Chapter Two

Beth stretched her arms out and tiredly yawned as her eyes began to flutter open. The curtains were drawn, but the young cop could see the sliver of light poking through the gap in the fabric.

The brunette studied her surroundings. She was lying on the sofa in Warren’s safe house living room with a thin blanket draped over her. Beth looked around for signs of her handler but couldn’t find him. Removing the blanket, the undercover cop noticed she was wearing comfortable pink pajamas. She didn’t remember getting changed last night or falling asleep, for that matter.

She heard a dull, inaudible crackling sound all around her, and it wasn’t until she sat upright that she noticed the wireless black headphones covering her ears. Beth lifted the headphones from her head and examined them. Why was she wearing headphones? She thought to herself.

Footsteps were heard walking down the stairs. Beth witnessed her handler, Warren Skinner, wearing a dirty white vest top and blue and white striped boxer shorts as he stepped across her view in the lounge and headed towards the kitchen.

He seemingly ignored the brunette woman, which was ordinarily okay with the police officer. She despised that man. However, he was the only one who knew her real identity as she started her undercover life, and she knew she needed to play nice.

“Uhh, hi,” Beth said, trying to start the conversation. “Do you know anything about how I got dressed or why I was wearing these headphones?”

Warren ignored her again. Beth heard the man slamming cupboard doors and moving crockery around in the kitchen. She furrowed her brow. “Hello?” She repeated.

The young woman frowned when she heard her 55-year-old handler belch from the other room. “Gross,” she muttered to herself. The older man reentered the room shortly afterward and placed two bowls of cereal on the breakfast table.

“I made you some grub,” he said dismissively, taking a seat and helping himself to his own bowl.

Beth scowled. The sight of the gray-haired man sloppily eating his breakfast, pieces of food in his beard, killed her appetite. “Umm, no thanks. I’m not hungry.”

Warren paused and narrowed his eyes. He stared at the cop eerily. “Wrong answer,” he barked. “Now shut up, sit at the table, and eat your breakfast.”

Beth shuddered. How dare that pig talk to her like that. She wasn’t some timid co-ed he could order around. She was a police officer and demanded respect.

The brunette gasped. By the time she noticed something was wrong, she was already sitting at the oak table. She wanted to ask the delinquent former cop what had happened, but when she opened her mouth, she was unable to speak a word. She knew how to speak, but the words refused to come out.

She felt the cool milk touch her lips as her hand brought the spoon full of cereal to her mouth. She tried to regain control of her hand, but no matter how hard she tried, she was unable to stop herself from eating her breakfast.

Warren subtly grinned. “Very good.” He definitely knew something about what had just happened. “Now, as you’re eating, listen up.” The undercover cop had no intention of hearing anything this bastard had to say. Still, she couldn’t rise from the table, at least not until she had finished her breakfast.

“Before we start this mission together, you need to hear some cold, hard truths,” Warren said. “Your father isn’t the Saint you and this whole damn City think he is.”

Beth narrowed her eyes as she placed the spoon back in her mouth. Nothing this crooked cop could say would change her opinion of her father. He is a hero.

“You all may have believed the mob was driven out of the City, except they just changed form.” Warren paused to finish his breakfast and wipe his chin. “Now they all work down in City Hall and call themselves politicians.”

“Former mayor Paul Lansky was the most crooked of them all.” The former detective continued. “Your saint of a father got mixed up in some of the mayor’s shady shit and began covering for the bastard.”

Beth wildly shook her head but still found herself unable to speak. This was slanderous and untrue.

“One day, he came to me with a ledger detailing all of Lansky’s dirty transactions. He told me he was going to take the politician down but needed more time before he went public.” Warren lowered his head. “He asked me to keep the ledger safe until he needed it.”

Warren had finished the cereal but continued holding his spoon, gripping it tightly as though he was recounting painful memories. “When the walls began caving in on precious John Shaw, and Internal Affairs started asking questions, he led them straight to the ledge, and that son of a bitch threw me under the bus!”

Beth’s eyes widened. She had been involved in interrogations, and everything about the man’s hurt tone and angry demeanor told her he was telling the truth. However, she knew her father. She knew how squeaky clean he was and how much the population adored him. There was no way he could have been involved in a crime like that.

“No one believed a word I said,” Warren complained. “They wouldn’t believe their golden boy was capable of betraying the force. I spent 15 years paying for his crimes. I eventually managed to prove my innocence but was forced to sign an agreement silencing me in exchange for a healthy payoff.” Warren shook his head. “I have to pretend I’m a piece of shit criminal just to protect your daddy’s reputation.”

Beth wanted to dispute his claims but only found herself scowling with her eyes. At the same time, she obediently continued eating her unwanted breakfast. She watched the older man stand up.

“Anyway,” Warren said. “Enough about that. You need a new style. Even when dressed in that slutty number you wore last night, everyone could see a cop from a mile away.” He looked her up and down. She didn’t exactly look intimidating, dressed in her pink pajamas. “You still look too intelligent and well put together to be accepted as a street prostitute.”

Beth sped up her eating. She only had a few mouthfuls left and wanted to give the man a piece of her mind when she was done. “Once you’ve finished eating,” her heart sank as Warren spoke in a low, deep voice. The man placed a scrap piece of paper on the table. “You will get dressed and head to this address. Ask for Trixie. Trixie is a fantastic stylist who knows exactly what you need to look the part. She’s already been briefed; just tell her I sent you.”

Beth shuddered. She didn’t want to learn anything from a woman named Trixie. Surely, that wasn’t her real name. Warren continued commanding the brunette. “You are going to learn everything Trixie teaches you. Accept her suggestions as though they are my own.” He couldn’t be serious, could he? “Once you’re done, meet me at the bar listed on the paper. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Warren took one last look at the silent undercover cop and walked away, heading upstairs to get ready for the day. Beth eventually finished her breakfast and screamed out, “You bastard!” She began to head for the stairs but found her body moving back towards the couch. With no input from her own brain, she emptied the contents of a nearby bag and began getting dressed. “That son of a bitch!” she exclaimed. What had he done to her?

❖

The bell rang as she entered the colorful salon. Several women were being tended to, their heads draped over a sink or stuck in a hairdryer. The place had a jovial atmosphere, one that Beth failed to match.

The undercover cop wore a baggy gray hoodie with the hood down, covering a white t-shirt and a pair of black leggings with white sneakers. This was her usual off-duty style when she wasn’t dressed for a night out.

“Can I help you, Ma’am?” the blue-haired receptionist greeted her. Beth scanned the room and noticed all the employees had vibrant hair. Perhaps it was a requirement to work there.

“Uhmm, yes,” she was taken by surprise and wasn’t sure what to say. Fortunately, her ‘handler’ had given her a command she couldn’t resist. “I have an appointment with Trixie.”

The receptionist paused and examined Beth for a moment. The brunette groaned. She didn’t appreciate being judged by some likely high school dropout. The blue-haired woman turned away and called out. “Trixie! Your cop appointment is here.”

Beth’s mouth gaped open. How did the woman know she was a cop? Was it that obvious? Did she have ‘cop’ tattooed across her forehead? The receptionist smiled when she saw Beth’s confusion. “She’ll be right with you.” The woman politely said.

Beth turned to sit down, but her ass barely hit the cushion when a slim blond lady approached her. The woman had luscious curly locks of hair, and her spaghetti strap crop top showed enough cleavage to make Beth wonder if the stylist had a boob job.

“Hello, Bella,” the blond called out Beth’s undercover name. She paused for a moment. “Geez, let’s get started. We got a lot of work to do.” She said, unimpressed. Beth groaned. She had always hated the vapid, superficial types. While they were busy being invited to all the parties and nominated for Prom Queen at college, she had her nose in the books. That was how she got to where she was now.

The mousy brunette followed the stylist through the main floor until they reached an intimate, private area. Trixie signaled toward the chair, and Beth sat down.

“Mike’s a good friend of mine. I’ve known him for years,” Trixie said. Beth raised an eyebrow. The woman looked barely older than 25. Why would she have known Warren for so long? She used his undercover name, so Beth was unsure if the woman knew him as Warren or his alter ego.

When it became clear Beth wasn’t intending to respond, Trixie continued. “Your days of minimal or no makeup are over. You are a walking billboard for your services, and you need to look perfect at all times.” The undercover woman shuddered. She wasn’t sure how much Warren had told her about the case. Did the slutty blond actually think she was a hooker? Beth was offended, even though she knew acting like a hooker was her new role. She took a deep breath and thought about the women she was going to save by putting that serial killer behind bars.

The stylist began painting Beth’s face while giving her tips. The cop wasn’t listening but somehow knew the information was being registered inside her subconscious. She had been told to learn everything Trixie was willing to teach her, and her body refused to refuse the command.

After an hour of painfully posing as the stylist went to town on Beth’s face, the undercover cop felt like a clown. She had never spent so long preparing her makeup in her life. Once the blond was done, she stepped aside and lifted a veil that was hiding the dressing table mirror in front of the salon chair. Beth’s eyes widened, and she gasped. She simultaneously felt amazement and nausea. How could that be the same woman?

Her usually short and wiry eyelashes appeared long, dark, and luscious, each with a single tiny silver jewel stuck at the tip. The jewels prompted her usually dull brown eyes to shimmer in the reflection. Her eyes were lined heavily with an Egyptian-style curl to finish them off. Silver shade lined the lower part of her lids before they merged with a smoky charcoal color. Her eyes screamed seduction.

Her face was covered in an even cream foundation, covering every blemish on her young face. The high-rising rouge cheeks contrasted her new skin tone. A dark red lip liner traced the outside of her lips before the rest was colored an eye-catching fire-engine glossy red. The exaggerated line made her lips look much larger than their natural shape. Beth could hardly believe anyone’s lips could look so drastically different without surgical help.

“Right, now for some outfits,” Trixie said, moving towards a nearby closet without waiting for Beth to catch up. Outfits? Beth was confused.

As the cop caught up, she gasped at the ridiculous outfits presented before her. They weren’t even clothes a whore would be happy being seen in public wearing. “You’re not serious!” Beth exclaimed.

“Think about it. This will tell you apart from the competition,” Trixie smiled. Beth was dumbfounded, staring at the sexy, slutty red and white latex nurse outfit and the tiny French maid outfit beside it. “No one will doubt your commitment to the job if you go out wearing those.”

Beth raised an eyebrow. “No way,” she said, although her subconscious had already taken the suggestion. “I’d be arrested on the spot.”

Trixie laughed at Beth’s reaction. “Well, maybe,” she agreed. “Anyway. Mike asked me to assemble a starter pack of outfits for you.” She reached inside the closet and picked out half a dozen pre-prepared shopping bags. “Your days of baggy hoodies and sweatpants are over.” She chuckled, examining Beth’s current outfit.

The stylist handed Beth the bags. “We’re all done,” she declared. “You can’t go around wearing that. There’s a changing room round the corner if you want to change into one of your new ensembles.” Beth rolled her eyes. There was no way in hell she would give the woman that kind of satisfaction. Yet, instead of refuting the instruction, Beth inexplicably began heading towards the fitting room. Why did this keep happening?

❖

*Whistle* *Catcall*

Beth gritted her teeth, carefully tottering down the sidewalk in her new 4” patent red stiletto heels. Ever since she had left the damn salon, she had been subjected to perverted whistling and lewd comments. She even had a couple of guys ask her out on the spot, although she ignored them and continued walking.

Almost every car on the strip slowed to a crawl as they wandered past her, with some even hooting their horns. Beth didn’t understand it. This was the Las Vegas strip. Showgirls and Dominatrices walked these sidewalks all the time; why was her appearance so eye-catching?

What Beth didn’t piece together was that even on the strip, it was surreal to find such a heavily made-up woman so scantily clad. She wore a glossy spandex-style strapless tube top showing off her modest chest and revealing her firm, toned stomach, along with a tiny black pleated micro skirt barely long enough to cover her g-string-clad crotch. A string bikini in the Vegas sun would have been less conspicuous than what Beth was wearing.

“Hey babe, want me to hold those heavy bags for you?” Another loner jaywalked across the busy road to approach her.

“Fuck off,” she bit back. She’d had enough of these creeps.

The man sulked as she tottered away. “Teasing slut,” she heard him mutter in the distance. Beth gasped. She’d never felt so objectified in her life.

Expecting to walk back to her undercover motel room, Beth’s feet continued moving past her exit. They headed further down the street toward the international airport. It took her another minute to figure out why she couldn’t control her movements. Warren had told her to meet him at the trashy bar, and as she witnessed the broken neon sign up the road, she knew where she was headed.

❖

Beth entered the dirty dive bar and scanned the room, looking for her target. The click of her heels echoed around the bar, and two men watching football highlights on one of the TVs briefly turned their heads to acknowledge her. She found the despicable gray-haired man she was looking for sitting at the bar, guzzling a bottle of house beer. An empty bottle sat on the bar beside him. He was wearing his traditional black leather jacket over the top of a navy blue t-shirt and blue denim jeans.

Beth sauntered towards the former detective, dropped her bags on the floor, and slammed her hand on the bar top. “You owe me an explanation. What the hell have you-”

“Shut up,” Warren commanded. “Be silent unless I tell you to.” He examined the furious woman in her sexy attire. She was glaring at him furiously. “Smile. In fact, until we get back home, you will smile and act like everything is normal. Got it? Now, take a seat.”

Bethany was fuming, although her face didn’t show it. Her glossy red lips contorted into a disarming smile. Despite the anguish in her eyes, her facial muscles softened, ensuring she followed his directions and acted like everything was normal.

“Bartend, can I get a Pornstar martini for my girl here?” Warren called over. The man behind the bar nodded and began preparing the drink.

Beth clenched her fists. The idea of drinking such a fruity cocktail repulsed the brunette. She drank whiskey straight, and the patrons at Finnigan’s would never let her live it down if they ever saw her with a straw and a long drink.

The man placed the drink in front of the scantily clad undercover cop and added it to Warren’s tab. “Drink up,” Warren instructed. “Cheers.” He said. Beth had no choice but to act normal, so she lifted her drink and clinked her glass against his bottle before wrapping her bright red lips around the plastic straw.

“Mike? Fancy seeing you here!” A man in his mid-thirties with jet-black hair and two scars across his face approached the pair. “Wow, who’s the broad?”

Beth was confused. Everyone kept referring to Warren as Mike. Had he used the same undercover persona before, or had he been setting the groundwork before the mission began? They were questions that were left unanswered as she silently smiled in the unknown man’s direction.

Beth gasped when she saw him up close. Although she had never met the man, she knew exactly who he was. Trevor Low was a dangerous street thug connected to multiple muggings and robberies in the area. His photo was a constant fixture on the LVPD’s most-wanted list.

“Good to see you too, Trevor,” Warren shook the criminal’s hand. “This is Bella,” Warren put his arm around the brunette. “She’s one of my newest girls.” Beth felt sick. She knew precisely what Warren was insinuating. She knew he would need to parade her around for the mission eventually, but hearing the words escape the repulsive man’s lips disgusted her.

“Mmmm, you got a pretty one there.” Trevor praised the undercover man before pulling up a stool to join them. “Listen,” he spoke to Beth. “This man is a taskmaster. He will put you hard to work, but if you make him lots of money, he’ll treat you right and ensure you’re taken care of.” Trevor grinned. “So I suggest you just enjoy it.”

The smile on Beth’s face disguised her disgust and bemusement. What was the thug talking about? Was Warren assigned to similar assignments before? That was something she should have been briefed on before the mission began.

Trevor paused as though he was waiting for a response. He leaned in and peered into Beth’s heavily made-up eyes. She was concerned the street thug may have suddenly recognized her and blown their cover, but she simply smiled back at him, as instructed.

“Not much of a talker, this one,” Trevor turned to Warren.

The leather jacket-clad 55-year-old chuckled. “No, she isn’t.” He said sharply. “You know I have them well trained.” Warren gently stroked the back of the scantily clad undercover cop’s neck. She glared at him, but her face never conveyed the appropriate emotion.

Trevor laughed heartily. “Mmm, yes,” he creepily licked his lips. “You keep them well-behaved for sure.” His eyes lingered over the brunette’s barely covered body. “Maybe I’ll make use of your services one day. Would you like that?”

Beth was terrified and stood dumbfounded. The criminal chuckled and stood up. “I’ll take that smile as a resounding yes.” He surmised. Trevor shook Warren’s hand. “It was good seeing you, and good luck with her. You’ll make plenty of dough with this one.” He grinned before glancing at her top. “Just make sure you fill those tiny titties up. No one wants to fuck a surfboard, no matter how pretty she is.”

Beth blushed bright red, although her heavy foundation hid her natural coloring. How dare he talk about her and her breasts like that. Beth could only smile placidly, no matter how much she tried to fight against it.

Warren nodded and bid farewell to the violent thug before the pair watched the man walk out of the bar.

Beth internally sulked in Warren’s direction. Everything was moving fast, and she had lost control of the situation.

Despite her simple smile, Warren laughed. “I know exactly what you’re thinking,” he clarified. “But we need to network in this City if you’re ever going to be convincing in your new role.” He took a swig of his drink before continuing. “Prostitutes don’t just come out at night and then disappear from view. They network and build contacts. They do what their pimps tell them to.” He furrowed his brow, prompting Beth to shudder. He was taking his role far too seriously.

“If you’re not seen in places like this, people will get suspicious,” Warren said. “When people are suspicious, bad things happen. The faster you realize that, the better.” The older man took another sip of his beer. “Trust me, I am not doing this just to humiliate you.” The manner in which Warren completed that sentence suggested to Beth that was precisely the reason she was doing this.

“Now, drink up,” Warren ordered her. “We got to get you ready before the sun goes down.” Before Beth could contemplate his statement, her red lips had already wrapped around the straw. She helplessly sipped the remainder of her cocktail before Warren led her out of the bar and back towards her sleazy motel room.

❖

Warren stepped inside Beth’s grotty motel room. He grinned. While he slept undercover in a nice well-decorated safehouse paid for by the taxpayer, his ‘partner’ was required to slum it in this shithole.

Beth followed behind and slammed the door so hard the entire room shook. “What the fuck have you done to me?!” She screamed, finally able to speak again now that she was safely back in her room. “Why do I have to follow your instructions?!” Her heart was racing. She folded her arms and was reminded of the comically small tube top she wore.

Warren thought about commanding her silence again but decided against it. “Well, I guess I should explain.” The calmness of his response angered the young undercover cop even further. “You see, I was instructed to do whatever it took to get you ready for the role.”

Beth parted her bright red lips to speak, but Warren held up his hand and continued. “After you fell asleep, I equipped you with those headphones you woke up with,” he stood beside the king-sized bed. “You spent all evening listening to highly advanced covert subliminal conditioning files. They conditioned your mind to obey every order I gave you, whether your conscious mind agreed or not.” His eyes lingered over Beth’s barely dressed form. “I think you’d agree that we would never have you looking like this on day 2 without them. They have sped up the process by at least two weeks.”

“You think I’d agree?” She yelled back. “That’s a violation of my civil rights. What you did was immoral on so many levels, not to mention highly illegal!” Her blood was boiling. She couldn’t believe how casually her handler was taking all this. “You need to take that fucking conditioning out of my damn head!”

Warren chuckled. “That’s not going to happen,” he retorted. “If you don’t like my tactics, you’ll need to take it up with the captain.”

Beth parted her lips to scream back but paused. She knew she couldn’t simply strut back into the station now. It would destroy the entire mission before it began. However, how was she going to survive the undercover mission when she was forced to obey the one man she hated more than any other, she thought. Actually, there was one man she hated even more: the despicable Texas Toymaker. She sighed; she needed to stick this out for those poor women. They needed justice.

Warren gently laughed as Beth was lost in thought. His chuckle brought her back to reality. “You know,” he said. “I can’t believe how good the great John Shaw’s daughter looks dressed as a whore. It’s like a whore.”

“You son of a-” Beth started, but Warren held a finger to his lips, and she quietened down.

The former detective picked up a shopping bag and placed it on the bed. “I picked all of these outfits out personally,” he boasted before reaching in and grabbing one of the ensembles. “How about we get you dressed and ready for night two?”

Beth shuddered. This bastard wasn’t going to make this job easy for her, that’s for sure.

End of Chapter Two