“That’s the beauty of your assignment:” Mitchell says, “you don’t have to go anywhere near the members of the Nine or the Wraiths. You never have to set foot in one of their clubhouses. You’ll be dealing exclusively with these two old ladies.”
“As if they’re not complicit,” I scoff, shaking my head. “They may have been civilians, once, but they’re as much a part of these gangs as any of the members now. And just as guilty. Maybe not of anything we’ve been tipped off about, but guilty of being thugs all the same.”
“You don’t seem like the type to fly off the handle and start shooting at random,” Mitchell says. “I trust you to be around these people without going berserk. So, what do you say, Collins? Are you still in, or do I need to find someone else for this operation?”
I glare up at the MC members, staring daggers at each and every one of them. Even the mystery man in the ranks of Dante’s Nine. If I can have some small part in bringing down just one gang...well, I can’t think of anything else that would be more rewarding.
“I’m in,” I say resolutely, “When can I start?”
“Immediately,” Mitchell grins. “Why don’t you go check out your new place and get to work contacting the girls at CrowdedNest?”
“Sounds great,” I nod, turning to go.
“Oh, and one more thing, Agent,” Mitchell says. “You’re not allergic to cats, are you?”
Chapter Four
I stand in the middle of the barren one-bedroom apartment I’ve been assigned to, just off the Las Vegas strip. I’ve been locked in a staring contest with my brand new roommate for the last three minutes. And I’m ashamed to admit that he’s winning.
“You don’t scare me, buddy,” I mutter, fixing my blue eyes on my testy new bunk buddy. “I’ve faced down worse than the likes of you in my time.”
An old gray cat stares back at me with utter indifference. Apparently he was a stray kitten, once upon a time. Until, that is, one of the agents who used this place on assignment let the bugger in for a saucer of milk. No one’s been able to coax the cat out of the place since. Plenty of agents have come and gone from this apartment in the meantime, but the cat has always stayed put. I’ve been told that he’s simply called The Mayor. And for the time being, I’m expected to take care of him.
It could be worse, I suppose. That agent could have adopted a baby alligator, instead.
I blink my dry eyes, surrendering to The Mayor’s prowess. He flicks his puffy tail and struts away into the other room. Guess we know who runs things around here. Sinking down onto the twin bed in the corner, I look around at my new digs. The apartment is spare in every sense. About 500 square feet with nothing but the most basic utilities: a bed, a fridge, a stove, and a shower. I kick myself for neglecting to bring along my French press and cushy comforter. But again, no one ever said that working for the FBI was going to be a glamorous affair. I arrange my photos on the plain dresser, plunk my tin of coffee down in the kitchen, and give my pillow a good, tight squeeze. Home sweet home, indeed.
I decide that I might as well get right to work. Grabbing a cold beer from the fridge—either a welcome gift or something another agent left behind, I assume—I pull out my laptop and settle down on the threadbare couch across the living room. I open up my browser and punch in CrowdedNest.com. At once, the site in question pops up on my screen.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here...” I murmur.
Kassie Bennett came up with the CrowdedNest concept herself, I learn in the “About” section of the site. It’s a crowd-funding platform that allows friends and families of senior citizens to contribute to their retirement nest eggs. Apparently, some family tragedy of Kassie’s inspired her create the site, so that no other families leveled by the recent financial crisis would have to suffer like hers did. Noble, sure. But she’s still an MC old lady, and therefore crooked as hell in my book.
The site is well-designed and efficient, a product of some very capable developers, indeed. Even Milo would be impressed by the easy navigation and minimalist, chic aesthetic. But I’m more concerned with what lurks beneath the careful layout, whatever that might be.
I pull up a new message window and punch in the site’s contact email address. Time to get myself—my new self—a job. The FBI crafted a brand new identity for me to work under on this case. My alias is Keira Campbell—a coder and programmer from the East Coast with development and creative experience at all kinds of firms in New York City. I’ve got a phony resume, complete with plenty of phony references, and even a set of phony documents and identification. The Bureau is nothing if not thorough, I suppose.
Taking a long sip of beer, I start typing Keira’s first-ever correspondence.
Dear Ms. Bennett and Ms. Rodgers,
My name is Keira Campbell, and I’m writing in regard to the current job opening at CrowdedNest.com. I would like very much to be considered for the full-stack senior developer position at your company. I have a degree in computer science and experience with web application coding (ASP.NET, Ruby on Rails, JavaScript, jQuery, SQL), dev-ops, analytics, copy writing, and web design.
I recently relocated to the Las Vegas area from New York City, and am seeking local employment with an innovative tech startup. I’m very intrigued by your company’s story, and would love to work with female entrepreneurs such as yourselves. Please let me know if we can set up an interview, my schedule is very flexible.
Sincerely,
Keira Campbell.
“Here goes nothing,” I say to The Mayor, who blinks back at me disinterestedly. I attach a link to my GitHub profile and, with a deep breath, I click “send”. Nothing to do now but wait.
I pull myself up off the couch and pace my modest living room, sipping on my beer and trying to keep my nerves at bay. If I’d known that this assignment was going to be undercover, I’m not sure if I would’ve had the guts to take it. Especially given my attitude toward criminals like the MC guys I’m going after. I wonder who, among those I saw pictured at the office today, are guilty of murder? Sexual assault? Armed robbery? Here’s hoping I’ll never have to be near any of them. I could never trust someone who willingly chose to be part of an outlaw biker gang, whatever their bat-shit rationalization.
The sun is setting quickly over the strip beyond my window. You’d think that living in a bustling city would make you feel welcome and secure—surrounded by people and potential friends. But I’ve always been lonelier in cities than anywhere else in the world. All those people out there, with their exciting lives and passionate loves, only remind me of how alone I am.