Chapter 23 HOW IT WENT DOWN

Eight years earlier

DETROIT, MICHIGAN

A U R E L I A N O

So I'm standing in front of this chick who thinks she's the female version of The Terminator.

She must be cuckoo if she thinks throwing around two big words like 'federal agent' is going to get me to screw her.

Federal agent, my black ass.

I get over my initial shock pretty fast as I swipe a hand down my face and let out a hoarse laugh to show how much I think she's speaking baloney's. "You expect me to believe you're a federal agent? Next thing you'll tell me is 'I'm not a virgin.' I eye her disbelievingly.

"You're right!" She smiles coyly. That ship sailed a long time ago. I'm really not a virgin. Want to test that theory?" She begins to walk close to me and I back up as far away from her as I can.

"Stay the fuck away from me, imposter. I don't know who the fuck you are, or why you're doing this but I won't be a party to it, feel me?" I make to walk away, but her voice stops me. It reaches out and anchors my feet solidly to the ground. Just as if they were glued to the floor.

"I can help you escape the drug life without you going to jail, but you've got to help me with one thing."

This time my feet move of their own accord and I'm at her side in three long strides, barking out one word. "How?"

"Give me the names of all your associates, the people you work with, their job descriptions, everything." Her eyes gleam with a wild fervor that's scary. "Unless . . you don't want to rat on them."

I exhale loudly and slump into my recently-vacated stool. "It's not that, they can go jump into the ocean for all I care, it's -----"

"Oh I see. . . you're scared of reprisals." She takes the words right out of my mouth, so instead of saying anything, I remain mum.

"See that's where I come in. They don't have to know if you don't tell them. I'm definitely not going to rat on you, that's for sure." She puts a hand on her hips and assesses me with the same gleam in her eyes.

"You don't know these peo----"

She makes a disgruntled noise at the back of her throat. "Roxy, Abdul, Keyto, Ronald, Fleece, Sting, Mr. Brown . . . should I go on, because there are so much more people in this drug business that you're not even aware of."

I stare in shock at her. She really wasn't joking about being a federal agent, and all the names she mentioned, some of them I don't even know.. And Mr. Brown, the head of the student body at the uni is also . . . I shake my head. No! I'm still not ratting them out. "Look, these people are dangerous. They're gonna know there's a mole if their drugs keep getting siezed at pick up points, and ----"

"Who's talking about siezing their drugs? Oh no no, we're looking at the big guy on top. We need to fish him out, and we need you to do that." Her eyes become big and round. The gleam in them has become a raging inferno. I sincerely hope I don't get scorched.

I'm ready to protest as I stand up. "But I don't even know him, how am I going to -----"

"You're already in the system, all you need do is ask to take up more jobs and eventually the big boss will want to meet with you, and that's when we'll come in. You're going to wear -----"

"I'm not gonna wear a wire." I shake my head vehemently, already negating what she's going to say.

She sighs and shakes her head, exactly like you'd do when you're dissapointed in someone. "When are you going to see the bigger picture. The FBI has evolved wayy past using wires."

My eyes almost bulge out as she lets it slip. "You're a fucking FBI agent?"

She moves away from me and walks to the counter, rifles through her purse and brings out something. "Here! Take it."

"Are you shitting me right now? You think giving me some gum will erase the tension inside of me?"

She sighs more impatiently this time around, then walks close to me and thrusts something in my face. "And to think I actually thought you had a brain. This isn't gum, look at it."

I take whatever it is she's thrusting at me from her outstretched hand and hunch over to look at it. At first I don't see it because of the poor lighting in the kitchen, but as soon as my eyes latch onto it, I'm unable to unsee the words.

Federal Bureau of investigation.

Special agent Tracy Malone.

Smack in the middle is her picture. A bit of an old one, but yup, it's her. Beside it is the round stamp from the department of Justice. Lady justice herself holds a scale and a torch. The whole thing is tinged with a gold colour.

I know a fake when I see one. Trust me, I've seen plenty of them in the past one year, not ashamed to say I've even used one to fool some policemen while carrying drugs to divert their attention.

What I'm looking at now is the real deal.

My breath hitches in my throat as I come to the grave realisation.

I almost had sex with an FBI agent.

The way I treated her was, dare I say it --- bad. It was despicable and degrading.

Does she hold it against me?

I raise guilt-ridden eyes to her.

She see's the look on my face and lifs a finger up, wagging it in my face. "Oh no no no, you don't get to regret what you did to me at all, Aureliano. You did it with a clear conscience and if it makes you feel any better, I was a willing participant. I was only acting."

"What! Why?" Now I'm the one who needs closure. I need to know why she went that far. Shoot me, but I actually feel hurt that she fooled me.

She shrugs and moves to stand in front of a large-screened computer tucked in a corner of the kitchen. Sitting down in front of it, she tugs on the cordless mouse and the screen comes to life. With her attention still on it, she replies. "I wanted to see how far you would go."

I get up and walk over to stand behind her. "Would you have let me . . . sleep with you?"

Her response is not far behind. "Maybe." Then she looks up at me. "I just logged onto the FBI site. That's my name, just incase you think that ID card in your hand is fake." She points to something on the screen, and sure enough, her name is there in bold letters on the FBI site.

I swipe a hand across my face and move away from her.

Everything seems to be spiralling out of proportion. It's beginning to scare the shit out of me.

How she comes close without me knowing is beyond me, but her hand on my shoulder calms down my nerves in ways I never imagined. "Look, I know how you feel right now, but you've got to stay strong. The FBI is now on your side. Be thankful for that." She spears me with a look and I realise there's more she wants to say. "We need to have a solid plan. I've got a proposition for you."

I nod for her to go on, my heart beating hard against my chest in anticipation of what she's about to say. "Be my boyfriend." She puts up a hand to stop me from saying anything. "A pretend boyfriend." The breath I didn't know I was holding gets expelled, making me feel a bit light headed and I stumble towards the stool. "Is that proposition distasteful to you?"

And I just realised Tracy has a British accent. It's slight, but I'm able to pick up on it. "How did you become an FBI agent?" I ask instead, suddenly curious to know her history.

"That's a story for another day." She turns around, but not in time before I see the sadness marring her face. "So . . . do we have a deal?" She turns back around to look at me with an eyebrow arched, and I notice her face has been schooled into a neutral mask.

"Does this 'fake' relationship come with perk ----"

"I'm not going to sleep with you, so don't hold your breath." She says, scoffing.

"Uh huh! I hear you, but I must tell you that shit is still going to happen between us." I fold my arms on my chest and smirk. I watch as her eyes drop to them and stay there. I've been told my muscles bunch up when I fold my arms, like now. "Like what you see?" They snap back up to my face and she blushes and turns around once more.

If she keeps this up, she sure as hell's going to have whip lash soon. "I think it's time for you to leave." She doesn't bother turning around this time when she says this and I know she means it.

Five minutes later, we're a blur of hands and legs as we claw at each other's clothes, trying to get them off each other.

If you ask how we got to this point, I'll tell you I don't know. All I know is there's a desperation from me as a result of the lingering tension in the air. It needs to be released. It needs an out.

Why she's going along with this, don't know, don't care. Can we just get down, already.

We struggle our way upstairs, flinging pieces of clothing here and there as we go. We eventually make it to a room I assume is her's, but I'm too caught up with removing the rest of her clothes to give it anything but a cursory glance. Her hands suddenly become rough and she pushes me unceremoniously onto the bed.

I gotta tell you, this federal agent chick has got some manpower going on in her hands.

It briefly crosses my mind that I'm about to have sex with an officer of the law, leading me to hesitate for the briefest of seconds, but when her hand clamps around lil boy, all thought flies out of my head except how to get inside her.

The jeans she has on is proving difficult. Her top has long vanished, as well as her bra. In my haste to get it off, I rip the zip and she gasps. That doesn't phase me, because I drag it down with two tugs and finally get to her spot.

Minutes later, it's over and done with and I'm weak as fuck. She coils up like a kitten beside me and spoons me. Just as my eyes are drifting shut, I say drowsily. "Little Miss federal agent likes to cuddle."

As I drift off into nothingness, her chuckles are the last thing I hear.

*

Tracy wasn't joking when she said we'd be a 'fake couple.'

This chick takes 'pretend' to another level. She's fully hands on. And by hands on, I mean literally.

She'd come over to my place every day --- don't ask me how she found out, 'cause I never told her --- and she'd bring gifts, I kid you not. Stuff like cupcakes, chocolates, and yes, even boxer shorts. She also coerced me to introduce her to mama, saying it would make everything more authentic.

This makes me wonder. If she's like this while pretending, how's she gonna be in a real relationship?

One word; Cloying!

And so I'm helpless to stop her.

I watch as Dipo becomes amused at my seemingly 'settling down' with one chick, and I become even more amused as Roxy's face darkens everytime Tracy and I show up together.

One day, Dipo sits me down and announces he's going to be a father.

Roxy is having his baby.

Talk about getting into hot soup, nigger just got scalded.

Of course I don't believe it, yet the signs are all over her. Her stomach has grown considerably bigger. No amount of layered clothing can cover that up. Although a part of me feels Dipo is being duped, because let's face it --- Roxy gets around.

But who am I to get in their way?

I smile tightly and congratulate them on their soon-to-come bundle of trouble. In my estimation, any spawn of Roxy's is a spawn of hell. She'd eased up on giving me trouble because I steered clear from her. Now she's heavy, she can't get around as much as she'd like, so I hardly get to see her.

I decide it's time to finally put the plan in motion, and so I begin requesting for more jobs. Every day I wear myself out, taking up almost ten jobs in a day. On days when I'm about to give up and throw in the towel, I remind myself that I'm doing this to get out.

Can I trust Tracy?

I've got no other option in sight.

This tiresome habit continues for a month, until one day I get a call from Abdul.

"Hey chap, it's time for you to swim in the big ocean. The boss wants to see you ASAP."

I smile grimly to myself.

It begins.