Diametrically Opposed (Veronica / TatlTails)

Veronica

Veronica

The Architect
Officer Gail Felan's bulletproof boots squeaked as she entered the hallway from the briefing room, the reinforced nylon not quite broken in. She had been given her first assignment and partner--someone her field training officer did not name but said their office would be down the hall and to the left. It was strange that the Captain himself had personally requested a rookie for the assignment, but she personally decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. After all, the other officers who started with her were on drunk wagon duty or doing the senior officers' paperwork. She decided that graduating top of her class at the academy was paying off.

A shiny new file in hand, Felan reached the office she was looking for and wasting no time to knock on the door, though she was certain it was unlocked, it was just a courtesy. She wasn't worried at the prospect of her partner, as long as they weren't too tall for her 5'2" and didn't mind she had breasts as well as a service weapon. That went for both genders, she realized. All she knew about them was that they were good at their job if they were trusted with a "boot".
 
The knock was not answered at first, though there were signs of movement coming from behind the door. Soft footsteps clicked their way towards the door, and it was promptly opened.

On the other side of the door was a man that thankfully wasn't too tall. He seemed about 5'8, 5'9? Skinny as a rail, dressed in an only-slightly tousled black suit with a white shirt that had only the top button undone. He looked too young to be in his thirties, but just barely old enough to be in his position. His facial features looked vaguely East Asian, and his hair was a dark auburn whose tousled locks shone just a bit redder in the light. His grey eyes scanned the woman at his door down and back up again, before he stepped aside to let her in.

"Gail Felan?" He asked coolly, his voice smooth and not too deep. It didn't let a lot of emotion show, but aside from the almost judging look he was giving, he didn't seem to be too displeased with her yet.
 
Gail looked up at the man as he said her name, and she smiled politely, reaching out her hand for him to shake.

"Yes, I'm Officer Felan, I've been assigned to work with you," she answered, somehow certain this was her new partner, though it could have been anyone in the office. There was no nameplate on the door. She took the time to note his features. He was in plainclothes, but she would be required to wear some form of police ID for a year or so, if not her full uniform, which was how she was dressed now. Her light brown hair was gathered in a simple knot at her neck, her blue-green eyes focused on his gray ones. He looked immaculate but ruffled at the same time, and she felt every bit of his gaze on her as she spoke. If he was trying to unnerve her, it wasn't going to work.

"I'm sorry, the Captain never told me your name."
 
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"Cunningham." The man replied, shaking Gail's hand without even breaking eye contact. "Winston Cunningham. But don't get used to it: We're going undercover."

He punctuated that statement by letting Gail's hand go, and walking over to his desk. He pulled out a file similar to the one in her free hand, then set it down and started flipping through it.

"Don Margianno is the current king of illegal arms dealings in this city." He informed her, paraphrasing and possibly embellishing the simple, professional wording of the case file. "Over the past few months, he's been making deals with the Triads, some overseas traders, and even a few corrupt politicians. If left unchecked, he could coup the damn city by the end of the year if he wanted to. We were tasked with the job of taking him down. In order to do so, we will need to infiltrate his inner circle of Mafia drones, and gather enough solid intel to get him behind bars for life. You apparently graduated top of your class, so you have a reputation to uphold. I need someone who isn't going to cave to either side of the moral line we're about to toe. Can you do that?"
 
Gail nodded as she read from her own file, which she also placed on the desk. Margianno was a pit bull of a man--and could certainly have the temper of one, judging by how many "accidents" to people that have resulted after his investments didn't meet his expectations.

"Three men, convicted of human trafficking and possession of drugs and unregistered firearms. All executed with a close range gunshot wound to the forehead. David Li, William Green, and John Hu," she read aloud from the papers, then paused to keep reading. "All worked in properties Margianno owned or put a large amount of funding into. Specifically, a brothel, a casino, and a warehouse; the last one probably used to traffic the illegal goods," she added.

She blinked at his sudden question, not missing his change in attitude. "I'm willing to do whatever that is required to solve this case," she said, her words clipped. "If you have any doubts about my qualifications or credentials, bring it up with OPR. What exactly is our cover?" she asked, once again getting to business. She was irritated that he had read her file while she had to pry for his name, but that matter could be settled later. Now, she needed to work.
 
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Winston took Gail's offense in stride, keeping his expression neutral. He was neither mocking nor judging her, just glad to hear a solid answer. He gave her a single nod, then returned her the favor and answered her question.

"I've managed to sway a couple of thugs into spreading the rumor that I'm a liason for the Yakuza." He explained, his voice remaining calm but containing just a hint of contempt. "I will be acting as such, with the story that you're an arms smuggler who managed to earn my trust. We will still have to prove our worth to the Don, but once we've been inducted, it shouldn't take much more than following orders for a while until we can get what we need."
 
"Right," Gail said affirmatively. Their fake IDs, passports, and other papers had been provided in the files, though she felt like the kind of work Don was involved in didn't require names, only efficiency.

She flipped a page, then continued, "and it looks like we'll be meeting them in..." she paused as she looked for the name, "the Sunset Lake Hotel, an underground casino he has a share in. Top floor, room number 702. 9 PM sharp." She knew Winston knew these things, but reading it out loud organized the information in her mind and made it somehow more of a reality.

This was a real case, and she was going to solve it, with a real partner on a real undercover mission. She wasn't juvenile enough to think of the assignment as an espionage worthy of James Bond; she knew the risks if their cover was blown. She or Officer Cunningham could get hurt or even killed. But that was part of the job--she had sworn she would risk her life for justice, and she refused to do anything less.

She needed something to do until that evening. Background checks were in order, and no doubt the autopsy results of the three Triad members, as well as any bagged evidence or lab tests collected from the scene. Unsure about what Winston himself was going to cover, she asked, "what do you need me to do until 9 PM?"
 
"I need you to perfect your cover." Winston replied, closing up his file and placing it back in his desk. He slid Gail a paper with the bulletpoints of their cover story written down, then said "Fill in the blanks with whatever you think will work, it's more important for you to remember something consistent than for me to shove a detailed story down your throat. Take care of any personal business you have, because you won't get another chance until we're done. Family, home life, pets, anything like that. And then make sure you can dress the part, because that uniform will not do you any good where we're going."

He then gathered up a few papers for himself, then said "Everything else that needs to be done already has someone else doing it. This is all we are to focus on, understood?"
 
"Understood," Felan echoed. She had been programmed since learning to speak to answer with "yes, sir" but it didn't feel right to say it to Cunningham. She was the subordinate, technically, but he was still an officer, and they both had to sign the field reports. Which she was probably stuck with doing, anyway.

She remembered hearing in a class that it was better to "stick to what they knew" when going deep undercover. She was an ex-smoker, a meticulous organizer, and she was used to working laborious, hard hours. Those traits could be easily applied to her role as a firearms dealer. However, she still had to come up with how she and a paranoid Yakuza member could have possibly established trust, that could be easily recalled as a story and was persuasive.

That, she realized, was the easiest part. They met at work. He kept doing the right thing for her, and she for him. He hadn't kicked her out of his office yet, had he?

Gail glanced down at the list Winston had given her, feeling relieved. It was neat, precise and organized, and she thought in lists. It basically condensed everything they had just went over, as well as including the things they'll need.

She tucked it into her folder and got up to leave, to make preparations, saying goodbye to Officer Cunningham in the process. "I'll meet you here at 8:30 PM or call me if you need me there at another time. We can then take the rental to the hotel and meet with this Don Margianno. I have some things to take care of."

And a goddamn dress to buy, she added silently, walking out the door.
 
Cunningham just gave his new partner a nod of affirmation, then saw her out of his office. He had some work to do himself, after all.

He'd finished up most of the paperwork involved in giving up his position for an indeterminate amount of time, but he still had to finish allocating his current cases to other detectives. He loathed to let them all go, but this case was the most important one he'd ever been assigned. He really had no choice but to take it, despite trusting the others to people he frankly didn't trust.

Why the hell do you think he got a greenhorn to go undercover with him instead of another detective?

At least he didn't have enough of a home life to waste much time on it. He'd already arranged for his apartment to be rented out, he'd filled up on his anxiety medication (it was situational, but he was going to need it where he was going), he didn't have anyone else to contact before he left...

So he was ready to meet his new partner by 8:30, his one suitcase already in the trunk of their rental car.
 
Gail loathed gambling. She was having a mental allergic reaction to the entire concept of Hotel Sunset Lake, the "Hotel" part really only being an excuse to have slot machines in the lobby. It was the gaudiest, most Vegas-esque establishment east of Nevada, so naturally it had to be Margianno's hideout. Gail theorized he just may have seen Casino one too many times.

And Felan did not understand the concept of dressing up to go gambling. On the one hand, it was perfectly understandable that one would not want to go around in a floral shirt and plaid slacks like some of the people in the casinos. On the other, if a person were to be so foolish as to gamble, could she really disguise that fact by dressing up as if it were the opera? There's no such thing as the Phantom of the Blackjack Tables. Evening dress implied that people actually looked at each other rather than at the cards or chips or other betting things -- Felan was fairly vague on that part of the gambling experience -- on which they were gambling away their hard-earned money.

But Don Margianno is a high roller and she and Cunningham were supposed to follow him around in the fancy part of the casinos, and that -- according to her partner -- meant looking the part. He'd been very specific on paper to not dress like a cop. That was all very well for Winston, who could just wear a suit, but she'd be damned if she was going to shop for and buy an outfit with sequins on it -- blue sequins, thank you very much -- and then pay for it herself. Accounting could suck it up. In fact, looking forward to the dispute with Agnes Whatserface in Accounting gave her the only enjoyment she'd had in the whole matter. It was certainly more enthralling than calling her mother afterwards, to tell her she was going away, and "yes, it's classified." In Mother Dearest's perfect world, there was nothing a 26-year-old should ever have to hide from her, even if it could put everything she had worked for in their adult life in jeopardy.

If there ever was a time in her life for a psychosomatic illness, it was now, but her body was as stubborn as her psyche and no nausea or swelling was forthcoming. But as soon as she opened the front doors of the police station, she gave away no discomfort or apprehension about the assignment. She walked as briskly as she could to Cunningham's office, her face carefully neutral.

At least she found comfortable heels. They made her three inches taller and matched the color of her navy blue dress -- without sequins, thank God. Looking sexy and feeling sexy were too different things, she realized, as she opened the office door.
 
Cunningham was right there, leaning against his desk as he fiddled with the tie he was now wearing. He'd exchanged his more casual suit from before into a full-blown tux, with a black bowtie to go with it. He somehow didn't look like a total nerd, he looked just as fancy as his partner, whom he looked up at when she entered the room.

He scanned her and her new look the exact same way he had when he'd first seen her, the sight of a woman in a fancy dress not even seeming to affect him. As soon as he made it back to her eyes, he stood up from the desk and said "Good. So I can assume you're ready? New identity prepared, old one buried away for the time being?"
 
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Gail's face lightened when she saw her partner. She took in what he was wearing when she noticed he was doing the same to her. He certainly didn't look like a detective, which happened to be the goal of the evening. And she certainly bore no resemblance to Gail Felan, but was the spitting image of a certain Ginny Gordon, who also just happened to have her driver's license, birth certificate, and medical history. Undercover names are a lot different than CB handles, but the process of making one is more or less the same.

"People can sleep soundly knowing I, Ginny Gordon, am protecting candlesticks and NRA licenses from jewel thieves and the Mafia," she responded dryly. "What inconspicuous name could you have possibly fashioned out of 'Winston'?"
 
"I told you not to get used to that name." The 'former' detective reminded 'Ginny', the lightest of scowls on his face. "My cover name is Hiroshi Yamada, since I will have been working for the Yakuza for over a decade by this point. I needed a Japanese name."

The name flowed off his tongue with ease, the pronunciation as correct as a Japanese native's He didn't seem especially pleased with the name, but hiding that fact would be easy enough once it was required. And it would be, very soon and for a long while...

"And if I bring out any code names," He warned his partner as he started towards the door, his voice calm but his hands fiddling absentmindedly with his cufflinks. "Don't worry. You aren't expected to know them, cover or no cover. I'm the liason, so I would technically have higher clearance. You already know everything you're supposed to know for this meeting. Any new information, should be new."
 
Gail flushed at the subtle reprimand, and she subconsciously straightened her posture. She meekly listened to "Hiroshi's" advice as they exited the station and made their way towards the rental car. She had packed her luggage in the trunk with her partner's, and she remembered they had adjoining rooms in the hotel on the floor beneath Margianno's presidential suite.

She got into the passenger side of the vehicle, since "Hiroshi" had the keys. She thanked heaven for the adjustable seats, having to pull hers up a good few inches. Her dress pinched as she sat down, and she felt the beginning of a blister on her foot from her heels. She ignored it and reviewed details of the case in her mind, since the files were hidden away in the suitcases.
 
'Hiroshi' was just as quiet as 'Ginny' as he drove to the casino, the only sign of nervousness he showed being the almost-whiteness of his knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel. He'd preemptively taken some medication for this, it just hadn't quite kicked in yet.

His partner had no idea what doing this job actually meant for him. Working under the Don... Even the prospect brought up bad memories, ones he hadn't anticipated to be affecting him as much as they were. Trauma never truly dies, he supposed... That was what revenge, and medication, were for.

He pulled up to the hotel far sooner than he would have liked, despite the several detours he'd taken to make sure no one knew they'd just come from a police station. He parked the car, then exited and got his partner's door for her.

"Ready, Ginny?" He asked smoothly, hiding any nervousness with surprising grace.
 
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