Maelstrom

Chapter 7: The New Me

Thursday late morning

I struggled to keep a straight face as Griffith walked into the waiting area three days later to find the woman who had come to see him. He was all embarrassed confusion for about six seconds before recognition washed over him in a wave of relief.

"Oh my god," Griffith blurted out. "I didn't know ... even with the nickname being kinda close ... How did ..."

I rose quickly and strode over to him before we attracted too much attention. Casually, I took his arm and walked him back to his office. "You told me to come see you when I was ready, which now I am."

Griffith sat in his desk chair and pushed himself back to gain a better vantage. Starting at my toes, he took in my – Lex's – worn black biker boots, old army surplus coat two sizes too big that I'd dropped to the floor, distressed skin tight jeans, studded leather belt, vintage black Violent Femmes T-shirt with the sleeves cut off to showcase well-defined arms covered with several large tribal tattoos and one of a black dragon with a bright blue eye, a melange of silver rings adorning fingers tipped with chipped polish the color of old blood, silver and black ear cuffs, a dainty nose ring, kohl-rimmed eyes, and a head of hair comprised largely of tiny ponytails and braids, many of which were colored a surprisingly delicate pink. The overall effect was ...

"You sure don't look like a cop," he marveled.

"As I keep telling Amalia, I'm pretty sure that's the idea," I drawled. "Why are you staring so much? You've seen people undercover before."

"Well, yeah ... I mean, of course. But this ... this is like ..."

"Hallo-fucking-ween."

I turned to see Ramirez standing in the doorway, a few of the other OCCB detectives craning their necks behind her. Amalia stepped into the room for a better look.

"Sorry, mamacita," she said. "When Carly said that Griffith brought a girl back here, we had to get a look. Didn't know it was you." She took one of my hands and used it to twist my arm this way and that, checking out the fresh, fake ink.

"You're right, they're pretty good. They'll last long enough? No peeling off in the middle of a shift?"

My grin projected a confidence that was only partly faked. "They should. We've got a couple of days to give them a test run. In the meantime, I came in to get some ID before we go take a look at those apartments."

Griffith stood and grabbed a camera and tripod from behind a filing cabinet in the nearby corner.

"Stand right over there ... yeah, there ... and look at the camera. Okay, now ... smile." He waited. "You're not smiling."

"Nobody smiles at the DMV," I pointed out. "This is what I would look like after and hour and a half of waiting next to a screaming baby and someone who considers deodorant to be a mind-control plot by Bill Gates."

Griffith snapped the picture. I moved to pick up my coat. "Do you want to take another one?" he asked.

"Nobody gets a second shot at the DMV," I shrugged, rummaging in a pocket.

Ramirez came to look at the tiny display screen on the back of the camera. "Damn. It's actually a good picture."

I straightened up, phone in my hand and coat back on the floor. I noted that the pack of other detectives who had crowded to gawk at Griffith's new "girlfriend" had evaporated once the mystery girl had turned out to be one of their own. It was just the three of us now.

Griffith plugged the camera into a cord dangling from his computer to upload the photo. I walked over and grabbed a different cord, plugging it into my phone.

"The one you just took is for the state ID," she told him. "This one is for the passport." Griffith looked at my phone to see a different picture of me ... Lex ... this one with my hair in a single low ponytail, no bangs, with a golden tan, wearing what appeared to be a yellow camisole, a gold nose ring, and considerably less eye makeup than I currently sported.

"You have a nose ring for real?" Ramirez asked when she saw the picture.

"No, I took that one in a photo booth in Walgreens over the weekend. I couldn't have my ID photos looking too much alike, right?"

"Did I tell you that?" Amalia asked.

"No."

"Well, I would have, if we'd gotten that far." She smiled. "You're making this pretty easy on me."

"We haven't gone apartment hunting yet. I'm really picky."

"Oh, perfecto; you'll love West Harlem then." Her voice oozed sarcasm. "Give me a little time to confirm some appointments. Stop by in, like, an hour."

I turned to Griffith. "Is that enough time for you to finish the IDs?"

He waved me on distractedly, not bothering to look up from his computer screen. I took that as a yes, grabbed my coat, and went to find Detective Wu to check if he had any more homework for me.

I was walking past DiMarco's office when I heard him call out. "Hellström!"

I backed up. "Yes, sir?"

He gave my ensemble a once over, but said nothing. For some reason that pleased me. "Will you be ready to go into Asylum on Thursday?" he asked.

Three days, I thought. Would I be ready? It didn't really matter; there was only one acceptable answer. "Yes, sir. I've gone through everything Wu gave me on the Santiago cartel, and I've been brushing up on my flair skills. My Russian is still pretty rudimentary, though."

I thought I detected a hint of a smile on DiMarco's face, though that might have been just wishful thinking. "Good. Keep working on it. One of the club's bartenders has a couple of possession convictions; he's going to be picked up tomorrow night on suspicion of dealing. We'll make sure he remembers to notify his employer – last minute, of course – that he won't be in on Wednesday night, maybe longer."

"You're stacking the deck for me, sir?"

DiMarco clearly wasn't amused, and my smile evaporated like a drop of water on a hot pan. "Listen, Hellström, I wouldn't be putting a first-year officer on this operation in any capacity if I had any other choice. But I need someone in that club, and I need someone fast, and unfortunately, you're the only shot we've got. This whole bureau is busting its ass to make this work, and 'stacking the deck' to get you in will be the least of what we do to pull this off.

"But creating an opening won't be enough. You've still got to convince them to hire you, and then be good enough for them to want to keep you on once we cut their guy loose, so turn on the charm, but not too much. Understood?"

I nodded once. "Understood, sir."

"Good. Come back and see me this afternoon after you've found an apartment. There are some operational details we need to go over." He turned back to the work on his computer screen, which I took for a dismissal.

I was most of the way out the door when he called me back. "And Hellstorm?"

I noted his use of the nickname as I ducked my head back in. "Sir?"

"Nice tatts."