Working
> > It was late enough that the sun had retreated from the bedroom floor.
Late enough for another Xanax.
They weren't for the nightmares anymore. Disorienting panic was an abstraction, enough steps beyond the physical jitters and fragmented attention span as to be irrelevent.
If there was some emotional trauma the pills kept at bay, Angela no longer thought about it.
Instead, the Xanax steeped her in a morass of memory, dull looming fragments of the recent past that puzzled together to mock the mess she'd made of her life.
When you have so few precious things left, how do you let them slip through your fingers? How do you lose sight of what matters?
Time passed, and the medication seeped into her, jumbled nerves giving way to excruciating lingering lethargy. Angela found herself looking toward the closet, and her sapphires.
But she feared them now. The shadow of sapphire bliss seemed longer and darker and more ominous in its emptiness than any pre-Xanax nightmare's crowded horrors could muster. Going out as Sapphire was impossible -- the at-any-moment drop from invulnerable high to utter helplessness was simply too dangerous, and not just for the direct consequences. Something within her longed for that crash of weakness. She felt drawn toward the release of self-destruction. Even confining herself to her bedroom, wearing the stones purely for the physical rush they could give as they expended themselves into her, she heard black whispers calling her to her doom.
Angela wanted so desperately to feel the way she did that first night. She'd all but forgotten that pure bliss of carefree purpose, but now the memory was vivid and beautiful and haunting, triggered by the way she'd felt last night.
Before seeing her only real relationship literally flee from her this morning, before falling into bed with a deceitful criminal last night, she'd felt an amazing crystalline high. She was the center of attention among important and powerful company. She'd broken out of her shell, free of worry and doubt, a beacon of beauty and confidence, engaged with the world and completely unafraid of it.
A vicious cosmic tease. A brief measure of paradise to underscore the dirge of reality.
A rush of rightness she'd only felt at the height of the sapphires' power -- but she hadn't worn them last night, and they hadn't made her feel that way since... she couldn't remember.
So if not the sapphires, where did that feeling come from? And how did she get it back?
Was it that other pill? The physical therapy medication? No, that couldn't just come from a pill.
Why not? Look at what Xanax can do.
And what it can't.
Maybe it needed a little help.
Maybe she could be Sapphire again...
Angela was startled by a knock at the door.
Followed by the doorbell.
A drumroll of knocks.
More from the doorbell.
"All right! I'm coming!"
Miguel.
"Hey." Angela hung on the door and jamb, her body language denying entry.
"Lemme in." Miguel looked around nervously; he didn't want to be seen.
Angela tisked and sighed as if put out, then released the door and invited him in with a roll of her eyes.
Angela chuckled -- glad for the amusement Miguel's behavior provided. "After all the banging and ringing, I don't know what secret you think you're keeping."
"I don't like being seen with you." But apparently he did like making himself at home; he made a beeline for the fridge.
"Gee, thanks."
Miguel ignored her sarcasm. "You don't have anything to drink."
"I wasn't expecting company."
He plopped down on the couch, turning sideways and putting his feet up on the arm, leaving her nowhere to sit. Angela just stood and glared for a moment, but gave up the attitude when she realized it was pointless.
"Cute outfit," Miguel said without looking up.
Angela looked down. Cut-off orange sweatpants hung lower than the white bikini panties beneath them; an old kid-size Transformers T-shirt she must have taken from Ricky stretched mightily to cover her chest.
She thought she looked like a slob. She probably had nasty bed-head too. And raccoon eyes. She was suddenly aware of how badly she needed a shower.
"Why are you here?" Hands on her hips.
"I got your bum off the hook."
Angela felt guilty; she hadn't thought of Harold since she last saw Miguel.
"You came all the way out here to tell me that." Obviously not.
"I thought we were partners."
"I got you your pictures."
"I need more."
The way her powers were going lately, that could be a problem.
"More what?"
"More pictures, for starters. More information, if you can get it."
"Why?"
"It's called Building A Case, sweetie. We need to show a pattern of behavior. I don't want any of these creeps walking on an 'I just happened to be in the neighborhood' excuse." He raised his arms out above him, giving them a quick shake before dramatically locking his hands behind his head. He looked up at the ceiling as if he was bored. "Then there's the matter of your boyfriend."
Angela thought she felt her heart stop. Did he mean Dino? No, he had to mean Ricky. She hoped.
"I wondered why I hadn't heard from you. I thought maybe you quit. But then I thought to myself, 'No, a girl doesn't go to all that trouble to play Comic Book Vigilante just to hang it up for no reason.'"
"You told me to keep a low profile."
"Which you've proven you don't have the sense to do. You're like me -- you can't resist the action."
Angela said nothing.
"I thought maybe your boyfriend got to you. Found out what you were up to, sneaking around on him. Thought maybe he gave you an ultimatum. 'Him or me.'"
Everything Miguel said could be taken two ways. Sneaking around as Sapphire, or sneaking around with Dino? Ultimatum to quit working with Miguel, or quit seeing Dino?
Did Miguel know, or didn't he?
"You're a real piece of work, you know that?"
The suspense was killing her. Did Miguel sit around all day figuring out how to do this to people? Or did it just come naturally?
"You weren't thinking you could just dump me, were you?" His disinterested tone made the words all the more threatening.
"No. I've just been... busy."
"There's an understatement." Was he being straight, or sarcastic? "When were you going to tell me?"
"Tell you *what*?" She couldn't take it anymore!
"That you've been sleeping with the enemy."
Angela went into cardiovascular overdrive. So he knew. This was the part where he read her the riot act. She'd compromised the case. She was working against him. She'd let her emotions get in the way of her job. She'd tipped Dino off.
Miguel sat up on the couch. She thought for a moment he was going to come at her, but he just sat there, eyeing her curiously. Miguel delayed laying into her. Stretching it out. Letting the tension build. Torturing her. She couldn't blame him.
He explained how he knew. "I followed you yesterday. The limo. I got jammed up downtown and didn't see who you picked up at the Grand Plaza. Mel's Diner threw me -- I thought maybe you were doing some Homecoming thing with rich classmates. Damn semis blocked my view coming and going. Wasn't until you pulled up at the theater that I got a good look. I couldn't fucking believe it." He snorted. "The new number two man in the Oak Valley Russian Mafiya, and you're closer to him than Calvin Klein." Actually, she remembered a little Polo logo on the leg of his boxer briefs, so it would be Ralph Lauren...
He asked her how long she'd been messing things up. "How long have you been seeing him? When did you decide that taking pictures wasn't good enough?"
Angela looked at the floor. "My car broke down when I was moving last Wednesday. He stopped and gave me a ride. He bought me lunch."
"Sonofa... of all the dumb luck. So when you found out who he was, you put the moves on him. The car, the clothes, the money, any woman he wants, and you hook him. I guess teenage poontang can be irresistable when it wants to be."
Why did he have to make it sound so dirty? What did he expect her to do? Men didn't come any more charming than Dino Sinclair. Then she had a chilling thought. Did Dino seduce her as just another thrill, or did he know about her and Miguel and their investigation? Did he just do it to find out what they knew and torpedo the case? Angela wasn't sure which one would make her feel worse...
She just stood there in silence, humiliated, ready to take the berating she deserved.
"When were you gonna tell me?"
He shook his head in disbelief.
"I didn't think you had it in you," he said.
Here it comes.
"I could kiss you."
Huh?
Angela looked up from the floor. Miguel broke into a mischievous smile.
"You are amazing, Angela. I don't know what kind of axe you're grinding, but *damn* girl if it isn't sharp as hell. You got fucking *game*."
Understanding dawned on the girl. Miguel thought she was *working* Dino Sinclair. The possibility had never occurred to her, but there it was, staring her in the face. What better way to catch a crook than to gain his confidence?
It only made her feel that much lower.
Miguel wasn't finished congratulating her -- or himself. "I *knew* there was something about you. I knew it the first time I laid eyes on you." He jumped up, overcome by excitement. "Damn! This is fucking great! So has he said anything to you yet? About his illegal activities? What's his involvement with the chop shop? The cars they don't tear down -- where are they moving them? What else is he into? Liquor, cigarettes? I bet he's runnin' high-priced whores outta that club of his, i'nn't he?"
"I don't know anything, yet." The 'yet' was an afterthought. Best not to correct him now while he was so worked up; she'd figure a way out of this later.
Miguel stopped effusing long enough to look Angela up and down. "Babygirl, we gotta get you a wire. I don't know where we're gonna put it, though -- I bet you had to give him run of the place to get him hooked, didn't you? Or did you get him by holding out?"
Angela's inflamed cheeks answered his question.
"Oh well, that's all right," he said, sounding more like he was keeping positive for his own sake rather than out of any comfort to her. "It just makes it a challenge. Maybe we can get something small in your hair if you wear it up -- unless he likes it rough. Or maybe I can get you to bug his place."
"Miguel, I don't know if that's a good idea."
"Well, whatever we don't get on tape, you gotta testify." Angela's look said that wasn't going to happen; Miguel's look said he'd thought better of it anyway. Probably give her too much of the spotlight. "Unless we can catch him in the act." Miguel rubbed his hands together greedily. "Is he the hands-on type? On the business, I mean; how could he not be hands-on with you."
Miguel might be an effective police officer, but did he have to be such a jerk?
"I don't know. We only went out a couple of times."
"All right, all right. Well, we'll just play it by ear."
Miguel went to the window, peeking through the drawn curtains. She didn't think it had to do with anything that was outside; the detective's mind seemed to be off and running. Angela didn't know how she was going to get out of this...
"By the way, honey, I don't care how good you are, I'm not picking up the tab for Judy's. You're on your own there."
The dress shop. "He paid for it."
"Fuck me, you *are* good."
If only she *felt* good.
"So who was the other guy?"
"What?"
"Last night. Who'd you pick up at the Grand Plaza? Up-and-comer from Mother Russia? Is Sinclair making an alliance to squeeze out old man Moroshkin?"
Sometimes Miguel's imagination seemed to get the best of him. "His name is Sergei," Angela replied. "He's the secretary to the Russian Ambassador."
"Sergei Popov? Shostakovich's Number Two? That wasn't him. Too young. Too classy-looking."
"No. Sergei Pavlov."
"Pavlov? There's no Pavlov in Shostakovich's organization. I've been neck deep in the Bureau files on the Russian Mafiya for three days straight. I should know."
Angela was confused. "He's worked for the Embassy for twelve years."
"The Embassy? What, is that what Shostakovich is calling his organization now? I know he's a bit of a fence-mender in organized crime, but it sounds like it's going to his head."
Angela realized it was Miguel who was confused. She set him straight.
"No. The Russian Embassy. To the United States."
Miguel's face paled. "Holy crap. The *real* Embassy? I knew the gangsters ran Russia, but I didn't know they *really* *ran* Russia."
For a moment, Miguel's expression said he was out of his depth -- but the humility didn't last. "This just keeps getting better and better. I could make Chief. Fuck it, I could get my own Federal Task Force." He reached for Angela's hand and pulled her closer. His hands clapped hers. "Baby, you and me are goin' places."
Whatever, Angela thought. She was beginning to see Miguel less as a master of police investigation and more as a man whose ambition was only exceeded by sheer luck. Or maybe it was the other way around, luck exceeded by ambition, considering the way he'd misread her all summer.
And was still misreading her now. Forget the delusions of grandeur about the Russian Mafiya / Russian Embassy connection -- what favors could the Embassy do for a nightclub manager? -- Miguel assumed that Angela was manipulating Dino Sinclair and infiltrating his organization or whatever, when the truth was that she'd actually fallen for the man.
Well, until she saw what a lying playboy Dino was. Then she'd just fallen apart.
Miguel was confused, all right. He thought she'd gone undercover.
More like under covers.
And on top of them. And on the bearskin rug. And in the shower...
God, she'd been so... easy.
And Dino had been so *good*.
Too good. No doubt he'd honed his skills on dozens of women. She was just another notch in his belt.
Angela sighed. She was just a plaything to Dino. A doll to be dressed up and shown off and... used.
How could Miguel think *she* was using *Dino*?
Couldn't Miguel see how depressed she was? How could he mistake a naive girl for a brilliant freelance undercover artist?
Well, he probably couldn't see much of anything through her Xanax mask. Or through his own lust for power.
"Well then," he said, heading for the door. "I'll leave you to it. I've got work to do. I wonder what the FBI has on Embassy personnel. That's probably State Department. I hope that guy, what's his name, Cliff something, Cliff, Cliff... Berger, yeah, I hope he's still working the local office. He owes me a favor." Miguel realized he was talking to himself; he stopped and looked back at Angela. "I'll see what we can do about getting you a wire or something. You tell anybody else about this?"
"I think Ricky knows." That I've been out with someone else, at least.
From her disheveled look this morning, and the way he'd run off, he no doubt knew a lot more. About how far she'd gone, if not with whom.
"Tell him to keep it to himself. I'm sure you can convince him." His look made her skin crawl.
A quick look outside to make sure no one was watching, then one last look back. "Nice to finally have a partner with some stones." Miguel slipped out.
Angela couldn't get to the shower fast enough.