Prologue

The dimly lit place wasn’t ideal for many people, but for someone looking to get away from the hassles of everyday life, it was perfect. He made his way over to the bar and sat down on the stool, wincing slightly as it groaned under his weight. The man behind the counter looked up, cocking an eyebrow in his direction. He appeared irritated, as if he’d been interrupted doing something of the utmost importance. It was with a grudging voice that he finally asked, “What can I get ya?”

“A Jack and coke,” came the clipped response. There was no need to hold a conversation. As he waited for his drink, he turned slightly on the stool, which groaned once more under the strain, his eyes scanning the dingy bar. Most of the patrons were young men, all appearing to be under the age of forty. Some sat in small groups, huddled around the tables, chatting idly over a drink. Others sat alone, their beady eyes transfixed on the empty stage.

Allowing his eyes to shift even further, he saw just what he had been looking for. There, in a corner booth beside the stage, sat a man who appeared to be quite out of place. His appearance was immaculate, as he was dressed in a black business suit and shoes so shiny that they could blind a man. His graying hair was neatly combed and was slicked back with what appeared to be copious amounts of grease.

A slime ball if he’d ever seen one. The sound of a glass hitting a hard surface brought his attention back to the bar. The bartender had placed his drink on the bar, eyeing him suspiciously. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty, sliding it across the counter. “Keep the change.”

He brought the drink up to his lips and took a drink, wincing as the liquid burned its way down his throat. Tossing his head back, he downed it in one gulp before placing the empty cup back on the counter. He turned again on the stool, his eyes immediately trailing back over to the stage. A single light had been cast over it, though it offered no real light. It appeared to be about as old as the rest of the dump.

He leaned back slightly against the bar, cocking an eyebrow as she stepped out onto the stage. The outfit she wore hugged every curve of her body. It was black, and made her look like an engraved invitation to sin. Her bottle blonde hair cascaded down her back in ringlets, with the front swept over, hiding half of her face.

The boys all called her “Candie,” though he knew that underneath of that sweet, sweet exterior, she was anything but. He watched, his eyes fixed on her as she swayed her hips gently to the music that had started. He felt himself becoming lost in the music—no, lost in her.

He finally managed to pull his eyes away from her, and let them sweep over the dump once again. The only person not paying attention to the sweet Candie was the grease ball in the corner. He noticed that the man kept glancing anxiously towards the door, before checking his watch. With each passing minute, he appeared to grow more and more annoyed until finally, the ugly scowl lifted and was replaced by an even uglier smile.

He turned his eyes to the door and noticed a younger man enter, briefcase clutched in his left his hand as he glanced around the bar nervously. Grease ball number two quickly made his way over to the booth, apologizing profusely for his tardiness. He strained to hear the conversation over the seductive music.

“…Got the stuff?”

“It… it wasn’t easy to get.”

“That’s not what I asked. Have you got it?”

He watched the twitchy young man nod and then give another once-over to the bar. No one was paying attention, or so it seemed. That satisfied the young man apparently, as he reached down and pulled the briefcase up, laying it out on the table.

“Not here, you idiot. We’ll go into the back.”

“O-Okay,” came the stuttered reply. He felt his heart racing slightly as he glanced back towards the stage. He silently willed the blonde to look in his direction, and when she did, he made his move.

He stood quickly, perhaps too quickly, and knocked the stool over, causing a loud clang. The trance that Candie seemed to have over the patrons quickly came to a halt, as everyone turned in his direction. The two slime balls exchanged a look and quickly made for the door.

“FREEZE! FBI!”

He glanced back towards the stage and watched as Candie quickly reached under that tight black dress and withdrew a gun. Taking his cue from her, he reached into the holster tucked safely under his jacket and drew his own gun, waiting for them to make a sudden movement.

He watched as the twitchy young man’s eyes shifted from him and back to Candie before back to him again. The look in his eyes was unmistakable. He was going to bolt.

Before the thought even crossed his mind, he watched as the man dropped the briefcase and made a run for the door. Before he had even registered what was happening, Candie leapt from the stage and made a beeline for the door, throwing it open.

The older man who had been sitting alone in the booth, however, seemed to realize that he hadn’t stood a chance. He lifted his hands high above his head, and lowered himself to his knees, before surrendering to the large black man who advanced on him. It was all over.

~*~

He watched as the two cars pulled out of the parking lot of the dump, a pleased smile on his face. They’d been tracking William Grier for over two months now, and all that was left of the case was the paper work. He didn’t think the night could get any better.

He turned his gaze back to his partner, offering her a small smile. She had sustained a gash on her knee when she’d leapt on David Petersen, a small time crook who was really just a bonus. She had taken him down onto the ground in an attempt to cuff him and had gotten scratched up pretty bad. She was being looked at by one of the other agents, much to her disgust.

“It’s—just—a—cut!” She growled through clenched teeth. She heard his laughter and glanced up at him, cocking an eyebrow in his direction. “Think something’s funny, Tony?” She asked, pulling the long blonde wig from her head and shaking out her own brown hair. She brushed it back off of her face, letting out a huff of air.

“Absolutely not, Al. You almost ready to get out of here?”

“Yeah, as soon as you tell Gorilla Breath here to take his filthy hands off of my leg!”

“Hey, I’m just doing my job,” the agent grumbled. “If you’ve got a problem, take it up with Healy. He’s the one who told me to come over here and clean this leg up.”

“It’s just a cut!”

“Yeah, it’s just a cut. I think you might need stitches in this. Did you hit something when you went down?”

“I don’t know! Can’t I just go? I’ve got a flight to catch in the morning and it’s later than I thought!”

He rolled his eyes. “Alright, but if you keel over tonight because you bled to death, I don’t want to be footed with the funeral bill.”

“You’re a nerd. I’m surrounded by nerds.”

“You’re going to be LIVING with a nerd for two weeks starting tomorrow,” Tony reminded her. At the mention of her boyfriend, Alana couldn’t stop the smile that formed on her face, despite her throbbing knee.

“Yeah, I am,” she said in an almost dreamy voice. Both Tony and the agent let out a snicker before she snapped out of it, the scowl returning to her face. “Which is WHY I need to go home and get out of this hideous black dress!”

“I don’t know Al. I think it makes you look pretty hot.”

“Tony, if you say that again, I swear to God I’m going to knock your teeth down your throat!” She threatened. “Now let’s go!”

He watched as she pushed herself up from the curb she’d been sitting on and hobbled over to the car. He laughed and shook his head. She drove him up a wall like no one else. She was rude, obnoxious and bratty. But she was his Alana. “I’m glad you’re back Al.”