’ve heard of it?”
Ria’s fingers idled up and down her straw. “I haven’t, but that’s amazing. Do you like it?”
“The job or the club?”
“Both.”
“Um,” Adams pursed her lips and then, with what looked like reluctance, shook her head. When her eyes met Ria’s, there was a sudden honesty behind them, like she was about to confess from the heart. “No. I don’t.”
Unsure of how to respond, Ria offered an apologetic look, then shrugged. “Sucks that we both hate our jobs but hey, that’s something we’ve got in common at least.” After sucking at the dregs and ice at the bottom of her cup, she asked, “So, when are you free for a date with me and that unicorn?”
Smiling, Adams fished her planner out of her bag.
*
Six days into the undercover and Ria had already convinced Adams to meet with her on three occasions. Their first date at the Slurp Shack was short and sweet, their conversation as safe as it was at Starbucks. Another, at a bowling alley, lasted only as long as two frames.
Ria continued embellishing her alias’ life when they were together, and via text message when they weren’t, making slow progress. Adams remained cautious: she discussed her hobbies, her favorite Netflix shows, and showed an interest in Ria; when it came to her work, she glossed over the topic.
Today, the start of what the weather reports were describing as a heatwave, had been their third date. Lisa chose the local park. It was lunchtime when they visited, so it was overcrowded with children, dog walkers, runners, and groups playing sports. The pathway they’d wandered, hand in hand, was lined with trees crammed with noisy birds. They’d watched them awhile, popping in and out of colorful birdhouses adorning the trunks. It was a picturesque day, but the amount of ambient noise had Ria worried that if Lisa said anything of use, it wouldn’t record well.
After returning to the apartment, Ria took a cold shower, hooking her recording device up to the computer so the audio files copied over while she was in the bathroom. They automatically backed up to the station’s cloud, but Ria wanted to play something back for her own benefit.
The hottest part of the day was over, but the air was still humid and, frustratingly, her apartment’s air-con was busted. Fresh from the shower, a towel wrapping her waist, Ria let the recording play while pouring herself a whiskey over ice.
Hi, it’s good to see you!
The feed muffled. Ria recalled them hugging. Fixing her towel, she came over to the computer and skipped through some of the audio track. She didn’t think she could bear hearing her own voice and the second-hand embarrassment from her awful attempts at flirting.
Look! There’re babies in that one.
Where?
The orange one. There!
I don’t—
Keep your eyes on it. I saw a baby stick its head out. There! Did you see it?
Oh my God. They’re so cute.
She skipped further through, sipping at her crisp, cold drink. The part she sought was when they’d sat on a bench under the cover of trees. Hopefully, she wouldn’t land right at the part where they’d shared their first kiss; she didn’t want to hear that played back.
There’s something I need to tell you that’s going to sound bad, but I promise it isn’t.
Bingo. Lifting herself up onto the kitchen counter, Ria poured herself another whiskey and listened.
Okay, I’m officially worried now.
Please don’t worry. You know I told you I manage a nightclub?
Yeah, Spellbound.
Well, I want to be honest with you about something, but I can’t right now. Until I’m in a position where I can, is it okay if we don’t talk about my work, like, at all? I want to keep it separate from this, from… us. Is that okay?
That’s…
I know. It must sound awful, but I promise it isn’t.
Is there anything I can do?
She remembered touching Lisa’s hand and her pulling away sharply, on edge.
You can promise never to ask me about my work and never to come to the club. I don’t want you involved with it, at all.
Uh, okay.
You promise?
I promise.
It sounded worse the second time. The promise did nothing but increase the distance between Ria and the evidence she needed. Now, she could never come and surprise Lisa at the club, accidentally stumble across evidence and ask her about it. A job opportunity would never come up either. She’d have to tread even more carefully around the issue to avoid scaring Lisa off.
Lying back on the counter, the surface a refreshing temperature against her bare skin, she hooked an arm under her head and sighed. The promise was a pain in the ass, but today hadn’t been a total write-off. Their relationship was improving. They’d walked hand in hand. And there was the kiss, prompting her to bare her heart. The relationship had improved faster than Ria expected. Initially, she despised every moment with her, but the more time they spent together, the easier it felt to forget Lisa’s secret side and enjoy her company, brush off that unclean feeling she got around her. It helped her settle deeper into the skin of Rachel Smith, a woman who didn’t know Lisa’s secrets and had promised never to pry.
Agent Johnson tailed Lisa around the clock, swapping with his partner when he needed to catch up on sleep in a proper bed. It was a tough job; Ria was glad it wasn’t hers anymore. Johnson updated Ria on Lisa’s movements when they were apart—she continued visiting her usual haunts: private warehouses, storage facilities, and Spellbound. Somewhere inside those buildings, she was producing five thousand bottles of Gold. Hopefully, she’d leave a trail of evidence Vice could follow once she was in custody.
Ria continued writing reports of their rendezvous, sending them to the team for discussion and dissection. In her downtime, she perfected her alias, making Rachel Smith into more than a name on a counterfeit driver’s license. However difficult today might make things, she felt a breakthrough approaching.
Her cell vibrated beside her: a message from Lisa.
Today was lovely :) Miss you already!
Ria smiled and put the warm feeling in her chest down to the whiskey.