The Deal

Flustered, Nelson crept close behind his partner.

They crept close, blending in with the shadows, until they were close enough to hear their quarry attempt the handoff.

"You bring the Tren?" The buyer, a woman, Ukranian judging by her accent, asked. Lovelace gave her a onceover. Clearly she was not dressed for an illicit steroids deal. Tight clothing, and boots she'd struggle to run in even without a violent criminal shithead after her.

"You think this is natty?" the dealer, tall and orange smirked, giving the Ukrainian a quick flex.

"That's not what I meant." the girl, and she really was no older than a girl, probably some poor cooze who'd fled to the States after Putin's "special military operation" had bitchslapped the liberal international order. "Vlad wants bottles. Eighty bucks per."

"We can move these for 200 up in Sausalito or Laguna Beach." the main dealer scoffed, producing a bottle of Trenbolone for her.

"Deal is deal, tak? Our bosses make it, we just do hand-off." the girl insisted.

"I dunno." the big one said. "What if I want a little something something, to sweeten the deal?"

Drawing closer, the bad tanjob cupped the girl's face, running a hand down the side of her body.

"I can't..." the Ukranian said, obviously flustered.

"Chad, c'mon, this is..." his buddy protested, uncomfortable with his pal's rapey demeanour.

"Alright, I've heard enough. Let's rock!." Lovelace whispered. In a flash, she and Nelson burst from concealment, where they had been lurking surreptitiously, pistols drawn and aimed directly at the tren dealers.

"Police, hands up!" Nelson cried.

"Shit!" Chad's buddy cursed. Evidently, any thoughts of running he had had been overruled by Babyface's gat produced into his face.

"Evening, folx." Lovelace sneered. She kept back a few paces, covering the entire environment as Nelson stepped forwards, slipping some bracelets on the smaller man's wrists. "We heard there was a little bake sale in this filthy alleyway at 2am, and we figured we'd mosey on over, have a looksee."

"Of course, there's too few snickerdoodles on sale, maybe too many illegal steroids." Nelson added. "On the floor, Tren donkey. I want your dick touching asphalt." the New Yorker said, his piece to the smaller dealer's head.

"You've gotta be kidding me!" Chad cursed. "Cops?! If you set us up, evening that Ruskie whose cock you're sucking isn't gonna be enough to save you, you hear me?" he asked, his ire directed at the buyer.

"Easy, Kumail. You'll have plenty of time to collect your thoughts, such as they are, after we take you in. Jace, here!" with that, Lovelace tossed her cuffs to Nelson, who wrenched the dealer's hands behind his back and clicked them shut. A swift kick to the back of the knee put him on his ass with his buddy.

"See what the take is, then call it in." Lovelace told her partner, before rounding on the Ukrainian. Lovelace had a few inches on her. But she figured it was probably the badge and gun that put that particular look of fear in the refugee's eye.

"I... do nothing."

"Then I guess you've got nothing to worry about, huh babe?" Lovelace told the brunette, cracking a smile.

"You-you can't take me in. I never wanted to do this, I-"

"It must've been hard for you." Lovelace responded. "You new in town?"

"Tak. Ever since February, and-and Putin..." the girl was in tears, now. "I come to America, there is a man. He makes me... deal for him, and other things..."

Piece still in her hand, Lovelace led the refugee turned tren pusher a few paces away from Jace and the boys.

"You must have me mistaken for a member of The Squad. No cookie-cutter sob story is gonna fly with me, what you did today is a crime, plain and simple. Back in shithole Eastern Europe, that doesn't mean a lot, but this is America. Actions have consequences, sister." Lovelace said, coming down hard.

"Bozhe miy, no!" the girl sobbed. Exactly the desired effect. "Please, you can't take me in, I'll do anything..."

"You can start by telling me who's giving you all this tren to sling, a course of action I'd advise you to take." Lovelace said bluntly.

"I can't." the refugee said, shaking, twin mascara lines trailing down her cheeks. "He'll... he'll..."

"You think you'd do any better in a cell, huh?" Lovelace said, advancing on the dealer, pinning her against the brick of the building behind her. "What's your name, honey?"

"Kateryna." the brunette sobbed.

"Well Kateryna, I know people. Serious people. You think you've seen Nazis in Kyiv, wait until you meet the Aryan Nation, women's division. They'll put an axe in your head, Kateryna. They'll throw acid on your pussy."

The Ukrainian was a broken woman now, clinging to the wall behind her for support.

"You give me your boss' name, though. Maybe you don't have to meet those particular ladies, how's that strike you?" Lovelace said, giving the refugee's face a playful pat.

"Vlad. Vlad Shevchenko. He's working out of the Fashion District." Kateryna coughed up.

"He Ukrainian, too?" A quick tak, and Lovelace had what she needed. "Get out of here. I don't wanna see you in LA anymore, or hear from you. And if you even think about warning your employer. Well, who's gonna notice more dead UK?" the detective said, with a sinister snicker.

Lovelace turned her back, slipping her nine back into its waistband holster as she made for Nelson and the dealers. She heard Kateryna bolting out of the dark, wet alley.

"What happened to the Ruskie?" the younger detective asked, finishing a thorough count of the night's takings.

"I got her to work as a CI." Lovelace said simply. "We good, here?"

"We're good." Babyface responded. One flick of the boys eyebrows told Lovelace just how "good" the night's work had been. Several thousand secreted from the take into their "retirement fund" "good."

"Well shit, I say we call it in." Lovelace said. "We got some scum off the streets, seized this clearly dangerous tren, and the money commissioned to purchase it. How about we do the paperwork, head home and fuck our girlfriends?"

"Sounds like a plan, chief." Lovelace smiled. "'Course, that last part, only applies to us. You two fine gentlemen, well you're more like meat for the Wiltshire refrigerator."

the angry young detective aimed a kick into one of his captive's ribs, then made off.

"How'd you get the slit to talk?" Nelson asked, once they were a safe distance away from the crooks.

"I told her we'd have her whacked in prison." Lovelace smirked. "that the Aryan Nation would pour acid on her pussy."

Nelson tossed his head back and laughed.

"Gliding Over All, man." he said, with a toothy grin. "Best goddamn thing that ever happened to us."