Complicity in Heels (8 page)

“Great.”

Harlan slid the phone over to Nikki, along with a black wristlet purse. “There’s a state driver’s license and credit card inside, along with the phone’s manual. You’ll have to read up on the more advanced features later. Right now we need to review our switchboard and call-in procedures.”

Nikki tinkered around with the phone while Harlan watched. “Ready when you are,” she said.

“Okay, call-in procedures basically remain the same. You call the lifeline, identify yourself, and leave whatever message you wish to relay to me. The switchboard will be fronting as a local beauty salon. Anyone who manages to get a hold of your phone and call the number will get a salon attendant asking when they’d like to book their next appointment. Got it?”

“Got it,” Nikki repeated.

“Good. Now place your phone on speaker, dial the lifeline, and let’s set up your codes.”

Nikki made the adjustment and hit “1” on the speed dial. The phone rang several times before the call was answered. “Touch of Style Salon. How may I help you?”

“Agent 2294,” Nikki rattled off. “Day code, business section, August twenty-sixth, identification procedure.”

“Proceed.”

Nikki recalled the words she had circled in the paper earlier that day. “Starbucks, employment, private sector.”

“Confirmed. Hello, Nicole.”

Nikki made a strange face, not expecting to be personally greeted. “Hello.”

“My name’s Janice,” the operator stated. “I’ll be assigned to you for the duration of this investigation. My cover for this assignment will be as your cousin, a beauty salon owner. We get together a couple times during the week, eat out, and talk about how our lives are going. Get the picture?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. Now, checking in once every forty-eight hours is mandatory. Any messages you need to relay to Harlan, I’ll pass along. In situations where you’re in mixed company or can’t speak freely, the following code words can be used to communicate the current situation to me clearly:
breakfast
,
lunch
,
dinner
, or
rain check
.”

Nikki repeated the words.

“
Breakfast
means emergency;
lunch
: you need the situation handled right away;
dinner
: keep a low profile and conduct surveillance; and finally,
rain check
: shut down the operation and pull the agent out.”

“Understood,” Nikki replied.

“Now use the code word
dinner
for me in a sentence.”

Nikki thought about it for a moment. “I’m heading down to the marina to meet some business associates. I won’t be able to meet up with you for dinner.”

“Outstanding,” Janice said. “From there, I’d dispatch a surveillance team to tail you down to the marina and assess the situation. We’re finished here, as far as I’m concerned. Is there anything else?”

“Not at this time. Thanks for the overview.”

“You’re welcome, Nicole.”

Harlan reached back into the box and removed a Glock 27 subcompact pistol. He placed the weapon on the table—pointed toward him—then eased it over to Nikki. Her eyes widened. “What’s this?”

“You’re gonna need it.”

Nikki stared at the handgun. “My life depends on my ability to convince people I am who I say I am, not on what I’m packing.”

“Perhaps, but this is still a good idea.”

Nikki slid the weapon back to Harlan. “If I have to use this, I’ve failed miserably. You know I like the freedom of not being strapped. It works better that way.”

Harlan grabbed her hand and pushed it back in the opposite direction. “I want you to be strapped. It’s important, Nicole.”

Nikki withdrew, pulling the Glock toward her. “If you insist.” She picked up the handgun, pointed it safely away from Harlan, and released the magazine. With her free hand, she racked the slide back then checked the chamber for a round. “Clear,” she announced, before sending the slide home and returning the weapon to its original condition. She reinserted the magazine and placed the Glock back on the table.

“Nice to see prison hasn’t diminished your gun skills,” Harlan said with a grin. He placed a pen and several documents before her. “I need you to sign these chain-of-custody forms for all this equipment.”

Nikki grabbed the pen and signed each of the forms. “Harlan, I need your help with a problem.”

“What is it?”

“Well, actually, it’s a pair of problems,” she admitted, sliding the forms back to him.

“Go on.”

“Have you heard of the Hernandez Act?”

Harlan picked up the forms and glanced over them to ensure they were signed and dated properly. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s state legislation regarding the safe operation of special-care facilities. Why?”

“I went to visit my brother today.”

“Oh, dear, your brother,” Harlan echoed. “And let me guess…you met with some resistance.”

Nikki nodded. “The facility director said I’d have to fill out some forms and submit a packet in order to receive visitation rights. That can’t be right.”

Harlan placed the documents back inside the storage box. “It’s the law.”

“She said the process could take several months,” Nikki complained. “I can’t wait that long. Besides, I’m the only immediate family Marty has. Surely something can be done.”

Harlan shook his head. “Nope. I’m sorry, Nicole.”

“Come on, Harlan. It’s the least you can do.”

Harlan frowned as he wiggled the side of his glasses. “You’re a federal agent under deep cover; this isn’t an agency concern.”

Nikki crossed her arms.
Not an agency concern. Man, you’ve
changed.

“I know what you want,” Harlan confessed. “You want me to waltz on down to the state capital, flash a federal badge, and make this all go away.”

A taut grin crossed Nikki’s face.
Exactly.

“Not gonna happen. To the world, you’re Nikki Frank, seasoned criminal, and as such, you’re just going to have to work within the framework of your cover. Next issue.”

Nikki rubbed the back of her neck. “The warden at Shaw.”

“What about him?”

“He has a penchant for viewing naked women on the job, among other things. A real sexual deviant.”

Harlan raised his eyebrows. “Really? That’s a pretty serious allegation.”

“I know, but it doesn’t change the fact that twice a month, on a Friday evening leading into the weekend shift, several women are siphoned off from the main shower detail and redirected to a private holding facility nearby. All under the guise of routine hygiene inspections.” Nikki glanced down at the floor. “Several minutes later, the warden shows up, walks up and down the line, comments on each inmate’s physical attributes and what he’d like to do to them, then disappears.”

Nikki looked up. Their eyes met and held.

“When this first started, he’d just look around and make comments,” she continued. “A few months later, it escalated to indecent exposure, followed by some fondling of a few select inmates. By year’s end, he was publicly masturbating and inviting other prison employees to join in on the routine. Makes me want to delouse myself with industrial-strength chemicals every time I think about it.”

“You weren’t—”

“No, dear God, no…”

Harlan grabbed a memo pad and started writing. “Good.”

“I do suspect some of the women were sexually assaulted, though,” she added. “The new girls for sure. If you were a fresh fish and a looker, you automatically got placed on the hygiene detail. Those girls were immediately separated from our group and sent to a private room for their initial ‘checkup.’ I can only imagine what went on behind those doors. I’ve heard the stories, but hearing about it is one thing—surviving it is another.”

“Cesspool,” Harlan mumbled. “It’s more than likely that multiple maggots are feeding here.”

“You’re probably right. This has been going on for years.” She shook her head. “At least as long as I was there.”

Harlan looked up from the pad. “What’s the guy’s name?”

“Penton…Warden HR Penton and Troy Castillo, captain of the guard. They’re the ringleaders.”

Harlan wrote down the information. “I’ll get in touch with the Department of Justice tomorrow and request that a formal investigation be launched.”

“Also,” Nikki prompted, “have the investigation team focus their efforts on cellblock eight. That’s where a good portion of new inmates are housed. They’ve endured a disproportionate amount of the warden’s time and attention.”

“Will do. In the meantime, I want you to set yourself up for an appointment to talk to the task-force psychiatrist.”

Nikki closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m okay…honest.”

“That’s an order, not a request, Nicole.”

She tensed up at the command. “Fine.”

Harlan reached into the storage box a final time and removed a flip key for an upscale sedan.

Nikki beamed with delight. “Is that…”

“A vehicle?” Harlan said, handing it over. “Yes.”

Nikki stared at the tri-shield logo etched on the device.
I haven’t driven in years,
she thought.
This ought to be fun.

“Fully serviced, freshly waxed, and ready to go.”

Nikki placed the Glock inside her purse, grabbed her cell phone, and stood. “Thank you, Harlan…for everything.”

“She’s parked on the opposite side of the building from where you came in,” he said. “Follow me.”

They left the makeshift office, walked across the warehouse, and passed through the main entrance. Parked at the far end of the empty lot was a Buick Regal Turbo: Summit White with light neutral interior and cocoa accents. Above the sculpted bumper a Georgia vanity plate read, “SOLO ACT.”

Nikki sized up the vehicle. “Nice car,” she noted.

“Belonged to a pencil pusher over at the Environmental and Natural Resources Division,” Harlan said.

“Someone who owed you a favor, no doubt?”

He placed his hands in his pockets and glanced at his feet. “Something like that.”

“Mm-hmm,” Nikki said. “Now that’s the Harlan I knew and loved.”

The seasoned field supervisor looked over at his charge, confused. “Huh?”

“This ‘corporate guy’ facade thing you got going on here,” Nikki said. “Suit and tie, wing-tip shoes, upscale glasses. It’s not you.”

“That obvious?”

“Yeah.” Nikki’s face slowly cracked into a gentle, disarming smile. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Harlan ran his hand through his hair then massaged his forehead. “I’m up for review.”

Immediate recognition dawned across Nikki’s face. “And you’ve been passed over twice already for promotion.”

Harlan nodded. “Failure to advance this time mandates automatic retirement.”

Nikki didn’t respond right away. Her eyes darted from side to side as she processed what she’d just heard.

“I’ve given up everything for this job,” Harlan continued. “including two wives and a condo on the beach, and now I face the possibility of ending up with nothing.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she offered in a calm voice. “But the car is still too nice.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Harlan held out his hand. “Enough about me. Key, please.”

Nikki handed it over to him and watched as he walked over to the Regal and began scratching the sedan’s paint job. A momentary expression of confusion twisted across her face. “Harlan!” Nikki called out. He paid no attention to her and continued down the entire length of the drivers’ side and back up over on the passengers’ side.

Without a word, Harlan stopped at the trunk and removed the tire iron. Nikki’s expression slid from stunned to alarmed.
Now you’ve completely lost it.
Harlan reared back and swung the steel lever hard, connecting with the driver’s-side body panel. An explosion of steel colliding with steel left a volleyball-size dent in the vehicle. “This is crazy!” Nikki said. Harlan swung again, hitting the exact same spot. This time, the tire iron dug deep down through the white paint, exposing bare metal. He continued to strike along the body panel a third and fourth time, careful not to hit anything that would make the car unroadworthy. It was only after he pounded the other side of the Buick that Nikki realized he was enjoying himself. “That’s enough,” she shouted. “Stop it!”

Harlan froze. He was breathing hard and sweating profusely. When he finally caught his breath, he calmly walked back over to Nikki.

Her mouth hung open. “I can’t believe you just did that,” she said.

Harlan dropped the tire iron in his hand, loosened his tie, then unfasten the cuff buttons on his shirt. “And I can’t believe how great that felt. Amazing.”

“What about the Environmental and Natural Resources Division?” Nikki asked.

Harlan rolled his shirt cuffs up to his forearms to cool off. “Operational security.”

Nikki chuckled. “Oh, that again.”

“The car was too nice,” Harlan reminded. “You said so yourself.”

“Yeah, but vehicular vandalism isn’t what I had in mind.”

Harlan held his hands up and stared at his heated palms. “That was improvisational on my part. Besides, no one will wonder about this car now.”

A troubled look washed over Nikki’s face. “And the DOJ?”

Harlan smiled. “With General Motors providing a consistent flow of fleet cars to the government until they repay the billions they borrowed in bailout money, I don’t think anyone will be too concerned over one banged-up Buick belonging to some obscure department—not with the constant influx of new vehicles readily available.”

“If you say so,” Nikki said, shrugging. “I’m not exactly in the loop here.”

Harlan reached in his pocket and handed the key back to Nikki. “Go on. Check it out.”

“After the mayhem and destruction I just witnessed, I’m almost afraid to.”

Harlan snickered. “Go on.”

Curious, Nikki walked over to the car and surveyed the damage: Large patches of exposed metal in a variety of warped and fragmented patterns ran the length of the sedan and stood out against the once-pristine, manufactured paint job. “If unsightly is what you were aiming for,” Nikki said, “congratulations, Harlan. You overachieved.”