“Cohen–you sure about this?” I looked over to my NARC unit commander as I slipped the suit jacket over my shoulders and adjusted my silver linked watch. The large crystal face covered the blue metal surface and silver roman numerals. I hadn’t worn a watch in years doing undercover work and the heaviness felt stifling against my wrist bone. Funny how this job with a monkey suit felt like a slow strangulation while the ticking watched only served to lengthen the endless wait to finish. I adjusted my tie, a figurative noose in this job.

“If there was any other way to do this, then sure, but fuck it, we haven’t gained any ground, and Hector’s gang is fucking shit up all over the place, drugs, armed robbery, prostitution, you name it.” Dallas had become a hotbed for gang activity, which ravaged communities with limited law enforcement resources, earning it the nickname North Mexico City.

“After all the hard work I did to get you a desk job, and this is the assignment you and Maris put your cap in for.” He shook his head, smiling despite his disappointment.

“To be honest, it was her idea. The Red Tribe is connected deep to the cartel–hence Hector’s little street gang. There’s only one way to get recruited, and that’s from the inside.”

“I can’t believe those gang-bangers are using women to transport drugs and establish the trade routes between southern Texas and Mexico.”

“You seem surprised. Don’t forget those females are full-fledged gang members,” I reminded my boss. They could be pretty, and according to our best profilers pretty deadly. They seemed to recruit the ones most likely to carve out your heart with an audience just for fun.

“Obviously, Cohen. I just hate the idea of sending you and Maris in so soon. The last job–well, you know.”

I didn’t need to be reminded. We had been ordered by the psychologist to take time off after losing one of our team members in a gang related street shooting. Unable to let it go, Maris and I decided to jump back in. Work was the best therapy for us. We’d barely used the vacation time we had coming anyway. A few days on a beach somewhere sounded nice, but we were driven to bring Hector’s gang down for good.

“We needed an in, but this was more than I think we bargained for, given the opportunity.” After all the red tape had been cut, explored and cross-examined, my partner and I had been given permission to go undercover, and my boss, James DeLuca, came back with reservations. I swore the timing was equal parts bullshit and bureaucratic red tape.

“And now we have one.” I smiled sardonically.

James snickered meeting my gaze. “Never pictured you as a warden, Cohen Shepard.”

“Yeah well, tell that to Maris who is going in for prostitution and distribution.” I thought about my undercover partner, Maris Ramos, curvy, dark hair, and big brown eyes that reminded me of sweet chocolate until she got riled up. Maris was capable of hitting back as hard as any of our male agents. She could take care of herself, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t concerned when she was going to be inside the prison without backup or a weapon to protect herself. I wasn’t a chauvinist; I was being realistic. Homemade shanks could kill and I couldn’t back her up the way I wanted to for my own peace of mind.

Prison was still prison.

And those women on the inside… let’s just say I wouldn’t exactly call them ladies or innocent.

James walked around the office picking up framed knick-knacks and books from the shelves. “Well, it’s a tradeoff. Remember your last big sting.”

How could I forget… my last undercover job before the shooting was in an all-male review show. I was comfortable with my sexuality, but I learned a few things about crazy, cock-hungry women as well as how to dance my ass off. Another man might have been embarrassed, but after everyone you’ve worked with has gotten an eyeful of your nine-inch dick bouncing to the rhythm of the music in a g-string barely holding up, you’ve got no shame left. I earned my bonus after busting up that illegal steroid ring. How bad could working in a women’s prison be? I didn’t plan on being alone with any of the women, so I was pretty sure my cock was safe. It was Maris I worried about despite her enthusiasm to jump in.

My first week at Colby Meyers Correctional Institution was mostly observational. It was obvious that Evangelina Corazon was the leader of the Red Tribe, but so far, she’d kept her nose clean and used her network of minions to carry out her dirty work. It was frustrating that I had no reason to pull her into my office for questioning that wouldn’t tip her off. The plan was for Maris to commit minor infractions in order to meet with me under the guise of her being in trouble. Her job was to investigate the pecking order around here and get intel on the Red Tribe once she arrived on the inmate prison van from the county lockup.

I took to walking up and down the aisle of the lunchroom, letting my presence be known. Since my arrival, there had been a few shake-ups, fights, and one stabbing that required an infirmary visit and stitches for a female inmate. It was gruesome, possibly more than a men’s prison, which said a lot. The manipulation was different, and I was sure a few of the guards were in on the schemes at the prison. One woman was pregnant but I couldn’t be sure which male guard was responsible. No one was exactly forthcoming in claiming the baby.

Today a mini van carrying six new inmates arrived, one of whom was my partner, undercover now that I’d been established as the new warden. Their files sat on my desk next to more bureaucratic red tape than I thought possible. I worked for the government drug and gang division so this was nothing new. Might as well give me three separate memos from different bosses asking the same damn question in triplicate–shamefully our tax dollars at work.

Three of the women were coming in for a mix of drug offenses, dealing and using. One was in for armed robbery and grand theft auto, helping her boyfriend lift a car. One had been picked up for prostitution which would be Maris’ cover. Her file also said she pimped out girls and then beat them when she felt cheated, according to the file littered with aggravated assault charges–something the Tribe would look to recruit. The last one ambiguous. She killed her supposed lover.

I took a moment to review her file thoroughly. Only nineteen, practically a baby to be in a place like this. Her conviction also made her a perfect recruit for the Red Tribe. They preferred to take women under their wing with serious or violent charges. I had to meet her and figure out if there was a way to take advantage of the possibility she would be initiated into the group. The big bosses had given me some leeway, and I could offer immunity and sentence reduction for cooperation if I thought the info we were getting would be good enough to get the lead to the big fish.

The new girls arrived that morning, and by the time they were processed, it was lunch. I was in a meeting with the corrections board, so the guards brought them through processing. It wasn’t until later that I got down there to see them lined up for a tray of food, if you could call the shit they served food. Today’s meal happened to be some kind of meat patty and a bunch of soggy vegetables that were more yellow than green. Red Jell-O and a container of milk rounded out the nutritional requirements, but I wouldn’t feed this shit to a dog let alone human beings.

As the warden, I would have to review those nutritional guidelines at some point in the shuffle of paperwork and bullshit between the disciplinary hearings. Standing against the wall, several of the guards and inmates acknowledged me by nodding their heads. A few women winked inappropriately, and I ignored their forward behavior. Crossing my arms over the monkey suit I was forced to wear, my jacket strained under the involuntary flex of my arms. Later I would have to address the inmates in a house meeting, establish my dominance, and get to work uncovering the gang activity.

I watched and waited, feeling the air buzz and crackle with tension. A table of women snickered and made comments toward one of the new girls. Five of them, including Maris, ate their lunches, inspecting each item while one stared blankly at her tray. The food remained untouched, and her skin paled under the fluorescent lights. She was fair skinned with a caramel hue that suggested Latina blood flowed in her veins. Her reddish brown hair looked natural with highlights while her hazel eyes suggested mixed heritage somewhere in her family tree.

She was—in a word—stunning. It was easy to tell she wasn’t one of the girls in for drug possession and use. Clear healthy skin made her stick out in the crowd. She wasn’t pregnant like her table mate at the end, and she was too soft looking for the hard life of prostitution. That left manslaughter, and I shuddered to think of her baby face having the hardness or her having the brute strength to whack a man thirty times with a tire-iron with her skinny arms.

I left the cafeteria more curious than before intending to meet with the new girls as soon as I could. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Maris slip into her role, pushing the new girl’s tray clear off the table to the floor in a splattering mess of disgusting food. I guessed I’d also be seeing Maris sooner rather than later for one of those disciplinary hearings…