The rest of Alain’s workday was uneventful. She completed the paperwork on her desk mechanically, thinking all the while about the assignment and Agent Smith. He had been distant, yes, but the rest of her expectations regarding him were not fulfilled. Smith was not cruel, though he was acerbic and aloof, and she had no problem getting along with him, although he did make her nervous and intimidated her by his pure presence. After leaving his office, she thought about the mission, about the simplicity, about how complicated it should have been. Dimly, she realized that she must have missed something in their conversation, something that Smith failed to mention, and it bothered her.

When five o’clock rolled around, she left the office, still deep in thought, and hailed a cab to her apartment in Queens. She shared her second-floor apartment with her best friend, T Money, who was also a drug lordess. Though it seemed odd for an FBI agent to live under the same roof as a notorious drug lordess, Alain justified it by life-long loyalty to the best friend and the fact that she did not work in the Narcotics division of the FBI.

The apartment was in a nondescript, two story brick building. There were four spacious apartments, two on each floor, and the landlord lived in an apartment basement, next to the boiler room. Alain knew her neighbors through random conversation in passing, but neither she nor they made any move to make better acquaintance. There was an unspoken law in New York City that read something along the lines of: if it’s not your business, don’t ask. Alain obediently took that law to heart and followed it thoroughly.

Five black mailboxes hung from the brick, next to the front door. Alain unlocked her box, 2C, and pulled out two letters. Both were bills that she slipped into her satchel. She let herself in the front door using a security code, made sure it shut behind her, and walked the short flight of stairs to the second floor atrium. Her keys jingled in her hands as she sought out the two that would unlock the deadbolt and the doorknob.

When the door swung open, she stepped inside, dropping her keys on the end table next to the couch. The apartment was furnished with funky, old furniture and random odds and ends; movie posters, tour posters, and random art projects covered the white walls, giving the place a comfortable and lived air. From the living room, where Alain was standing, the dining room and kitchen could be seen, directly in front of the door, and to her right was a small hallway, which led to two bedrooms and a large bathroom.

“T?” Alain called out, shutting the door behind her. She could hear one of the bedroom doors open and a tall, skinny woman appeared in the hallway.

“Yo,” T Money greeted Alain. T was wearing a baggy baby blue outfit with jersey numbers in white that proclaimed ‘4:20’ to be the number of choice. A long, platinum chain hung down her chest with a sparkling, diamond studded symbol that read ‘T$.’ She had long, brown hair that she always wore up in a ponytail, warm brown eyes, and sharp but friendly features.

Alain dropped her satchel on the couch and plopped down next to it, stretching out and crossing her boots on the coffee table. “What’s up?”

T sat down in the comfortable La – Z – Boy recliner across from the couch. “Not much. I’ve been working on that Snood project — remember? Fifty thousand games of Snood in one month. So far I have two thousand games of child.” T Money constantly played random games and took off the wall challenges. The Snood challenge was just another silly project where one played endless games of Snood, an addicting computer game that Alain couldn’t describe.

“How… nice,” Alain remarked dryly. “Are you expecting any company tonight?”

“Nah, I’ve conducted all of my business today.” T flashed a satisfied grin. “Lots of politicians today, strolling in and out of this place. You should have seen it.”

Alain raised an eyebrow. “I’m rather glad I didn’t.” While she didn’t particularly mind T Money’s area of business, she wanted no part in it, either.

T suddenly leaned forward, her shiny chain clinking. “Alain,” she said earnestly, “you know I would never pressure you into something you don’t want any part of, but it’s not all as bad as you think.”

Her new assignment still on her mind, Alain cryptically remarked, “I might find that out soon enough.”

T Money gave her a searching look before reaching out, searching for her pack of cigarettes and lighter that lay on the end table next to her. “Is there something you need to tell me?” The cherry red Bic lighter flared up and T Money cupped her hand around the flame protectively, inhaling and then blowing the flame out. She exhaled and Alain watched the blue-gray smoke as it wafted up toward the ceiling.

“Remember that job Vargo mentioned to me? The one he wouldn’t give me any details about?” Somewhere in the huge book of policies and procedures about the FBI, that Alain didn’t read, she was sure it spoke about how missions were top secret and not to be discussed with anyone. T Money was Alain’s best friend and confidant, though, and she told the other girl everything, just as she knew the other girl confided in her the same way.

“Yeah,” T said, picking up a glass ashtray and setting it on the arm of the recliner. She tapped her ashes into it. “What about it?”

“I found out the details today. And… I took it.”

T Money blinked. “Well?”

With a grin, Alain sat up. “It’s a simple, technical job. I have to relocate to Liberty City and search for a leak, someone in the FBI sect there or someone with a connection to the Bureau, and locate the person they’re leaking information to.”

Alain thought she saw an odd emotion flicker across T Money’s face, but it was gone before she could examine it. “Is that all?” T Money sat her cigarette down. “It’s that simple and you have to relocate? For how long?”

With a wince, Alain leaned forward and started unbuckling her boots. “That’s the thing. It’s a technical job because I have to do it undercover. The criminals there are, apparently, very influential, and if a random Fed agent wandered in, looking for someone… well, you get the idea.” T Money nodded. “I have to work my way up through their criminal society to find these people. Agent Smith, the supervising agent, told me that it would take at least a month to get the reputation and social status I would need to have access to the information.”

“At least a month?” T echoed. “What am I supposed to do in that month while you’re gone?” she demanded, stubbing her cigarette out.

“Well,” Alain said, blankly, forgetting her boots, “I hadn’t thought about that. What are you going to do?”

With a sly grin, T Money sat the ashtray back on the table and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Did I ever tell you that I know people who, in turn, know people in Liberty City?”

“Oh, no,” Alain shook her head firmly. “T, I don’t think you can go on this with me. The Bureau is setting everything up, as far as living arrangements and all of that.”

“What?” T looked incredulous. “You’re going to move to a city where you know virtually no one, without any delinquent experience, and expect to become a smooth criminal overnight? Girl, are you out of your mind?! You wouldn’t last a week, if that!”

Alain finished loosening her boots and slid them off, dropping them on the floor next to her. “I hadn’t thought of that, either,” she said with a frown. “There’s a lot I’m not seeing here.”

“Which is exactly why,” T Money said immediately, “you need me to go along with you. I would like to consider myself an expert with these things, criminal activity and all of that. I’ve only been one, what,” she flashed her teeth in a gesture reminiscent to a smile, “all of my life? And a damn good one at that.”

Weakly, Alain nodded, pulling out her ponytail. She shook her head once and ran her fingers through her thick, shoulder length hair. The rubber band was neatly slid over her hand and onto her wrist. “You’re right. I agree that you’re a good criminal. I don’t see how it would work if they rent me, say, a studio apartment or something along those lines.”

“Alain,” T Money was smug; it showed in her voice and the way she sat back, crossing her ankles and linking her arms behind her head, “we’ll make it work. We always have.”

“Without a doubt,” Alain murmured, both comforted and discontent with her friend’s decision to join her. She stretched out on the couch and gave T a small smile. “So, what were you saying about this person who knows someone in Liberty City?”

***

© 2003 Brianna Jackson.