Chapter 2: Chapter 2
The sun was a garish smear on the horizon, casting long, jagged shadows over the cityscape as i stepped out of her Uber, my heels clicking against the dirty concrete. I absentmindedly flicked my lighter , a reflexive gesture I’d picked up from her stepfather , a man who'd only started to notice her once her body had begun to bloom. The agency building loomed before her, a monolith of glass and steel, cold and unyielding as a tombstone. I flicked my cigarette into the gutter, a plume of smoke rising as I exhaled a long, frustrated breath. I’d been on ice for two weeks, stuck in my cramped Brooklyn apartment, the walls closing in like a coffin. The sudden stillness had been torture,
The phone call from Terrance had come as a relief, even if it meant stepping back into the lion's den. Pushing through the revolving doors, I was greeted by the familiar hum of the agency. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in a harsh, unflattering glow. Agents scurried like ants, clutching stacks of papers and whispering into their phones.
Terrance’s office was tucked away in a corner, a tiny box of a room with a frosted glass door. I knocked once, sharply, before pushing it open.
Terrance looked up from his desk, his face a mask of displeasure. "You're late," he said, not bothering to hide his irritation.
"Traffic was a bitch," I replied, shrugging off my coat and tossing it onto the chair across from him. I dropped into the seat, crossing my legs and giving him a smirk. "You know how it is. This city's a fucking parking lot half the time."
Terrance leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.
His eyes were cold, appraising, like a hawk studying a field mouse. " We have a situation," he said, his voice tight. "A high-value target. We need someone to get close. Very close."
I raised an eyebrow. "And you thought of me?" I asked, ignoring the implication that my last assignment had been less than stellar.
Terrance grimaced. "Someone upstairs asked for you specifically."
I leaned forward, a slow smile spreading across my face. "Someone upstairs, huh? Who?"
Terrance hesitated, then sighed, "Director Holt."
I nodded, understanding. Director Holt was old school, a relic from the days when the agency was still a fledgling operation. He had a soft spot for the unorthodox, for those who got the job done at any cost.
"Alright," I said, leaning back in my seat. "What's the job?"
Terrance opened a manila folder on his desk and slid it across to me. I carefully picked up the folder, my eyes immediately drawn to the photograph of Avon Barksdale. The image was a stark black and white, capturing his face with a short, cropped haircut and a neatly trimmed mustache. The file was substantial, filled with intelligence reports and case notes. It detailed his suspected involvement in over a dozen murders, as well as his alleged role in ordering the hit on an informant and an undercover cop during a botched sting operation. The file also linked him to a smuggling operation with known terrorist connections, utilizing the Baltimore harbor as a key
entry point. Last week, a container filled with the bodies of a dozen Eastern European women had been discovered on the docks, the grisly evidence of Barksdale's cruel enterprise.
I flipped through the pages, taking in the grim details with detached professionalism. "So, let me guess," I said, looking up at Terrance, "you want me to infiltrate his operation and gather enough evidence to put him away?"
Terrance's expression darkened. "It's not that simple, Paulina. Barksdale runs a tight ship. He's got eyes and ears everywhere.
The only way in is through The Yellow Rose, a strip club he owns. You'll have to go undercover as a dancer." Terrance's voice was flat, stripped of any emotion. He knew I wouldn't like it, but he didn't care.
I leaned back in my chair, letting the folder drop onto his desk. "A stripper?" I said, my voice dry. "That's your big plan? Send the girl with the brains in and have her take her clothes off?"
Terrance leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "You're the one who said you'd do whatever it takes, Paulina. And this is what it takes."
I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. "Fine," I said, holding up my hands in surrender.
"I'll wear the damn pasties and the skimpy outfit. But I'm not dancing for peanuts. I want to keep the money." I said, my voice sharp.
Terrance's jaw tightened. "This isn't a negotiation, Paulina. You're an agent on an assignment. You don't get paid like a stripper."
I leaned forward, my elbows on his desk, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Then I'm not your girl. Find some other agent to shake her ass for you."
Terrance's fingers tightened around the edge of his desk. "You're being unreasonable."
I stood up, grabbing my coat. "No, I'm being practical.
You want me to play dress-up and get close to a man who’s already shot an undercover cop? Fine. But I’m not doing it for free. I’ve got rent, bills, and a life outside this fucking office. If I’m risking my neck, I’m keeping the cash."
Terrance’s face darkened, his fingers tightening around the edge of his desk. "Fine if that's what it takes
to get you to do this, you can keep the money," he said through gritted teeth. "But don't let the money ruin the
mission. This isn't a game, Paulina. Barksdale is dangerous. He's killed people for less than looking at him wrong."
I smirked, "I'll need a cover story, a fake ID, and a way to get into the club without raising suspicion."
"They're hiring at the moment, that's why we're in a hury. You're being enrolled to the Baltimore Community college as a freshman. Your cover is that you're a mid western girl looking for a way to pay you tutition. You'll be working at the Yellow Rose under the name of Paulina to make it easy. You'll be given a fake ID, a fake background, and a fake bank account. I'm going in as a dean at the college and will be your handler . You'll report to me directly. You'll have a burner phone, and I'll be your only contact. No one else in the agency knows about this operation. If something goes wrong, you're on your own. You'll have to make it look like you're a normal college student. You'll have to make friends, go to classes, and keep up appearances. You'll have to be careful. One wrong move, and you're dead. This is real life.
" You're on your own" is the most honest thing Terrance has ever said to me. The words hung in the air between us, thick and heavy. I knew the score. The agency had its rules, its protocols, its deniable assets. And I was about to become one again.
Terrance slid a manila envelope across the desk. "Your new life," he said, the edge in his voice sharper than a razor. "You're Paulina Jankowska now. Nineteen years old. From a small town in Ohio. Parents are divorced, father's a drunk, mother works two jobs.
Typical backstory for a girl who ends up in a place like this. I flipped through the fake ID, the credit cards, the driver's license. Paulina Whitmore. Fresh off the bus from Columbus, Ohio. Looking for a better life. The irony wasn't lost on me.
The envelope also contained a burner phone, a key to a shitty apartment in Baltimore
's worst neighborhood, and a stack of cash—enough to make the rent and buy a few cheap outfits that wouldn't make me look like a college girl
Terrance watched me with cold detachment as I pocketed everything. "You leave tonight," he said. "The sooner you're in place, the better."
I smirked. "Eager to get rid of me?"
His jaw tightened. "We want you to be in the college for at least a week before you apply for the job."
Terrance said, his voice cold and unyielding. "We need your cover to be solid. No mistakes."
"Does that mean that you think they have people there of that they gonna check iff i'm acctualy going to school there? i ask
"Both we expect" Terrance replied coldly.
"Barksdale's operation is tight. They'll check. They always do. If you want in, you better be ready to play the part."
The envelope also contained a burner phone, a key to a shitty apartment in Baltimore's worst neighborhood, and a stack of cash—enough to make the rent and buy a few cheap outfits that wouldn't make me look like a college girl.
Terrance watched me with cold detachment as I pocketed everything.
"See you in school then dean and i'm not doing anything to you for beter grades " I said with a smirk as i turned around to leave.
"Paulina" Terrance said in a stern voice.
I turned around and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Don't fuck this up" he said coldly.
I smirked and turned around again to leave the room.