Carla
Carla looked in the mirror at the sleek pantsuit she was wearing, as well as the expensive makeup, fashionable hairstyle, and tasteful jewelry. Federal agents didn't make much—she usually bought her own clothes at Target or JC Penney, and she rarely concerned herself with makeup or accessories. The teardrop diamond earrings they'd given her cost more than she earned in six months. Now, as she examined herself, she felt like a completely different person.
She caught herself wishing she could ask to keep her costumes like movie stars do, and stifled a nervous laugh. Why shouldn't she be allowed to hang onto them if she managed to survive this undercover operation? Meryl Streep may have been unparalleled at transforming into the characters she played, but it wasn't as though an unconvincing performance could lead to her being beaten to death with a crowbar and dumped in the river.
Carla smoothed the front of her blouse to make sure the tiny microphone underneath didn't ruin the line of her outfit. Then she turned to Don, raising an eyebrow. “Well? What do you think?”
Don favored her with a toothy grin. “Darlin', you look like one of them business gals from Houston who never said yes when I asked 'em out.”
“Their loss, right?”
“Damn straight,” Don chuckled.
Louie Grammatica stood in front of the mirror next to Carla's, carefully shaving his chest with a trembling hand. The Mancinis' family lawyer was a short, stocky man with graying hair and heavy bags under his eyes. He nicked his left nipple with the razor and hissed as a drop of blood welled up. “Goddamn it! Will you two stop gushing about her clothes? You're distracting me.”
“Say, what's the matter?” Don drawled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I thought you gay boys didn't have no problem shavin' off your body hair. Puts you more in touch with your feminine side, right?”
Louie shot him a venomous look. “You're thinking of Olympic swimmers. Lots of gay men don't shave their body hair. And for the last time, I'm not gay, okay? I was...”
“...'you were there to deliver a message to someone, you'd never been there before in your life, and you were just wearing that outfit so you'd blend in,'” Don and Carla finished with him in unison. He'd made the same claims at least five times already that day.
“But I don't reckon any of that'd hold much water with Mario if'n he saw the location typed on your arrest record, right?” Don added.
“I imagine he'd at least want to know who you were delivering a message to,” Carla pointed out. “And why you seemed so certain you'd find the message's intended recipient in the glory hole booths at the back of the club.”
“Oh, an' how he knew which outfit to wear so he could 'blend in' if he'd never even been there before,” Don continued. “You startin' to see our point here, Louie? 'Cause we can keep goin' if you like.”
Louie scowled and went back to shaving his chest. “Yeah, fine, okay. Just remember what you guys promised. When you take Mario down, Witness Protection had better put me somewhere no one's ever even heard of the fucking mafia outside of a Coppola flick.”
“Sure, sure,” Don nodded. “Now hurry up an' finish shavin' those titties of yours so we can tape a mic to 'em. We ain't got all day.”
Don motioned for Carla to follow him into the next room. She did, smoothing out the front of her pantsuit again. She wasn't used to wearing anything this nice, and she didn't want to get it wrinkled and spoil the disguise.
Don noticed this as he closed the door behind them. “It's gettin' rumpled on you 'cause you slouch,” he said, as though reading her thoughts. “Try to keep your neck an' your back straight, an' your shoulders squared off. Posture, that's the key. You want to look like someone who spends half her life walkin' into courtrooms like she owns the place, 'stead of someone who mostly sits in front of computer screens transcribin' surveillance tapes.”
Carla stiffened her spine and threw her shoulders back. “Like this?”
Don laughed, shaking his head. “Now you look like some kinda robot.” He positioned himself behind her and gently moved her shoulders into a more natural position. “There, that's more like it. You want to be poised without lookin' like you're trying too hard. It's like my old yoga teacher used to say: You just go on an' picture an invisible wire extendin' from your crown chakra up to the sky, an' all them other chakras in your body are gonna align right under it. You keep that up, an' soon it'll feel so natural you won't even realize you're doin' it.”
“You do yoga, Don?” Carla asked incredulously.
“There's plenty about this here Texas boy you don't know,” Don replied lightly. “Shoot, just 'cause a fella likes his Wild Turkey don't mean he ain't tried wheatgrass a time or two.”
Carla closed her eyes and tried to picture a cord attached to the top of her head, lifting her entire posture. After a moment, she could feel it working. Her shoulders straightened effortlessly, and her body language was able to project confidence without seeming rigid.
“Thanks,” Carla said. “That feels better already. You missed your calling. You could have been a chiropractor.”
“Yeah, I figure there's about a dozen things I coulda been,” Don agreed, “an' about ninety percent of 'em would have made my momma happier than me endin' up a G-Man an' gettin' shot at.”
“So, you just called me in here to give me tips on how to keep my suit from wrinkling?”
“Well, watchin' Louie in there try to amputate his own nipples was gettin' to be a bit much,” Don said, “but naw, that wasn't the reason neither. I'm guessin' you must've heard about five hundred hours of taped conversations between them Mancini boys since you started this case, right?”
“Probably something like that,” Carla agreed. She felt herself growing uneasy about where this was headed. When a straight shooter like Don started asking questions he already knew the answers to, it usually meant he was circling a topic that made him uncomfortable and trying to find the most tactful way to broach it.
“So you, uh, probably heard a tale or two 'bout Gio's habits with the fairer sex,” Don continued.
Carla nodded. “Sure. The rumors say he's a compulsive womanizer who's into S&M, with an emphasis on the S. The other goons like to trade colorful gossip, but they mostly look the other way since there's nothing about his behavior that'd compromise him or make the Mancinis look weak in front of the other gangs.”
“Uh-huh,” Don confirmed. “An' just how do you feel about that?”
Carla regarded Don warily, uncertain of where this was going. “I don't know, Don. How do you feel about it? Are you trying to give me some kind of hint here, or...?”
Don sighed. “Do you happen to remember Patricia Kurtz?”
She blinked, confused. “Sure, I guess. I mean, mostly by reputation. She went undercover with the DEA and Immigration a few years ago, right?”
“Yup, that was her,” Don affirmed. “They sent her south of the border to infiltrate a ring of coyotes bringin' in illegals an' meth.”
Carla nodded. “Coyote” was law enforcement slang for someone who helped people cross the border into North America illegally.
“So she gets down there,” Don continued, “an' at first, everything's goin' just fine. Her espanol es muy perfecto, an' with some dye in her hair, she's able to pass herself off as a poor Mexican lady who'd do anything to make it to America. Trouble was, she played desperate so well that the coyote ended up givin' her the same choice he gave all the cute senoritas who came to him...”
“On top of the fee, she had to agree to sleep with him or he wouldn't take her across the border,” Carla guessed.
Don snapped his fingers. “Got it in one. Now strictly speakin', that kind of stuff's against Bureau rules. But Patty'd made a damn fine career for herself up 'til then, an' she figured if she made this bust, the sky'd be the limit for her...promoted to Assistant Special Agent in Charge, maybe her own field office some day, an' after that, who knows?”
“So she did it, right?”
“Uh-huh,” Don said. “She could've just told her handler what was goin' on, an' she'd have been taken outta there pronto. But instead, she went ahead with it on her own. Brought down their whole operation. Even got herself a medal for it.”
“Then she was right,” Carla insisted. “She did what she had to, and she was a hero. Are you telling me I should be prepared to do something like that?”
“Not quite,” Don replied. “You said you knew her by reputation, mostly. Never met her, though, did you?”
“I heard she left the Bureau a while after that. Went into private practice as a law enforcement consultant.”
Don nodded. “See, she may have cracked the big case, but she never did get tapped for no promotion after that. In fact, they ended up parkin' her ass right behind the same desk she came from, medal an' all. An' them fellas who make the decisions 'bout who gets to have a career an' who don't? Well, all they could see was a woman who used sex to get ahead when a man wouldn't have. Shoot, there were even a couple guys who said the medal should've, uh...”
“...been awarded to her pussy instead of her?” Carla finished for him with a smile. She couldn't help but be amused by what a southern gentleman Don was. “Yeah, the FBI was a real good ol' boys' club back then.”
“Take it from a good ol' boy, Carla,” Don said, “it still is.”
“Okay. So you're telling me that if it comes down to it, I shouldn't do what she did, even if it means we might not make the case we need against the Mancinis. Even if it means Fred's killer goes free.”
Don sighed heavily. “Darlin', all I'm sayin' is no matter what decision you make, be sure it's somethin' you'll be able to live with. I'm behind you either way, but you're the one who's gotta look yourself in the mirror when this is all over.”
“Assuming I make it out alive,” Carla said.
“Hell, that ain't much of an assumption,” Don answered. “You're a mighty tough cookie, an' a smart one too. If you can't out-think them Mancini boys, I'll eat my hat with barbecue sauce. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go make sure Louie ain't shavin' his nether regions in there while he's at it.”
As Don put his hand on the doorknob, Carla said, “Hey, Don? For what it's worth, I still think Patty was a hero.”
Don smiled. “Me too, hon.”