Dead4u Read online

What did I hate? Who did I hate? Ah, yes.

  I focussed on my most traumatic memory. At thirteen I’d caught my widowed, thirtyish mother fucking a neighbour. Being a daddy’s girl and something of a cunt, I’d called her a whore. For which she’d slapped my face. Not once. Not twice.

  Five times.

  Each wallop harder than the last. And then she’d gone to work with a belt. Whipped my backside till I’d screamed for her to stop.

  Years later I’d find pleasure in humiliation. And I’d revisit the memory of that belt on my hide from an altered perspective.

  Use the pain, Nikita. Wake up.

  Feeling white-hot rage rise from my belly, I swallowed and held the mirror up like I wanted to get rid of it. When Novak bent down to take it from me, I used the force of that remembered anger to move fast.

  Smashed the mirror against the bed’s metal frame. Grabbed Novak by the lapel. Then pulled her onto my lap where I held a fistful of broken glass to her neck.

  Muscle drew a Glock 19. He took his time. Held it steady with both hands. Training the muzzle at my centre mass while moving smooth and slow as honey. Making it plain he’d shoot if things went hinky—but not wanting to spook me.

  Novak said, “I think we may have got off on the wrong foot.” Her tone was dry. “As a good faith gesture, Wolseley is going to put his plaything away. You’ll do the same.” Novak’s eyes swivelled toward me. Adding: “If you want to keep me in your lap, I won’t object.” A grin sliced those thin lips. “I swing both ways, Nikki. Not a problem for me. You?”

  Muscle aka Wolseley didn’t move. Neither did I. My gut said her pet gorilla would shoot me no matter what. If so, I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to rip this bitch’s throat out.

  “Wolseley.” Novak’s tone was stern. “Holster your weapon. Now, please. Nikki won’t do anything stupid. Right, Nikki?”

  “Friends call me Nikki,” I told her. “For bottom feeders like you, it’s Nikita.”

  “Fine.” Novak cleared her throat. “Nikita’s going to be reasonable, Wolseley. As will you.”

  Muscle nodded. He slid the Glock back into its waistband holster. Expression neutral. Body relaxed.

  I lowered the glass shard but kept Novak on my lap—just in case. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the bitch seemed to enjoy it. Not that it mattered. Even if I were gay, her type would be off the menu. Wasn’t hard to imagine Lieutenant Novak working merrily away with flogger and car battery in a tidy little dungeon.

  “Why am I being reasonable, Novak?” Hearing my words come out in McCord’s deep growl made me want to gag. “That’s not how I work.”

  She replied, “You have a job to do, Nikita. And that job isn’t finished till Santiago Sweet goes to prison for the rest of his unnatural life. You do know Mr. Sweet, don’t you?”

  ◆◆◆

  The pit of my belly clenched. Hearing that name from Novak’s mouth made me want to slam her face into the wall. Yeah, I knew who Sweet was. But no one else in the department was supposed to know what I’d been working on. Not unless . . .

  “So you’re the department’s mole,” I hissed. “You fuck. Care to share why I shouldn’t add another hole to that ugly face of yours?”

  Novak didn’t flinch. “There IS a mole,” she conceded. “But the leak isn’t coming from our unit. In fact, we’ve already penetrated the periphery of Sweet’s business.” She gave a shrug. “But that’s as deep as we can go. Sweet doesn’t trust anyone outside his inner circle. So when you came along trying to flip his ladyfriend, we let you run with the ball. We hoped a smart cookie like you could find a way inside. And you did. Sort of.” She paused, turned her head and raised an eyebrow. “DEAD4U needs to be stopped. Care to help?”

  I nodded. Griffin was right. Reporting to Dobbs would be awkward given my deceased status. Telling Novak how I’d connected the dots was my ticket into the game.

  I said, “The tats on McCord’s hands and thighs match the ones on DEAD4U’s house fighter. Biometric estimates of height and weight fit like a glove. There’s no doubt in my mind that McCord is—or was—Madam Crunch.”

  “Aren’t you the clever one,” Novak purred sweetly. “Head of the class, Nikita.”

  Ignoring her, I went on. “Establishing her connection to Sweet was easy. Tax records show McCord manages one of his clubs: Sweet Spot. Cute, huh? Sweet’s background is online gaming and gambling.” I shrugged. “The rest was guesswork. I didn’t have any hard evidence—just my gut—so I ran a bluff and McCord bit. Hook, line and sinker.”

  “You told McCord our tech people had digitally unmasked her at the scene of eighteen homicides?” Novak sounded incredulous. “Without proof?”

  SpecOps knew. Goodbye leverage. My heart pounded against my ribs. Except for a few minor details, I had nothing to offer but empty pockets. Still, I had to try. I said:

  “I took a clip from a DEAD4U promo and pasted McCord’s face onto Madam Crunch. That’s what I sent her. Like I said, she bought it.”

  Novak shook her head. “You didn’t think it might be risky threatening a killer with eighteen bodies to her credit?” She snorted. “Why didn’t you ask Dobbs for backup?” Twisting her head around, Novak shot me a flinty glare.

  I glared back. “Dobbs said the Chief wanted siloed penetration of the target. No info to be shared with internal or external partners. Solid line reporting from me to Dobbs to the top.”

  “So McCord agreed to wear a wire. You didn’t find that the least bit suspicious? And you still told no one? No one. You’re sure?”

  Where was this going? “I was supposed to meet her at the Starlite Motel, Room 207. That’s where I was going to prep her and get a signed statement. All McCord gave me over the phone was bare bones stuff. How the operation worked. What she knew about Sweet. She said . . .”

  “Talk?” McCord laughed. “Santiago doesn’t ‘talk’, you dumb shit. He gives orders. The only people who get close to him are the ones he needs.”

  I took a breath. Pushing her too hard was risky. If she got scared, she’d rabbit. This required finesse. Not my strong suit but you play the cards you’re dealt, right? So I asked her to pretty please cough up some names. Unless she wanted to spend quality time in the Prison of Broken Dolls.

  The answer came out in a breathless rush.

  “Well there’s Feliks and Eddie. Zeke too. Sometimes that cunt Darlene. And me, I guess. Yeah, I’m the show.” She paused. “He’s got a pet cop, but I can’t give you a name coz I got no fucking clue. Okay? I don’t think the others know either.”

  So there was a mole. Great. Now I understood why the Chief wanted me working solo. Even a whiff of corruption would stain the entire department. The mole had to be neutralized.

  And I knew who’d be pulling the trigger.

  Me.

  ◆◆◆

  “Nikita? Earth to Nikita: you still with us, detective?”

  I blinked. Had I drifted off again? That was a bad habit. Especially with a gun aimed at my face.

  Novak had turned to stare at me. Wolseley hadn’t budged; his eyes tracked back and forth across my chest, waiting for a wrong move.

  Novak said, “We need the location for Sweet’s next event. And you’re going to get it for us.”

  I protested, “Sweet kept the locations secret, even from McCord. She never knew where those fights were staged. Sweet kept her blindfolded until they got wherever they were going. At least that’s what she claimed.”

  “McCord is Sweet’s girlfriend.” Novak made a derisive chirp. “You think she can’t sweet talk Mr. Sweet? Especially when her lovely ass is on the line?”

  My underarms felt damp. This couldn’t be happening. Being trapped inside a killer’s body felt surreal. Creep factor: off the scale.

  Mulling over this new reality, an unpleasant thought struck me. What if SpecOps left me holding the bag for her crimes?

  “Sweet’s the one staging these games,” I argued. “Now that McCord’s out of the picture, we need to concentrate
on him.”

  Novak shook her head. “McCord’s our best shot at getting Sweet. You figured it out too, Nikita.” A chuckle escaped those thin lips. “Lying to a suspect is nothing,” she sneered. “Offering a deal without authority? That would be grounds for dismissal—if you were Detective Nikita Chen, that is.”

  Oops!

  “I get why.” Novak paused. “You were confident that you could flip McCord and get promoted to a cushy desk job. No more chasing predators or tracking scams. Maybe you were thinking husband, kids and neighbourhood barbecues.” Another pause. “That’s what Captain Dobbs promised you, right?”

  A cold feeling settled in my gut.

  I said, “How do you know all this? I didn’t get around to filing a report.”

  Novak laughed. So did Wolseley. She said, “Yeah, we know. Too bad you didn’t come to us first, Nikita.”

  I snorted. “The department’s got more leaks than an old whore. If Sweet had known I was turning McCord, he’d have whacked her.” When Novak didn’t answer, I continued. “Is that what happened? Sweet found out and had us both killed?”

  “Not quite,” said Novak. Her eyes slid round to peer at me. “You made the initial approach and set up a meet with her a week ago. Still with me?”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said. “We never connected. I was going to meet her but . . .” I scratched my head. “Last thing I remember is . . . helping Human Resources test a polygraph for screening applicants. They needed volunteers to work out the kinks with their new toy. So I got volunteered.”

  Novak twisted her neck around to stare at me. Hooded eyes met mine.

  “Correct. Right after that, you went to meet McCord in a motel room. Only she murdered you and wiped the surveillance video from your phone. Fortunately, we had your phone wired up. When she tried to escape, we grabbed her.”

  Just my luck. It was McCord, not Sweet, who’d murdered me.

  “But why don’t I remember that? And how have I ended up in her body?”

  I watched the corners of Novak’s mouth broaden to a smirk. She raised her eyebrows. Then looked toward Wolseley. Signalling him to take me out? In response, I pulled Novak closer. Glancing over her shoulder at me, Novak said:

  “That wasn’t a polygraph. And it wasn’t a test.”

  ◆◆◆

  “That wasn’t a polygraph. And it wasn’t a test.”

  My brain—if it was mine—chewed on those words. Not a test, eh? Or a happy accident was my guess. SpecOps chose me before McCord killed me. They’d been watching and listening in the next room. They could’ve saved me but hadn’t.

  It all made sense now. Nikita Chen was a career-driven loner. No one would miss her enough to ask hard questions. My family, uneasy with public emoting, would grieve privately but neither too long nor too much.

  I’d been sacrificed to further other careers.

  Testing: one, two, three . . .

  ◆◆◆

  Shocker. My employer had lied to me. Motherfuckers. I asked Novak to explain. For emphasis, I placed the glass shard just above the waistline of her lavender skirt. Watching Novak swallow felt good.

  She said, “The machine downloaded memories, synaptic processes . . . pretty much everything that defines you as a person.”

  The implications stunned me. “I’m a clone?” This didn’t sound good. “You fucking animals cloned me?”

  Novak shook her head. “No. Cloning humans is illegal—so far. This was a simple transfer of digitized data from your mind into a freshly decluttered brain. Totally legal. Well, it’s not illegal—not yet.”

  I looked at Novak. Then Wolseley. These were the good guys? Then I remembered my own part in this. I’d been sent on a mission to kill a fellow cop. One way or another, weren’t we all killers under the skin? I said:

  “So what happened to McCord? She murdered me. I get that. But why didn’t she make it to the party?”

  Wolseley raised an eyebrow at his boss. Novak met his gaze and sighed. She said:

  “We need McCord to get to Sweet. Since she decided not to play ball, we went in another direction. Yours.” The corners of that thin-lipped mouth curled into a smirk. “No one outside this building knows we’ve erased her mind and replaced it with yours.” As my belly performed flip-flips, Novak said, “Don’t fret. It’ll be our little secret.” She added with a chuckle: “We’re putting Crystal McCord into play, Nikita. You’ve got two weeks to prepare.” She licked those thin lips. “You’re going to help us bring down Santiago Sweet.”

  ◆◆◆

  “Let me get this straight. You want me to go undercover as Madam Crunch? Seriously?” I shook my head. “No effing way! I didn’t sign up to play house with animals like Sweet. I’m a cop, remember?”

  “Nikita Chen was a cop.” Novak examined her nails. “A good one. But you’re not Nikita Chen. Our code name for you is NC 2.0. That’s Nikita Chen: version 2.0. But to the rest of the world, you’re Crystal Alice McCord. You’ve got the same fingerprints, same DNA as McCord’s. Even your voice matches up.” Novak nodded. “Griffin will explain all that.” She paused. “Any questions?”

  “And if I say no?”

  Novak said, “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  I put the glass shard to her throat. “Let’s pretend it’s no.” I watched Wolseley draw the Glock again and take aim. This time he smiled at me. Creepy much? I said, “What happens next? Does your pet ape blow a hole in my guts? Is that your master plan? Rethink that one. Killing me won’t get you into Sweet’s game.”

  “I urge you to consider this carefully,” Novak whispered. “Refuse this assignment and Crystal McCord goes to prison for killing Nikita Chen. Where Sweet will arrange to have McCord killed—just in case she decides to squeal for a deal.”

  My fingers trembled. So did the glass shard. Sweat, beading on my forehead, began dripping into my eyes. Palms were clammy too. Felt like the walls were closing in fast. Fuck me! I was trapped. Caught in a web of dirty tricks by my own department.

  NC 2.0.

  “Someone else knows the truth,” I said. “You didn’t set this up by yourself. Neither of you,” and here I glanced at Wolseley, “look smart enough to put this together.”

  “True,” Novak agreed. “Not counting you, four people know your true identity. Wolseley here. Griffin. Me. And the Head of SpecOps.”

  “Who is?”

  She shrugged. “Above your pay grade, Nikita. Get used to being Crystal McCord. You’re the ultimate imposter, my dear. You actually ARE the person whom you’re impersonating. Isn’t that a laugh? With you working inside, we’ll be a step ahead of Mr. Sweet this time around. Hopefully before anyone else gets killed.”

  “Let’s say I do.”

  Novak laughed. “Let’s say that,” she agreed. “Till death do us part, eh?”

  “What happens to me? I end up stuck in a killer’s body. My reward for helping you is what: life in prison? Thanks, but no.”

  Novak shrugged. “You tell us whom you’d like to be—within reason. We’ll do the rest.” Her tone softened. “You could be young again. Beautiful. Wealthy. Whatever. We’re offering you everyone’s wet dream. A complete do-over.”

  Fuck. This bitch was ice cold. “I pick a random citizen. You burn out her brain. Then put me inside her head? That would be murder. Uh, we’re the good guys, remember?”

  “Grow up Nikita.” Novak’s tone was harsh. “The fucking media has our political puppets by the balls. And when the almighty talking heads get squeezed so do the grunts.” Her voice softened. “Another body more or less isn’t going to matter in the grand scheme of things. Right?”

  There it was. Decision time. I help our bad guys put someone even worse out of business. Or go to jail for a crime committed against me.

  I didn’t like this. Hurting innocent civilians went against the grain. But SpecOps had me cornered. Being practical, I compromised. I told myself I’d find a way out of this stinking mess. Somehow.

  Maybe I believed it a litt
le.

  I dropped the glass shard onto the floor and shoved Novak off my lap. She nodded to Wolseley. He put his gun away. Then she turned to face me and those flinty hazel eyes searched mine.

  “I take it we have a deal?”

  “Yeah. But I need to go home and shower first. All right?”

  “Sure—in a couple weeks. Till then you’re staying here with Griffin. He’s going to help you adjust to your new body. Resizing’s a bitch, I hear.” Novak grinned and stroked her chin. “Two weeks, Nikita. Don’t get antsy on us; we’re on the same side, remember? You need time to grow into that new bod. It’s quite the upgrade from your own little self.”

  I looked down. She was right. As Nikita Chen, I’d been petite, more heft in my ponytail than the rest of me combined. But Crystal McCord qualified as a true Amazon. Even seated I was eye level with Wolseley and Novak.

  This was my new reality.

  “And what about Sweet? He’s not going to wonder where his girlfriend has been hanging her industrial strength panties for three full weeks? How do I explain that one, Lieutenant?”

  Novak raised one eyebrow. “If you’d done your homework—like we did—you’d know that McCord has—had, I should say—a little problem with substance abuse. Seems she’s gone missing before. Holes up in some sleazebag joint and parties till her eyeballs fall out.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Charming.”

  Novak said, “You’ve got two weeks to prepare. Don’t waste it, not one second. Do exactly what Griffin says and maybe you’ll come out of this in one piece.”

  Me & Mr. White Coat

  Novak and Wolseley left. Griffin returned with a bundle of clothes in his arms. He dumped the load onto my lap. Then stepped quickly beyond my reach.

  I smelled fear and it smelled good. But it frightened me too. Would living inside a monster’s body turn me into a monster?

  Nature, nurture, to-may-to, to-mah-to . . .

  Griffin looked like he wanted to say something. I raised my eyebrows and nodded for him to spill. He nodded back.