Carla
The taxi pulled up in front of Carla's house, and she paid the driver and got out. Across the street, the boy in the bandana and the rest of his crew started calling out to her.
“Hey, looks like your date with Donnie Brasco didn't go so hot, huh?” Bandana jeered as his friends laughed and hooted.
Seeing what Gio did to the man in the club—and enduring the confrontation that followed—had already put Carla on edge. Her hands were shaking and her heart was pounding.
She'd been in violent situations before when participating in raids out in the field, but those had still seemed more detached and anonymous, and she'd been surrounded by other agents. Tonight had felt darkly personal and intimate, especially when she thought about the dangerous obsession that had glinted in Gio's eyes as he looked at her.
As the kids on the street mocked her, she was tempted to pull out her badge and gun and show them who they were dealing with. But of course, she couldn't do that without blowing her cover. And even if she could, she'd left both of these items in her house before leaving for the evening—he'd refused to tell her where they were going, and many Chicago clubs had bouncers and doormen who searched purses for weapons.
So she did her best to ignore them, entering her house and securing all three of the locks on the front door.
Carla kicked off her high heels, made sure all the curtains were closed, and eased herself out of her black dress with a weary sigh.
Even with all of Gio's heavy-handed flirting and innuendo over the previous week, Carla had to admit that so far, things had been going extremely well. It seemed like Gio trusted her legal expertise, and even respected her on some level he usually wouldn't reserve for women. She'd seen him relax around her a lot more, and she had found herself relaxing with him a bit too, dropping true anecdotes from her own life in among the manufactured cover stories.
Carla told herself that other undercover agents did this from time to time to add brushstrokes of sincerity to their performances. But deep down, she wondered whether she was just growing comfortable talking to him.
She even caught herself admiring his looks on rare occasions when his attention was focused elsewhere. His features really were striking in the timeless way that certain old Hollywood legends' were, and she'd come to notice a certain sadness behind his eyes.
She found it increasingly hard to picture this man killing Fred. She tried to force the image into her mind, but it simply refused to fit, like a square block in a round hole.
Still, when she'd finally agreed to go out with Gio tonight, she'd expected him to try to push her into something sexual and she knew she'd have to definitively put a stop to it. She'd even rehearsed several versions of a “Let's keep things professional, please respect my boundaries” speech that she'd hoped would make things clear to him without jeopardizing her mission.
But she hadn't expected him to work so hard to dazzle her or to show her he was top dog by forcing her to watch him seriously injure someone for no reason. And she certainly hadn't expected him to try to block her from leaving.
Her cell phone was on her kitchen counter next to her badge, gun, and mic setup. She'd had to go out unwired as well, since her dress hadn't left any room to conceal surveillance apparatus. She picked up the phone and dialed the direct number for Don.
“How'd it go?” Don asked. “Did he try anything?”
“That's putting it mildly,” Carla replied.
“Well, are you okay? Did he get handsy with you, or try to...?”
“No, it didn't go that far,” she said. “But he did break a bottle over some poor guy's head just to try to impress me. And when I tried to leave, things got pretty intense.”
“Goddamn psychopath,” Don spat. “I can't believe you gotta work so closely with a mad dog like that.”
“The job's the job,” Carla said, trying to sound mild. “It's no different from what any other undercover agent has to go through. It's not like we're trying to infiltrate Santa's workshop here. These are bad guys we're trying to get close to.”
“It is different,” Don insisted. “It's one thing for male agents to pal around with a bunch of fat Eye-Tie businessmen for a month or two, tryin' to prove they're mixed up in union rackets. But puttin' a woman like you next to some predatory pervert with a head full of broken glass? The guy sounds like he could wake up one mornin' an' decide to rape you an' cut your throat just 'cause his toast got burned. It's like throwin' meat to a damn rabid tiger.”
“I'm not meat,” she answered primly, “and no offense taken from that analogy, in case you were wondering. And besides, Gio's not some monster. He's just got some serious problems, that's all. To tell the truth, sometimes I feel kind of sorry for him.”
“'Sorry for him?'” Don echoed incredulously. “Really? This I gotta hear.”
“It's hard to explain,” she said, “but if you saw how his father treats him, you'd understand. He's insulting, tyrannical, dismissive...”
“Yeah, an' I bet he didn't buy Gio the Tommy gun he wanted for his sixth birthday,” Don cut in. “What's your point?”
“He grew up in a family of liars, thieves, and murderers,” she countered. “Cruelty and greed were completely normalized for him as a child. Who knows what that does to someone? He's clearly the victim of decades of systemic emotional abuse. No wonder he's perpetuating that cycle with his own behavior. That's all he's ever known.”
“Yeah, an' I'm sure that thought was mighty comforting to Fred when he was getting' his head caved in by a Goodyear,” Don barked pitilessly. “Jesus, hon, do you even hear yourself? Just what the hell's goin' on over there, anyway?”
Carla opened her mouth, then closed it again. She wasn't used to hearing such a harsh tone from Don, and she wasn't sure how to respond.
When he spoke again, his tone was more gentle and concerned. “Carla, is it time for us to think about pullin' you out of there? Are you in a little over your head?”
“No,” she said immediately. “I said I was going to take Gio down, and I will. It'll just take a bit more time, that's all.”
“Are you sure? You know this ain't 'cause you're a woman. Plenty of male agents find themselves in too deep an' need to get bailed out.”
“What I need is for you to trust me,” Carla said. “Please.”
There was another pause on the other end. Finally, he said, “Okay. Of course I trust you. I just don't want to see nothin' bad happen to you, is all. Not if it could've been prevented.”
“I'll be fine,” she said. “And if it really does get to be too much, I promise I'll tell you. But it won't.”
Don sighed. “Fair enough. Try to get some sleep. After what happened tonight, it sounds like facing Gio tomorrow's gonna be a real doozy for you.”
“Good night, Don,” Carla said, hanging up the phone.
She flicked off the light in the kitchen and headed for the bedroom, feeling the rough splinters from the old hardwood floors dig into her bare feet. The house the Bureau had rented for her really was a depressing shithole, and the neighborhood was practically a demilitarized zone. But it was inconspicuous, and it was all the FBI could afford.
She unhooked her bra and slid between the sheets of her bed, staring at the cracked and mildewed plaster on the ceiling.
Was she in over her head? She hadn't wanted to sound weak when talking to Don, but now that she was alone with her thoughts, she couldn't help but wonder. Surely she wasn't the first agent to feel a little sorry for a criminal during an undercover investigation. Her empathy didn't just come from being a woman, and it certainly didn't need to impede her ability to do her job.
Did it?
Or was she just fooling herself because she was so determined to advance her career?
Her mind kept racing for several more hours. Just as she was finally starting to settle into a light sleep, she heard a strange sound from the kitchen. It took her a moment to realize it was a door closing gently. A few seconds later, there was a creak from the floorboards in the hallway.
She cursed inwardly. Had she remembered to make sure the lock on the kitchen door was secured? No, despite the fact that this was a dangerous part of town and she knew it.
And like an idiot, she'd been too preoccupied with thoughts of Gio to remember to bring her gun into the bedroom with her.
She sat up in bed and stared at the bedroom doorway, praying she'd dreamed or imagined the sounds even as her gut told her that she hadn't.
A moment later, the menacing silhouette of a man appeared at the door, looking down at her.