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“Yeah, well, either he’s too afraid to talk or he doesn’t know jack shit and we cornered the wrong fucking rat.”
I didn’t need Hank’s assessment. “Either come up with a solution or fucking stop busting my balls. I know the operation went sour. Leave it.”
“Funny you should say that. I have a plan,” Hank replied, a faint grin on his mouth. “And I think you’re gonna like it.”
“Yeah? I’m listening.”
“We all know Frankie is a piece of shit but he seems to have a weakness…his sister. I say, we put her into play and see what we can get Frankie to cough up.”
Use Ivy?
Hell, I’d already used her for my own gain so I shouldn’t have a problem putting her to work for the greater good, right?
Wrong.
I fucking hated the idea.
But maybe Hank was right.
“How so?” I asked, curious.
“When we busted Frankie, he had pictures of Ivy all over his dresser. She’s a sweet kid. Somehow, she’s managed to steer clear of the shit Frankie’s been swimming around in. I think he’ll do anything to protect her.”
“He told her to sell her fucking car to bail him out,” I told Hank, poking a hole in his theory. “The dirtbag’s protective instincts only extend so far. He’d do anything to save his own skin…including sacrifice his kid sister.”
“I’m not saying that Frankie ain’t a loser and wouldn’t sell out his sister eventually…but I think if the guy’s got an Achilles heel…it’s her and we should use it to our advantage.”
Hank was right. Ivy was Frankie’s weakness but I didn’t hold out hope that the slightest bit of pressure might cause him to push her over a cliff.
“And just how are we supposed to get him to play ball?” I asked.
“Let’s offer him a deal. We both know Frankie’s got enemies on the inside. The last time he was locked up, he got the shit kicked out of him. If he’s desperate to get out of jail, he’ll do anything we ask him to.”
“Word on the street moves fast. The players are going to know he was arrested. If he doesn’t do some time, they’re going to assume he got offered a deal and he’ll either end up dead and/or useless to us. Not that I would care if Frankie Callen ate a bullet sandwich, but if he’s not going to be useful, I don’t feel like giving the guy a free ticket.”
“That’s where Ivy comes in.”
“I’m listening.”
“Ivy is hot. She’s got this innocent thing going on that could be used to reel in the big players.”
I didn’t squirm but inside I was fighting a battle that shouldn’t even be a skirmish. I used people all the time to close a case. People who trafficked with drug dealers were fair game.
I shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”
Hank grinned. “I knew you’d be down. No one is as ruthless as Jameson Reed and that’s just how I like you.”
“Calm down. We ain’t running off to get married or anything,” I said but gave Hank a grin. We were a good match because we were both dedicated to the job and getting it done, anyway possible.
He also didn’t blink an eye if we had to color outside the lines.
And neither did I…most times.
“The captain wants results and we’re gonna get them. Round one was just a warm up for the main event,” Hank said.
“Let’s go have a conversation with our newest bait dog,” I said, rising. “Time to put words to action.”
“Amen,” Hank agreed, just as hungry as I was for redemption.
We weren’t used to being on the losing end and it didn’t feel good.
Ivy
The funny thing about your world slowly crumbling apart is that life still goes on.
For everyone else.
Including the people who expect you to clock in for your shift at the crappy diner where you work.
“You’re late, princess,” barked Marg, my manager. She lived to mock me but I let it slide because I knew that I needed this job, no matter how much it ate into my soul. “You’re on toilet detail today.”
“Fabulous,” I muttered, grabbing the plunger to remedy whatever nightmare a customer had left behind.
Marg smirked as I bit my tongue and pushed open the bathroom door.
Thankfully, I wasn’t squeamish.
Or if I had been, this job would’ve beat it out of me.
I made short, efficient work of fixing the toilet, wiped everything down, washed my hands (like, a thousand times) and then returned to the floor where Marg was flirting with Jose in the kitchen, leaving me and Roxy to wait the tables.
The diner was a run-down ‘50s era themed craphole and our costume was a short, pink mini-skirt and an even tighter pink top that was tied in the front.
It was degrading, ridiculous, and offensive.
And yet…we were told often enough that we were lucky to have the job.
The worst part…Marg was right.
Times were tough. Jobs were hard to come by for people without much education and paltry experience out in the work field.
I won’t lie, college hadn’t been my goal, so I hadn’t pinned my hopes on landing a good one.
But my dream of becoming a dancer had never fully died.
Classical, jazz, tap, even swing…I loved it all.
The beauty of movement filled my soul with light.
But it didn’t pay the bills.
Reality was ugly when the electricity was turned off for nonpayment.
So I continued to work at Mamie’s Diner.
“Watch out, table 2 is filled with grabby assholes,” warned Roxy as she passed by me. “I’ve already been felt up, and mentally undressed within the space of five minutes.”
“Thanks,” I said, drawing a deep breath as I headed for table 2. I was used to the grab-ass games guys played, especially late at night.
Especially college guys.
Like the three eyeing me like coyotes drooled over a piece of meat.
I forced a tight smile. “What’ll it be, guys?”
“Are you on the menu?” the one asked with a sloppy grin. “I haven’t seen you around…do you go to USC?”
“Nope, sorry. Did you decide what you want? The meatloaf is pretty good,” I lied. The meatloaf would probably give him a raging case of diarrhea for days.
“I’m sure I’ve seen you someplace,” he persisted and I wanted to roll my eyes at the dumb games they all played. I was tired and I had little patience for this bullshit right now so I decided to set him straight. “Look, you don’t know me. You won’t know me. I’m here to take your order and that’s it. You’re not getting my phone number and I’m not impressed that you attend a private college. Are we finished with these little pointless games?”
“You’re the most unfriendly waitress I’ve ever met. Do you understand how this works? You play nice, I tip nice. Get it?” he said with a condescending smile.
“College kids like you tip like shit whether I’m nice or not. Either order or leave. I’ve got better things to do than listen to you try to bully me.”
I was calling him a kid because in my mind, he was exactly that but we were probably the same age.
Except I felt as if I’d lived whole lifetimes in comparison to the cushiony life this boy had enjoyed.
And how did I know he was spoiled? Well, appearances gave a lot a way.
Expensive shoes, too much product in his hair, and high-end cologne that was, coincidentally, giving me an instant headache, gave away the fact that his parents probably paid his tuition otherwise how could he afford such luxuries?
Besides, the kid had “snotty brat” written all over his expression from the moment I laid eyes on him.
Even though Mamie’s wasn’t a high-brow place, it was popular with the college-aged set. Maybe it was retro-cool or something.
Couldn’t be for the food.
How anyone hadn’t died yet from what came out of that kitchen was beyond me.
His buddies snickered bu
t decided the fun was over and placed their orders. Mr. Mouthy gave me a couple of dirty looks but otherwise gave up his pursuit.
As expected, they tipped like shit but I was glad to see them go.
There was something about the mouthy one that gave me a bad vibe.
Usually, I played nice. I put up with the grabbing, the teasing, the inappropriate comments about my uniform — but I couldn’t tonight.
I hadn’t slept well since…I turned away so no one could see the sudden heat in my cheeks.
Since losing my virginity to Jameson, I hadn’t been able to shake the aftermath.
The day after had been brutal.
The soreness between my legs was a constant reminder of what I’d allowed him to do to me.
The memories playing in my dreams wouldn’t let me forget how good it’d felt.
But the shame…that lived with me every waking second.
I retreated to the kitchen for a moment when there was a lull, needing a minute to breathe.
Roxy found me as she was returning from her break.
“You okay, girl? You look pale.”
I nodded, wiping at my face with a wet paper towel. “I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.”
Roxy immediately took a protective stance. “Is it that no-good brother of yours again? Girl, I told you, that boy is dead weight around your damn neck. Please tell me you’re ready to move on.”
