"Operation Clean Sweep" (closed)

[MarieDavisRPs]

"Operation Clean Sweep"

(closed)
​

Springfield
Outside The Hurricane Bar & Grill

Close to midnight:

Anya Parker
26 years old
5'6", 128#; 34b-24-34
Slim, fit, with long legs for her height.
Long, fine, gently wavy, brunette hair.

She waited impatiently in the alley outside The Hurricane while two of her six bodyguards took a stroll through the lounge looking for potential dangers. Since she was a little girl, Anya had had at least one armed, MIB-type bodyguard escorting her almost everywhere she went, as if she was the nation's First Daughter. She hadn't understood the security when she was little, of course; it wasn't as if her father had told her on that first day of kindergarten that he was the boss of a powerful crime family, or that he, his wife, and his children were always in danger of being kidnapped or, worse, killed by his equally criminal competitors.

Ironically -- and tragically -- being shot was exactly why Anya was these days traveling with six bodyguards rather than just one or two. Her father, Paul Parker, had been gunned down in the streets three months ago. He'd survived the shooting and the subsequent surgery to remove three bullets from his torso, but his doctors had told Anya that she needed to make her peace with the fact that he would soon be leaving this mortal coil.

Currently, Anya's father was lying in a hospital-style bed in the library of their home, Hilltop, located in the Red River Mountain Range just north of Springfield. He had tubes running into or out of him from both natural orifices and unnatural holes cut into him by the hospital doctors. Anya visited him every morning and night for an hour. She would spend more time with him if it didn't break her heart so tragically to see him like that.

One of the men who'd gone inside appeared at the lounge's backdoor, signaling that it was clear for Anya to enter. She entered, preceded by one bodyguard and followed by another; the other four split into pairs to watch the bar's front and rear entrances until she'd concluded and exited. Anya wasn't here to drink or eat or listen to the live music, which was surprisingly very good considering that The Hurricane, in her opinion, was somewhat of a dive bar.

But hell, what did she know about bars, dives or not? Anya had never been in a bar during her early drinking-age years, only ever patronizing the two clubs in the city owned and controlled by The Family: Pulse had been her non-alcoholic, go-to dance club before she'd turned 21, and Risky Business had replaced it after she'd reached that milestone age. When Anya was at either of them partying with friends, it had seemed as though her father's entire entourage of gun-toting MIBs were scattered about the crowd to ensure that she was safe.

Anya followed the leading bodyguard through a maze of small tables, most of which were occupied by people who were obviously enjoying tonight's band. Eventually, he stopped and casually gestured toward a small, four-patron booth, in which was just one man. Anya nodded to the bodyguard, jerking a thumb at him to indicate a desire for him to make himself less conspicuous. He reluctantly made his way to a nearby pillar at which he could stand and keep an eye on Anya without blocking the anyone's view of the band.

Suddenly realizing that her heart was pounding anxiously, Anya drew a deep breath, released it slowly, screwed up her courage, and stepped up to the booth. She stopped directly in the man's line of sight of the band, smiling down at him for a moment in silence. She wondered whether or not he'd recognize her seeing how they hadn't seen one another in person in over a decade, since just days after her 16th birthday.

At the time of their familiarity with one another, Anya hadn't fully understood his position in The Family or his specific tasks and responsibilities. All Anya had known then was that he'd been very nice to her, he'd been very handsome, and -- once she'd turned 16, which she'd thought was an appropriate age to surrender her virginity -- wanted it to be him who claimed it. That hadn't happened, obviously.

Just as she hadn't understood his duties back then, Anya hadn't known his big secret either: he'd been undercover, an FBI Agent working to take down her father and her Family. She wouldn't learn about his real job until almost a year later when one of the Family's Lieutenants was speaking about him and the damage he'd done to her father, not knowing that Anya was within ear shot.

Anya had been crushed by the news, not because he'd been an FBI Agent or that he'd been here to destroy her father's criminal enterprise, but because she suddenly realized that if he had come back into her life at some time, she'd never get the chance to lie naked with him and become a woman.

Their eyes met as Anya smiled down to him, pointing to the seat across the booth from him and asking, "May I?"

 

[JackHemingway]

Name: Daniel “Danny” Reyes
Age: 31
Height: 6’1”
Weight: 198 lbs
Build: Lean athletic; broad shoulders, long reach, built for endurance rather than bulk
Hair: Dark black, worn short and slightly unkempt when undercover
Eyes: Brown, steady, and observant

Daniel “Danny” Reyes, a dark-haired FBI undercover agent in his mid-thirties with a calm, unreadable gaze that makes people underestimate him—a mistake that’s usually their last. On assignment, he disappears easily into the background: dockworker, nightclub fixer, low-level courier, whatever the role demands. Off duty, though, Danny favors loud Hawaiian shirts, faded jeans, and scuffed boots—part disguise, part rebellion. The shirts help him look harmless and lost, which suited him just fine. He'd spent years pretending to be someone else. You can change clothes, looks, names, and cities, but they can't change you. Danny grew up in a blue-collar working-class neighborhood where his immigrant father owned a liquor store, which was the hub of the community, and his mother, of Dutch background, was a dedicated librarian. Their loving union produced a boy who liked to read constantly but wouldn't back down in a fight and who learned the value of hard work. The FBI application was just one of those things you filled out when you didn't know what to do after college, and at the time, the bureau was trying to hire more people with diverse experience and backgrounds. After all, most Ivy League lawyers and academics didn't know how to fit in at a neighborhood bar or deal with street-level criminals. Through his work, he'd gotten to deal with the worst of the worst.

Sometimes it was hard to decide who was worse, the bikers who moved crystal meth, the terrorists who plotted to blow up planes, or maybe it was two years south of the border, dealing with human trafficking rings. Then there was a different kind of difficult situation, like with the Parker family and their ilk. They were criminals, no way around that, and what’s more, they knew it, but it was how they did business and felt they were their own government, and they didn’t need anyone else’s rules holding up business as usual. The investigation wasn’t that successful against them. It netted a lot of low-level people and probably cost them millions, not thinking the family couldn’t survive. No, what bothered him was that the Parkers, particularly Anya Parker, a beautiful, intelligent mob princess. She had the whole world laid out for her, but she still put in the work and knew something about the world, even though she grew up in privilege. She might have walked out to the pool wearing six-hundred-dollar heels, but she knew other people struggled. Her Dad was a leader and protector among those people who did what he had to do.

When you spend years in the field without a break of any kind, much less a real vacation, you accumulate plenty of paid time off, but when procedure says you’re not supposed to spend that time among evil people and should have long rests after operations, you don’t get any. The powers that be have to come up with a solution. The solution this time around was pay him and just have him check in weekly in a city where he’d be reasonably safe. They’d wanted him to take his time in some middle-of-nowhere burg, but he was back now and enjoyed some familiar sights, food, and good times. He was surprised, though, when someone from communications called Anya Parker and asked if he wanted them to forward the call. He took the call, and now he was back at the Hurricane, a place he practically lived in some years back. He’d arrived early and done his own check, and soon the hired killers who worked as the family’s bodyguards had arrived. He’d had dinner and a few drinks by then, but eventually she’d arrived, and she had grown up and was beautiful.
Their eyes met as Anya smiled down to him, pointing to the seat across the booth from him and asking, "May I?"

Danny just cracked a smile and gestured to the empty seat. He had a few beers by him, and he slid over a bottle of Tidebreak Lager and a pack of Caldera Reds, and before taking another sip of his beer, he inquired, “You still drink and smoke like a normal person? I assume not behind the garage anymore.”

Before she could respond, he realized he was being insensitive, so he reached out and squeezed her. “I was sorry to hear about your Dad. How is he doing, and why did you call me? I always figured you hated me after everything.”

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

It had been ten years since Anya had seen Daniel Reyes; back then, he'd dressed differently, to fit in with his Family duties, and he'd worn his hair a bit differently. And yet she still saw in his face the man she'd so been in lust with once she'd gotten to know him ... which, of course, she actually hadn't, not really.

Danny smiled up to Anya, gesturing to the seat opposite him. He slid over a bottle of Tidebreak Lager and a pack of Caldera Reds across the table her way, asking, “You still drink and smoke like a normal person? I assume not behind the garage anymore.”

She laughed aloud, reminding him, "You kept my secret after you caught me that day." She took the bottle and, before taking a big swig, said, "Thank you for that."

A waitress stopped, and Anya ordered two more beers and a big basket of fries. She pointed to the bodyguard standing a few yards away, saying, "He's holding my cash. Make sure to tell him I said you were to be tipped well. Pick a number you like."

The waitress thanked her and departed, after which Danny reached out to take and squeeze her hand as he said, “I was sorry to hear about your Dad. How is he doing, and why did you call me? I always figured you hated me after everything.”

"I did," she said without hesitation. Then, smirking devilishly, she said, "I still do. You lied to me. You lied to all of us." She hesitated, then continued, "But I forgive you, Daniel."

Anya had always called him Daniel, thinking it sounded so much more mature and manly, just what she'd wanted him to be if ever he took her clothes off of her and made her a woman.

"You were doing your job, and I understand that," she told him with a sincere tone. She shrugged, adding, "You did some damage to my Family. We lost some people ... lost some money ... lost some respect in the Community." She was talking about the criminal community, of course. "But like I said, you were doing your job, and I respect that."

The waitress arrived with the beers and fries, and when Anya noticed two twenty-dollar bills sitting under one of the bottles, she asked the woman if that was all her bodyguard gave her for a tip. She answered, "Well, that's meant to cover the beers and fries. Doesn't leave much for a--"

Anya rose from her seat as much as she could squeezed in the booth as she was and hollered at the bodyguard, "Hey! You cheap fuck! It ain't like it's your money!" She sat again, looked to the rather shocked waitress, smiled, and suggested, "Try again. I think you'll be happy."

The waitress laughed and departed. Anya didn't bother checking the bodyguard; she knew he'd do the right thing. She instead turned her attention back to Danny, smiled to him as well, and said bluntly, "My father's going to die soon. It's sad, and I'll miss him terribly. He's all I've had since my mother and brother died four years ago."

Marilyn and Paul Parker, Jr -- Pauly to everyone except his father -- had been killed in an automobile crash that had been suspicious in nature at the time and only became more so as the Family's attorneys and investigators looked deeper into it. Unfortunately, the suspicious evidence had never pointed to any one particular perpetrator, and -- not wanting to start a war with one of the other Families -- Paul Parker, Sr, had reluctantly accepted the results from the Springfield Police and Medical Examiner.

"I'm going to be taking control of the Family," Anya continued onward with a determined tone; she'd been planning this monologue for several days now and knew just what she wanted to tell Danny. "Once I do, I have a plan to take the Family legit. Or, at least, mostly so. Drug distribution will be shuttered entirely. The protection rackets will be restructured. No more violence, no more pressure, no more broken fingers or firebombs through windows when the client doesn't pay. It'll operate in the same way that legal insurance does, only better. When you have a claim to file, we'll actually pay you, not drag your claim on for months or years like State Farm or Progressive or Mutual of Oma-fuckin'-ha.

"I'm closing the brothels, restructuring them as well," Anya continued. "The girls who want out will get help ... to go home to their families, to go to school, to get a job that doesn't involve sucking stranger's cocks. The ones who want to stay will work as escorts, making far more than they are now ... with health insurance, regular doctors' visits ... continued and enhanced protection from my Boys."

She paused as the waitress passed by again, flashing a fist full of twenties at Anya, who gave her a thumbs up before turning back to Danny. "But I need your help, Daniel. The void that I leave must not be filled in by the other Families. I'm not quitting these businesses simply to allow the others to take them over. I want them to cease to exist. And for that ... I need your help ... the help of a Federal Agent--"

Anya leaned in a bit closer, smirked knowingly, and finished, "--who I think owes me."

 

[JackHemingway]

That was always the Anya he remembered; even when she was younger, she never thought negatively about those who were supposed to be beneath her. She helped the maids and even learned Spanish, saying she could lose it all one day and still want to know how to cook and clean for her husband. Clean the pool or service the cars, she’d ask to learn how, and called people by their first names and knew about their kids and their needs. While people may have thought it was a scam to make her family look good, every women’s shelter, animal rescue, and local house of worship got donations, so people were fed and felt that they mattered. Daniel was sure she got some of that from her mother, a gorgeous older woman he’d never use any crude terms to describe, even if she looked like an older pornstar. You came over, you ate, and felt like you mattered. That was part of the problem.

When you work undercover, you give yourself a reality check. Sure, you party with people, talk about personal issues, and win over their trust only to send them to prison, but that was the job. You're just trying to infiltrate and make a case for the government, and as nice as they might seem, they were killers and drug dealers who did awful things. Were the Parkers any different? Well, they weren’t some brutal, blood thirsty assholes who poisoned children and killed innocent people. They did business in a very dark world, and they probably killed more dangerous people than the long arm of the law. He listened to Anya and looked into her eyes a few times. She seemed sincere, not masked by sunglasses or bold lies.

Did he owe her? Well, it wasn’t simple. When you’re undercover, there are people who always have suspicions, but in time, they call you a friend, and any doubts they’ll put aside. He was so well-liked by one Colombian family of cocaine traffickers that when they saw pictures of him dressed as an FBI agent, they angrily thought the agency was trying to make him look bad. Danny had gotten in good with the Parks and their crews, so nobody questioned his movements, and when questions were asked, they were answered without deception; after all, he was one of them. All accept a certain young lady, whom many consider a mindless tease and the boss’s daughter. Well, she might have been the boss’s daughter and a sexy young thing, but she was far from stupid. He was sure she liked him a lot, but she also made it clear she knew he had secrets. She didn’t nail down what exactly, and she wasn’t about to order Dad’s thugs to work him over until he confessed, but she was on top of things.

When everything exploded, Anya took the high moral road for a gangster and said he was just doing his job. If he’d pressed things like remaining in their city, things would have happened that would be unpleasant, so he took off, and when he heard her name mentioned in the office or in the media, it always made him smile. She’d tried a few independent ventures and had some small “c” celebrity relationships, but when you’re a kingpin's daughter, society will only let you go so far.
“I owe you, and that’s why I’m taking your meeting, but I made sure it was in a public place. Also, I heard a similar speech from your father over a decade ago. He bought into a car company, and there was the football franchise, and I know you guys aren’t involved with any of that now. Speaking of which, the last time I heard you were engaged or married or something? I know the scandal rags had a picture of you on a topless beach somewhere with your friends. The official answer is the agency isn’t interested in you changing over to more lawful pursuits unless you come in, confess everything, and start over in witness protection after a lot of arrests and trials.”

He paused for a drink of beer, and before she could respond, he continued, “But I know that isn’t the case for many reasons. Never mind, I don’t think you’re ready to move on from the family home. I will help you where I can, though, if and I do mean if this is sincere. Because you can talk all you want about reforming the family, but plenty of your people make piles of cash they never would working an honest job.”

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Anya could see in Daniel's eyes that he was remembering the little girl she'd been back when he worked for her father. She'd been a hellion at times, but -- as he was reminiscing -- she'd also been helpful and both sympathetic and empathetic to others. She'd gotten most of that from her mother, as one might expect. But despite his chosen career, he, too, could be a very benevolent person; some of what he'd done for others had been for good Press, but most of it had been because he really cared for the community.

If Anya had known what Daniel was recalling about her mother -- that she looked like, in his memory, an older pornstar -- she would have laughed. Gabriel Hernandez Parker had actually been a stripper when Anya's father met her. It had been her first night on the stage, her first dance actually, when Paul feel immediately in lust. He invited her to his table by flashing a hundred dollar bill at her, something she'd thought meant lap dance but turned out to be just conversation.

That very night, Paul had taken her out of the life that she'd only just answered. He'd promised Gabby an apartment, a car, and a generous allowance if she'd be his and his alone, an offer she'd taken without knowing anything about him. Surprisingly, they'd come to love and respect each other more deeply than most couples ever did. Anya had wonderful memories of her parents together, and -- if she'd known that Daniel was contemplating Gabby -- she'd believe that he had good memories of the times that he'd seen the two of them together, too.

“I owe you, and that’s why I’m taking your meeting," he told her, "But I made sure it was in a public place."

"I assure you, Daniel," Anya said with a smile, "You are in no danger from me or anyone from the Family."

"Also, I heard a similar speech from your father over a decade ago," he continued, speaking of Paul Parker's ventures into legitimate ventures in the day. He suddenly changed directions, saying, "Speaking of which, the last time I heard you were engaged or married or something?"

Again, Anya laughed, only louder and longer this time. "Yeah, that didn't go anywhere. He, um ... did me wrong, would be a good way to describe how we ended up going our separate ways."

"I know the scandal rags had a picture of you on a topless beach somewhere with your friends," Daniel reminded her.

Anya felt her face erupt in a fiery blush, making her glad they were in a darkened bar; he could probably still see the blush if he looked hard enough, though. She commented on his recollection, "Yeah, the wannabe novelist. He took it, the pictures, believe it or not ... then gave them to those scandal rags you mentioned."

She smiled wide, sipping at her beer before continuing, "My dad handled that situation personally. I won't go into details, other than to say that the Ex has to dictate his fiction into a recorder and have someone else transcribe them these days." She held her hands up before her with her fingers distorted as if the hands of an ancient Disney movie wicked witch. She smiled, clarifying, "He doesn't type so good anymore."

The waitress stopped by again, and Anya ordered two more beers and asked Daniel if he wanted anything more. When they were alone again, she asked him more seriously, "So, waddaya think...? Are you interested in helping me out?"

"The official answer is the agency isn’t interested in you changing over to more lawful pursuits unless you come in," he responded, continuing, "confess everything, and start over in witness protection after a lot of arrests and trials.”

Anya only stared into Daniel's eyes as he paused to drink his beer. She was about to tell him That isn't going to happen when he filled in just what she was thinking, “But I know that isn’t the case for many reasons."

He continued explaining his thoughts about her and her life before saying, "I will help you where I can, though, if and I do mean if this is sincere."

As Daniel talked about her reforming the family and getting rich off ill-gotten gains, Anya was leaning to one side to better get into the front pocket of her tight-fitting jeans a folded piece of paper. When he finished, she slid it across to him, tapping a fingertip upon it.

"Place and time of a major drug delivery ... Columbian coke and Bolivian marijuana ... two million dollars-worth once it hits the streets." Anya paused, smiled again, then said, "I know what you're thinking, Daniel. One of our competitors ... so, this doesn't cost The Family anything. But ... you'd be wrong if that was what you're thinking, and the proof is that you will find Robert Reed and Will Fat Lip Green there, picking the dope up."

She saw the reaction in Daniel; he would remember both of these men as he'd worked closely with them when he'd been undercover in The Family. They were two of the made men that had escaped the net that had taken down dozens of her father's men a decade earlier.

Anya could have sat there and discussed this further, but the bodyguard standing at the nearby pillar had stepped out of the shadows into a more illuminated space and made a gesture to her that meant they needed to leave, now. She stood, stepped closer to Daniel's side of the booth, leaned down, took his cheeks in her hands, and pressed her mouth to his in a long, soft, but erotic kiss.

Pulling back and standing tall again, she smirked devilishly and confessed, "I've been wanting to do that for a long ... long time."

And with that, she was gone into the music-filled, dark bar, heading for her car and, ultimately, her home on the hill.

 

[JackHemingway]

Danny listened to Anya and picked up a few more details along the way, smiling when appropriate. He was sure whoever the guy was who released her pictures regretted it. Paul, confronted by his daughter, upset and yelling, “Daddy, do something,” was a recipe for disaster for anyone in the way. That wasn’t the only takeaway, though. She’d grown up, and Anya was serious. If she wasn’t being a hundred percent truthful, he was good with it for now. Anya was putting herself out there, and a princess, well, now queen, didn’t do that unless she wanted to do it. She had power, and she was making the offer to give some of it up to move forward. In the meantime, he took a few of her fries.

Yes, Danny remembered a younger Anya running around in only a t-shirt, panties, and flip-flops, grabbing fries and burgers from the guards guarding her father’s house while it was on lockdown. Danny could remember that time, glancing back, watching her dip his fries in his chocolate shake, and watching Anya talk about school while he stood looking out a window with an automatic weapon, wondering what was in the night. A lesser person would think Anya was oblivious to what was going on, but she refused to let it rattle her, even if it meant sleeping with a teddy bear and a firearm. For a second, he wondered if she still had Mr. Bear, but there were more important things to handle. She’d given him a note and was heading out.

Before she did, though, and not to tip off her bodyguard as she gave him a kiss, he slid his business card into the pocket of her jeans. On the front is the standard FBI business card, but on the back is a phone number for an encrypted cell phone and an email address that looked like something out of the dark web. He’d check on her lead and treat it as something active, but either way, he wanted her to be in touch again, without anyone listening to their conversation or knowing where she was. Anya was smart; her only issue was getting bored with something and moving on. She could have been successful at a dozen different things and largely was before she walked away, and that was after college, where she seemed to study everything yet still not have a degree, but professors who remembered the very bright girl in a halter top who brought cookies when she came to lectures.

Danny paid a little extra, even though it wasn’t necessary, and after a few more songs, left the Hurricane and drove away in his metallic Chevrolet Corvette C4. He rocked out to the highway and did a bunch of procedures from the manual, and a few that weren’t, to lose whoever might be following him before making it to his neighborhood and parking in the secure garage of the old converted coffee factory that now housed loft apartments among many other interesting lodging options. He’d made some shady financial arrangements, and with a growing stock fund, he’d been able to live beyond his means. When he was away on undercover, the place was easily rented out to peers in various agencies because the old industrial strip butted right up against the government quarter, where more than a dozen federal agencies had offices in Springfield. Rather than a city police precinct, it was a uniformed federal police substation because so many officers were needed.

When he unlocked the heavy-duty security door to his loft, he was greeted by the sounds and barks of his trusty guard dog, Briggs. The older dog, complete with scars and a leather eyepatch, was a rescue from a dog-fighting ring. Danny had the dog for only a year, but the creature was so loving and protective that he seemed to know what his owner did for him and loved him for it. He kneeled down, petted and stroked his dog, and smiled. “So Jody texted me you like the new chicken and gravy combo, and she said you were very sweet at the dog park.”

After some good-natured playtime, Danny made sure the apartment was secure and activated the security system, though he was pretty sure Briggs was enough security. He went to his bedroom, turned on the computer terminal, put his weapon in a lockbox, which was just a formality since there were plenty of weapons around, and undressed. He fed the data into the computer so whoever was on duty tonight on the intelligence section would start working on what he had gotten from Anya. For now, he had to play this by the book, and she was a possible informant, nothing more. Plenty came with a story and wanted out of the life, but that wasn’t the case here; he could say that to his people. He lay on his California king and waited for Briggs to make his regular plea to sleep in the bed, even though he had a wonderful dog bed at the head of his. Okay, Anya, we’ll see where this goes.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Warehouse district, by the docks
Midnight, two nights later:

Robert "Stubs" Reed and Will "Fat Lip" Green stepped out the back doors of the two black SUVs and scanned the interior of the otherwise abandoned warehouse. Their suppliers weren't expected for thirty minutes, but they liked to get to the exchanges early to scope things out. Right now, if they were to be set upon by the local PC or the DEA, there was nothing that could be done about them; each of the men carrying a firearm had a concealed carry permit, courtesy of the government folks on the payroll; and $900,000 in two briefcases -- one each per vehicle -- was clean money that would bring up lots of questions but wasn't illegal at all, so ... fuck off, cops.

Stubs -- who'd gotten his name for losing a digit of each pinky finger after making mistakes -- gestured two men from his vehicle to take a walk around the building, looking for uninvited guests. Fat Lip -- who'd gotten his nickname as a tween due to his father punching him in the mouth every time he came home drunk and found his wife out on the town with friends, including other men -- sent two of his men on a tour of the warehouse's interior.

All four men returned fifteen minutes later to report that all seemed clear. Ironically, the suppliers arrived just a couple of minutes after that, early and eager to trade their cocaine, marijuana, and fentanyl for the cash.

Between the two sides of the deal, there were 18 men in all, some of them carrying semiautomatic pistols, but most of them packing automatic machine guns or shotguns.

 

[JackHemingway]

One of the constant problems Danny encountered as an undercover operative was that, no matter how hard you tried to keep things secret, someone always talked. It was seldom a corrupt agent or a mole within law enforcement, but often someone who spoke out of turn, shared a secret with a lover, or was simply careless. Every office had staff that didn’t take their job seriously, and when you shared information with a local agency, more people knew about it, so there was an even greater chance of something going wrong. So over time, he kept information isolated to a handful of people, and if the court system needed to be involved, you had to be very selective of who was involved, and you didn’t give them much time to blab about the whole thing. Those in organized crime had plenty of sources for information. People talked to escorts, people owed money, and, while rare, bribes did happen.

It was one of the reasons Danny had to move so often. Once you made a bust, even when they made every effort to keep your identity a secret, it had to come out in court, and once that happened, the criminal world knew who you were. He was sure when he arrived back in Springfield, a phone rang at some mob-controlled bar or somebody’s burner phone. Danny was sure people saw him meet with Anya, but they probably didn’t know why. She seemed to leave enough time, but not too much, before the deal was going down, and it didn’t give Danny long to check things out, but the street was talking about something, and that was enough time for him to convince the right people and put the resources in place.

One of the keys to the operation was the federal police force, but he didn’t use the local units; he used the "flying squad," which was designed for fast response. So nothing would leak, he had them call while they were in the air, flying to a training facility. They quickly rearmed and prepared during the flight, and vehicles met them at the airport, and they went straight to the location Anya had given him. So Danny found a building overlooking the scene and, with binoculars, a laptop, and a sniper rifle, watched the raid unfold in real time. He’d been ready to call the whole thing off, but he recononized the players and a few minor ones as well. They were there to make a deal, and soon it was confirmed.

Doors were kicked open, glass was broken, and soon all the parties were surrounded. It was followed by a few intense moments, but soon weapons went down, and those who thought they could run tried. The only thing that happened, though, was that everyone got arrested and all the evidence was booked. The few moments of intense excitement soon gave way to a mountain of paperwork, processing the suspects, dealing with lawyers' interrogations, and booking such a large amount of evidence; more staff had to be called in to help handle it all. There was a press release with the usual press conference with a group offficers on both sides of the FBI’s office, talking about the bust in front of a table with all the guns, money, and drugs laid out to see. After all that, it was late, but his superiors made it clear to Danny that they were happy but wanted to see more, so he had to talk to his informant. All Danny could do at that point, though, was go home, put on a pot of tea, play with his dog, and read a book while he glanced at his phone and computer terminal.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Hill House
North of Springfield
The next morning:

(OOC: Keep in mind that she doesn't always dress like this. It's the image I chose for her, though.)

Anya paced slowly down one side of the long conference table in silence while sitting at it, 14 men and 4 women -- her father's Lieutenants -- argued about who was responsible for the bust the previous night that had cost them $900,000 in cash, $3 million dollars in cocaine, fentanyl, and marijuana, and 8 men, all seized/arrested by a Federal Task Force of which none of them knew.

"Who the fuck were these guys?" one Lieutenant asked. "Why don't we own them?"

"They aren't locals," someone answered. "We got no fucking idea who they are. No one does."

Anya reached the end of the table, circled it, trekked down the other side, and finally ended up at the head of the table where her father normally sat. An argument started about what was to be done about the arrested men; should they be left be, bailed out, or eliminated by the Family's resources inside the Courts, the Sheriff's Department Jail, or -- assuming they were convicted -- in the State prison to which they'd be transferred.

"No blood," Anya finally spoke up; they were the first words she'd said since greeting each of the Lieutenants and saying We suffered a loss last night. "There will be no eliminations." Some of those at the table argued that that Family couldn't risk the detained men talking to get deals, but Anya stressed, "No ... blood." She looked to the faces of those who'd argued for the killings, then continued, "These are our people. If anyone is going to be eliminated, it's going to be the fucker or fuckers who leaked the time and place of the deal."

Immediately, the room erupted again in accusations and denials of responsibility. But one of Paul Parker's most senior Lieutenants, Rudy King, waved them all to silence, looked harshly to Anya, and asked, "I don't mean to sound disrespectful to you, Anya ... but ... are you under the impression that it is your responsibility or right to decide what we do about these men?"

Anya stared at him a long moment before asking, "What are you asking, Rudy?" He didn't immediately answer, so Anya inquired, "Are you asking if I believe I am in charge during my father's absence?"

He hesitated as well, then began, "Well ... since you bring it up--"

"No, you brought it up, Rudy," Anya cut in. "Am I under the impression that I am responsibility for what happens to these men? Isn't that what you asked."

The tension around the table had been high during the previous argument, but now you could cut it with a knife. Anya asked, "Who do you think should be responsible for what happens to them ... or for that matter ... what happens to anyone who works for the Family ... anyone sitting at this table right now ... any of you?"

Rudy looked about himself for support, and while he seemed to get a few soft nods of support, most of those at the table didn't react in any way other than to maybe look away from him. He looked to Anya again, saying, "I have been with your Paul Parker longer than any other man or woman at this table. In your father's absence ... I believe that it should be me who sits at the head of the table."

Anya studied the man a moment, then looked down one side of the table and up the other, making eye contact with each and every Lieutenant. Then, she took a step to the side, pulled her father's chair out, and gestured the man to it. "You're right, Rudy. You have served my father longer than anyone else at this table. Please ... take your seat."

Rudy hesitated, looking around the table yet again. He got a couple of obvious nods and a couple of tentative ones; he also got a couple of harsh looks from people who thought he was making a mistake. But then he stood, paused, straightened his suit jacket, and turned to slowly walk to the offered seat.

"You're a good man," Anya told him when he reached her, offering her hand.

Rudy looked to it, smiled, took it, then looked her in the eyes and said, "Thank you, Anya."

She nodded to him, gestured him to the chair, and waited. Rudy looked out upon the men and women who were to be his Lieutenants now and sat. No sooner had his ass found wood then Anya let the ice pick up her sleeve slip down into her fingers, then stabbed it deep into his temple, sinking it all the way to the wooden hilt.

There was instant shock around the table, with gasps, cries, and even a scream from one of the women. Rudy's eyes had widened in a combination of shock and pain, but other than that he showed no reaction until he fell forward, his forehead smacking hard onto the hardwood.

"You may be my father's longest serving Lieutenant, Rudy," she said, reaching out a hand to smooth down his toupee, "but I ... am his daughter ... and heir."

Anya looked out at the table's occupants; they were becoming calmer with each passing second, but there were still expressions of shock and even fear. Anya looked to the assemblage and explained, "Last year, my father hired an out-of-state accounting firm to perform an audit of the Family's operations ... every operation ... going back a full decade. He discovered that our loyal friend here, Rudy, had been embezzling money for more than a decade."

She turned and began another slow walk around the table, continuing, "He planned on confronting Rudy about this, only ... he was shot down in the streets like a dog. People who are more loyal to me, my father, and the Family than Rudy here was located the shooter ... and questioned him ... to death. He claimed that Rudy hired him ... and further investigation proved that this information was in fact accurate--" Anya gestured back to the dead man, adding, "Thus...

"Rudy wasn't alone in these crimes against the Family, though," Anya continued. "I have the names of half a dozen of you who have also betrayed in one way or another ... the Family ... my father ... and now me, seeing as I am now going to be sitting at the head of the table."

Anya looked between the faces of the Lieutenants who she thought would dislike this idea the most, wondering whether their poker faces were any good or not. "I could simply have you all killed here and now, just as I did Rudy. However ... I am instead going to give you a choice: you can fess up now and make things right ... return the money you've stolen ... beg forgiveness for your betrayals ... and I will give you 24 hours to pack up your families ... and go wherever you wish ... so long as it's at least 10,000 miles from me."

Anya looked to some of the faces, "You will not be punished ... if you do the right thing. If you don't do the right thing ... well..." Standing near Rudy once again, she reached out to pat him on the bloodless portion of his toupee. Looking to the table's occupants and smiling politely, she asked, "Who's first?"

For a long thirty or forty seconds, the Lieutenants simply looked around at each other, wondering who would be the first to confess and test Anya on her vow to let them live. Finally, though, Anya said, "Well ... okay ... so be it. Charlie!"

Quickly and quietly, eight men with silenced pistols -- led by Anya's bodyguard, Charlie Young -- emerged from the hallways beyond the room's four open doors. Less than four seconds later, the ten -- not just a half dozen as Anya had said -- were dead from bullets in the backs of the heads. There was a measure of panic amongst the others, but most of the Lieutenants remained in their seats, afraid that flight might be seen as guilt.

"Thank you, Charlie," Anya said to one of the gunmen. He nodded confirmation, gestured his fellow executioners to depart, and then took up station near his boss. Anya retrieved a large briefcase from a table in the corner, brought it to the table, and spilled it out before her; hundreds of bundles of hundred-dollar bills -- $10,000 per bundle -- spilled out across the nearest half of the table. "I want each of you to take five bundles each, please."

No one reached for the cash, but Anya repeated, "Now! Five bundles each ... fifty grand ... do it." Hesitantly, some of the closest men took money and/or pushed bundles down the table. Anya repeated her request again, telling them, "It's okay. Take it." Some of the money became bloody when the red stuff of three of the dead men and one woman spread to it. Anya playfully said, "Sorry about that, but ... it'll wash out, so..."

Once each of them had five bundles of cash, Anya said, "I want each of you to leave here ... go home ... decide whether you can serve this Family with me at the head of the table ... and if you decide that you can't ... don't come back." She waggled an extended finger at the remains of the pile of cash, saying, "Consider this ... severance pay."

She looked them all over one last time, then turned and left the room.


Three days later:

The day before, using the encrypted phone that he'd gotten to her, Anya sent the Daniel a text: Remember that place where I punch that kid in the nose for touching my tit, and then when his father got pissy, you broke his nose, too? Noon tomorrow. I'll bring a picnic basket.

Just before noon, Charlie pulled the blacked-out SUV into Springfield Memorial Park, finding a parking space near the old, abandoned Alice in Wonderland fountain that had once been Anya's favorite place to play frisbee. She crossed to a patch of shade under a huge oak, laid out the blanket, opened the basket, and waited.

 

[JackHemingway]

Danny wasn’t sure exactly what was going on in Anya’s “extended” family, but I’m sure a large-scale bust would warrant a few angry meetings at the very least. It would be frustrating because the more they looked for the leak and the less information they found, the more ruthless they would be in their search. Anyone who was questionable right was not done for, and a few people might die just because of someone’s level of paranoia. Whatever was happening, it was going to be a mess. One thing informants said is that a number of front businesses set up to launder money or cover other illegal operations were being handed off. Longtime managers, legitimate partners, and even bartenders were given the businesses they worked in, in some cases, for decades. Danny briefly wondered who was taking over Nonna’s Slice House. They made some of the best pies in the city, and in the Parker household, when you were told to get pizza, that’s where you went.

With most of the business tied to the bust, complete at least for him at this time, Danny was thrilled when the computer came to life with a message. It wouldn’t have been clear to anyone, but he knew Anya, who loved going to the park. Springfield Memorial Park was close to the family compound, but a hidden treasure of the city. Some people thought the beautiful location was privately owned, but it was just in a wealthier area of the city. There was more to the story, but Anya hadn’t down anything wrong beyond enjoying a sunny day in a bikini and enjoying the sun. While some teenage punk thought it was okay to grab her breast, it was lost on him. Wearing a barely there bikini wasn’t an invitation to be touched, and the little shit was lucky. He and the rest of the bodyguards, and Anya’s girlfriends for that matter, were ready to beat the shit out of him. The princess, though, raised her hand to calm everyone down and then laid into the laughing little punk.

The boy's father missed the whole situation and came running, threatening lawsuits and calling the police, and Daniel took a moment to calm him down and explain what happened. He had to shut the man up with a hard right, but that was meant to de-escalate the situation. After that, he grabbed a giggling Anya by the arm and took her and her friends back to her father’s house and the pool there, which was much safer than the park. He actually came full circle in his head, remembering Anya and her friends ordering Pizza from Nonna’s and some poor kid breaking every land speed record to get the pizzas over to the house on time, only to be teased by a bunch of girls, but generously compensated. Nobody would believe that you could have fun while infiltrating an organized crime family. Well, you did if you forgot while you were there and just lived sometimes.
So he forgot for an afternoon that he was meeting a mob princess in a park when he drove to Springfield Memorial Park. He was meeting the daughter of some people he knew and was happy to see him now that he was back in town. Anya would want to talk about the bust and the future of their relationship, or rather, their working relationship. Part of him always felt that Anya would be married off to some mob ally or some wealthy guy who didn’t mind the infusion of street money into his coffers. At the very least, he expected Anya to be on the battlements keeping the barbarians from the gates, but no, she was talking treaties, reforms, and a future without bloodshed. It was a dream that, to his knowledge, no one had ever achieved without bodies or prison time.

While he couldn’t put all those thoughts aside right now, he would make every effort to enjoy lunch with the lovely Anya. SO he walked over in sneakers, jeans, and a Hawaiian shirt with only his duty weapon and a cellphone. He didn’t bring a surveillance team, backup, or even tell anyone what he was doing. He’d said he was on lunch and that was what he was doing. As he approached, he noted the guards but walked over to Anya and just smiled.

“So what are we having for lunch today?”

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Anya smile at the sight of Daniel heading across the park toward her. He'd dressed casually, which brought back happy memories for her.

When Danny had been working directly for Anya's father, he'd more often than not been dressed more formally in a suit, particularly one that would hide the gun on his waist or bullet proof vest under his shirt.

But when Daniel -- as she'd called him for its playful uniqueness -- Anya had demanded that he sees less formal and, when applicable, for the occasion. That day here in this park, he'd been in casual shorts and a polo shirt; she'd assumed he had a smaller weapon under his untucked shirt, maybe a small 5-shot revolver, but she hadn't asked.

Another time when he'd escorted Anya and her friends to a college basketball game, she'd made Daniel don the same team jersey that she and her friends were wearing. He hadn't initially found anything odd about that; it hadn't seemed suspicious as the girls were practicing cheers for that team and even talking longingly about the hottest players.

As they were getting close to their seats, Anya asked Daniel to lead them down the steps through the thick crowd. He reached their row and sidestepped past the knees of the already seated fans.

Then suddenly, those fans began jeering and booing Daniel, and when he looked back to Anya and her girlfriend, he got a big surprise. They'd shed their own jerseys, stuffing them into Anya's bag, and were now wearing jerseys similar to those everyone sitting around them were.

They other fans playfully tainted him, throwing insults and popcorn his way. Anya and her friends hadn't helped much, either; they pretended not to be with him and joined the chants against him.

“So what are we having for lunch today?” he asked when he reached her.

"Fried chicken, of course," she said, opening the basket to pull out containers. Anya's father hadn't been a fan of anything fried, so she'd taken every opportunity away from him to eat it. "Fries, shrimp, onion rings, deep fried cheese sticks ... and since every meal needs balance, potato salad, cold kernal corn, a fruit bowl, and, tadaa!"

Anya pulled out a bottle of Champagne, saying, "I had one of these last time, too, but you took it away from me 'cause we were all under age."

She stuck her lower lip out, designing a pout.

 

[JackHemingway]

With Anya, there were always surprises, and they weren’t always the most pleasant, but they were well-intentioned and not meant to hurt anyone. Well, not intended to hurt anyone anyway, but if you asked Danny if he thought this would be a hit, he would straight out tell you no. It wasn’t Anya’s style, and if she did decide to kill you, you would never see it coming. Still, he did his security checks, and he didn’t see anyone beyond Anya’s people who might have been brutes, but there was a degree of professionalism and ethics at least when it came to killing innocent people. Law enforcement, you were supposed to avoid killing, but that was more of a guideline. His bringing backup meant paperwork, and while he had his own network of trusted friends and associates in law enforcement, that was fueled by favors and goodwill. Right now, the majority of them were sorting out the last large busts.

So he sat down and listened to Anya talk about their lovely fried lunch, and they played the role of a couple, or more like close friends to anyone who was watching them from a distance, enjoying their picnic. With plates fully loaded, they enjoyed a few bites, but before any toast, Danny looked at Anya and asked. “I take it you watch the news, but I’m sure that’s not the first time you heard about what happened. So you really want to put an end to an empire, I mean, I can put you on as an informant, maybe even get you a deal. Put you on a beach somewhere. The bureau even talks about a whole tropical island owned by the United States, where former spies and high-ranking criminals live their best lives on mini-estates. They are being watched by the island’s police force, which is basically there to monitor them. So, the best I can tell is you’re making some moves, and you decided to involve me.”

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

It was a joy for Anya to sit and talk with Danny again; it had been ten years give or take -- she couldn't remember exactly when he'd disappeared -- and while he hadn't changed a bit in her eyes, she'd grown up from a silly, flirty, rambunctious teenager to a hard edged, responsible, even murderous crime family boss.

That last part was what made it hard for Anya when Danny began talking about her leaving the Family and giving it up. "...I can put you on as an informant, maybe even get you a deal. Put you on a beach somewhere."

She listened to what he had to say, then countered with, "I'm not going anywhere, Daniel. I want to take the Family legit, I can't do that by abandoning the hundreds, even thousands of people who are supported directly or indirectly by the Family's businesses.

"And as I take the Family out of its illegal activities," she continued, "I must prevent the other Families from filling the void. I can provide you names and details on drug exchanges and other criminal operations and more ... enabling you to take these people down ... but to get the people at the top, I have to remain where I am."

She sipped from the champagne that she'd been pouring while she talked, then went on, "Some of what I need to do requires your assistance ... such as the drug bust that has the Press buzzing about you and your task force. Sometimes..." Anya paused, contemplating how she wanted to say what she needed to say. "Sometimes ... I might ask you for something ... that you might be hesitant to give me."

Anya reached out to lay a hand upon Danny's arm, saying with a sincere tone, "Daniel, I would never ask you to do anything illegal. But ... perhaps something like ... you have a man in custody ... Phil Frink. He's the accountant for the Green Family. He was arrested a few weeks ago for a minor money laundering scheme ... a few hundred thousand dollars ... nothing compared to what he actually laundered."

She squeezed his arm in a somewhat intimate fashion before finishing, "I need to speak with him ... a sit down, in private ... five minutes. If you could arrange this, I could promise you a major bust ... and the potential recovery of tens of millions of dollars in laundered drug funds."

 

[JackHemingway]

It was a pleasure to spend time with Anaya again, and as they ate, he enjoyed it even more until she got to her request. "Ah, the Green family's attendant—actually, more of an organizer of all their financial activities. A pretty smart guy was working for a big firm before he went over to the dark side—a lot of free meals and companionship. Anyway, he's in federal custody, and he's never alone. Agents, lawyers, even his Russian wife, you know, the former model who was "friends" with the Prime Minister. Well, I can't even if I wanted to, Anya. There is no way for you to talk to him for five minutes without someone not only knowing but also ready to stop you. Besides, you're in the bureau's files. They don't have anything on y ou, but they'd throw a net over you if you were in the building and figure out charges later. I'm really stretching things talking to you, period, but we have a channel, and I can always say I'm working you towards a deal. I know it's not going to happen, even if I think it's lesswildy than what you are proposing. Really think you can pull it off?"

Danny ate a few more bites, enjoyed some chicken, some corn, and finally pulled out a cola from the picnic basket and had a long drink.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

When Anya requested 5 minutes alone with the former and now jailed accountant of one of Springfield's other Crime Families, the Greens, Danny told her firmly about arranging it, "Well, I can't even if I wanted to, Anya. There is no way for you to talk to him for five minutes without someone not only knowing but also ready to stop you. Besides, you're in the bureau's files."

She was disappointed about the accountant but not at all surprised about her file; the FBI had likely had a file on her since the day she was born, and not simply as a footnote in her father's file either. The one thing Anya had going for her was that she'd never been tagged by the Feds or even the locals as being an active part of the Family's criminal operations.; she'd only become part of the day to day a year after Danny's departure from his undercover work inside the Family, and -- by her father's strict demands -- she'd been kept three steps away from anything that could have gotten her arrested for anything worse than jaywalking or littering.

"They don't have anything on you," Danny told her, "But they'd throw a net over you if you were in the building and figure out charges later."

He was right, of course, and Anya had considered that problem before coming to him with this fool's errand. She knew that busting her for something big would be a career maker for anyone in the FBI; to be honest, she'd even worried a bit that Danny himself might take advantage of her infatuation with him as a way to step up about ten levels in relatively no time at all.

"I'm really stretching things talking to you, period," he told her.

She interrupted him, smiling and again patting his arm as she said, "And I appreciate that, Daniel. I really do."

He told her that they had a channel he could use, then told her, "I can always say I'm working you towards a deal."

"No!" she countered firmly, then explained, "No, Daniel, you ... you can't tell anyone that you're involved with me on this ... no one!" Her expression had gotten serious in an instance; she'd thought Danny knew that she didn't want the FBI knowing that she was the source of any of the information she was giving him, let alone that she was helping him take down all of Springfield Criminal Families.

"Daniel, please..." Anya begged, "Please ... please tell me that you haven't spoken to your supervisors or partner or anyone about this."

 

[JackHemingway]

Danny put down his plate and drink, moved over on his butt to be closer to Anya, and put his arm around her as an expression of comfort and security. She didn't get upset or scared often, but when she did, it was real and for good reason. She didn't want to be on record with anything, and that wouldn't be easy, but he'd manage to do it, and he wasn't about to hold anything over her. Forcing people to do things in this business seldom worked out well. You force someone to do something they'll do precisely that, and cut off any possibility of a future relationship of any type. Danny had no idea what was going on with Anya, but at the very least, she was an old friend, and you never wanted to burn that kind of relationship.

"Okay, babygirl, nothing like that, but you have to give me something to work with. We can take anonymous tips for a while, but the more people get busted, the smaller the pool of possibilities gets. Why do you want to make this legit so hard? You could fill a few suitcases with cash and take your mother to some warm island or town in the middle of nowhere and start a new life. The accountant won't happen not directly, but what else can I do, but the answer depends on what you tell me."

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Danny moved closer to Anya, which caused her to smile wide inside and a little bit outside. She could still recall the joy and pleasure of leaning over and kissing him full on the mouth at the end of their first recent meeting in the bar; she'd known at the time that she shouldn't have done it -- setting an intimate tone so early in the revival of their friendship -- but she hadn't been able to resist, what with no longer being an underaged teenage girl whose father would have spanked her and killed Danny if she'd done the same back then.

He promised not to put her involvement on paper. "We can take anonymous tips for a while," he told her, "But the more people get busted, the smaller the pool of possibilities gets."

"I understand that," she agreed. "I've considered that. I'll make sure that anything I give you can -- with a little detective work by your Fed buddies -- be attributed to someone else ... someone who's a bad guy, of course. I have no intention of harming anyone who is innocent."

"Why do you want to make this legit so hard?" he asked. "You could fill a few suitcases with cash and take your mother to some warm island or town in the middle of nowhere and start a new life."

"This isn't about me," she told him; her tone wasn't meant to sound accusing, as if Danny had thought that, so she hoped he understood. "This is about the Family. There are a lot of bad seeds in the Family, obviously; we are, after all a criminal enterprise at the heart. Those people I want to see go away ... into Federal custody, Local ... the morgue, whatever happens.

"But there are a lot of good guys," she continued, "And with my father on his--" The words caught in Anya's throat, causing her to pause and clear her throat before continuing from a different angle, "I'm in charge of protecting those people now. I won't disappoint them ... and I won't fail them."

Danny took them back to Anya's first reason for bringing him here today, the Accountant. In many circles, Timothy Quint had actually come to be called The Accountant; it reminded Anya of the Ben Affleck movies that she'd enjoyed so much, maybe because they'd been partially about taking down organized crime or, at the least, criminals who were greatly organized.

"It won't happen, not directly," he told her, "but what else can I do ... the answer depends on what you tell me."
Anya considered her options for a moment, then decided that the truth was the only way to deal with this. "Before Quint was taken into Federal custody ... he was working with me. Not for me: with me. Surreptitiously..." She smiled; Danny would recall that there were a bunch of what she'd called big words that she'd like, and surreptitiously was one of them. "Surreptitiously, I had made contact with him and lured him into a business deal.

"In order to distance the dirty money coming of the Green Family's illegitimate criminal operations from the laundered money provided to them by their legitimate companies," she continued, "Quint had kept even the names of those legitimate companies from the Greens. They had no idea where he was cleaning their money ... only that he was.

"So, I made him an offer," she continued with a bit of a proud smirk, "If he slid those companies my way ... passed on the list of their names and all of the ownership papers to me, so that I could use them for laundering our money instead ... I would help him flee the country ... with, as you suggested, a few suitcases of cash ... and his mother, who I am currently hiding from the Green's to ensure they don't use her against Quint."

Anya sipped at the champagne they'd opened, then continued, "My plan was simple: deprived the Greens of their ability to launder their money ... and once they'd accumulated a tidy little pile of unusable cash ... take it from them." Her happiness faded a bit as she continued, "But then Quint was taken ... and then my father was shot. So now, I need to get to Quint to get the list of those companies before the Greens figure out what's what..."

She looked Danny into the eyes and smiled knowingly to him as she finished, "And if you can do that for me ... if you can get me that list and the location of the papers ... if you can convince your FBI buddies to make Timothy Quint a deal to keep him safe ... maybe relocate him ... Wit-Sec or that Federal island ... then I can keep all those businesses out of the hands of the Greens ... and ... you're gonna love this, Daniel--"

She smiled wide now, like the cat who'd eaten the canary, "I know where the Greens are holding their money." She paused for dramatic effect, then told him, "$240 million dollars ... just sitting there ... waiting for a Federal task force to sweep in and take it."

 

[JackHemingway]

Danny smiled and listened to Anya, and for as long as he could, he ignored the buzzing from his phone, but eventually he took it out slowly so as not to provoke Anya’s guards, who he knew were probably watching if not listening. That was a real concern, though if Anya could keep all of this a secret before someone jumped ship or worse, put the family under new management. While family ties were important in these organized crime groups, at the end of the day, the family name was like any business. It was good marketing, but it wasn’t always a solely family enterprise, and what’s more, people loved it. Working with family was stressful enough, but when you were with family that carried guns and knives and had no restraint when it came to doing their worst, things got interesting. As he replied back in text, he began thinking of how he could help Anya out, and an answer did come up, but it wasn’t an easy one.

“I have to go, Anya. Thanks so much for the picnic. I can’t think of the last time I did that with a woman. I’ll have to take you someplace good next time. Say hi to your Mom and give her my love.”

He quickly pulled out his wallet and found what he was looking for: a business card from the head of human resources for one of the largest criminal defense attorneys. Nice lady divorced, and the first time out and about, when it came to the nightlife and dating. She was a lightweight when it came to mixed drinks, and if it wasn’t her trainwreck of a marriage, she talked about her work, and she revealed more than a few things. Danny palmed the card as a magician would hide it, and without a word, he leaned forward to Anya and kissed her hard on the lips. For a second, he savored her soft lips and the feeling of surprise, but that wasn’t the point. He quickly slipped a hand into her top, slid the card into her bra, then pulled his hand out and gave her a hug.

He stood up and gave her a wicked grin. “Sorry, I couldn’t help you with anything, but good luck with your fiancé, hope he can kiss well.”

With that, he strutted over to his car and drove off, but after doing the usual maneuvers and a few extras to avoid being followed, he pulled over to a discreet location. Danny sent Anya an encrypted text. Basically, it told her that he’d met this HR director for the “Accountant’s” defense firm. They were a very large firm, but they only came to the aid of criminals who could pay. What this drunk director told him was that he had a deal with the clerk’s office to have dozens of court ideas approved in the computer, and all one had to do was go through there under protected system, put in for an ID, enter their information and upload a picture and the ID would be delivered by overnight mail and charged to the firm. There were so many issues nobody kept track so if someone wanted to see someone privately as a member of a legal team, this was the way to do it. He ended the text with, "Here is your five minutes, and I did enjoy selling it by being close to you."

After that, Danny went about his day smiling a little more as he handled the endless paperwork the bureau generated. He was sure Anya would have something to say about what happened. Hopefully, the ID would help her or one of her cohorts see the man, and he was pretty sure this wasn’t going to be a hit. Anya knew lying to him wasn’t a good thing, and even when he lied to her those years back, he was honest.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Three afternoons later:

Timothy Quint had been told that his lawyer was at the Federal Detention Center to speak to him, as seeing how he saw her or one of her senior partners every day, that didn't surprise him as all. What did surprise him all to hell was looking up and Anya Parker waiting for him in the private interview room instead. His eyes bulged, and he had to force his mouth to remain shut as his brain urged him to scream Are you out of your fucking mind?

The guards removed his ankle and wrist shackles, sat him down, provided him with a cold bottle of lemon-lime water, and departed. He saw Anya look to the bottle curiously and explained, "I told them I dehydrate easily, and they want me to testify against the Greens ... so ... they're being good to me."

"I want you to testify against the Greens, too, Timothy," Anya admitted, "But before you do that ... I have to have that list."

He leaned in closer, whispering, "You know they have this place wired, right...? I mean, they aren't supposed to, 'cause of attorney-client privilege and all ... but they are listening in. My attorney and I..." He paused, cleared his throat, and corrected, "My lead attorney ... your boss ... we never talk out loud about my case. We write it all down in folded pieces of paper, then she puts them in her briefcase before --"

Anya cut him off, stressing in whisper, "Timothy ... I need that list."

He in turn stressed, also in whisper, "I need out of here!"

"You have to make your deal with them ... the Feds," she told him. "They don't want you, Timothy. They want the Greens."

"How's my mother?" he asked, changing to what to him was a more important topic; he hadn't been able to ask these questions of his actual attorney because only Anya knew where his mother was.

Anya thought a moment, then responded, "Orange ... and, let me think ... baby bottle."

Timothy smiled wide, his eyes filling with tears at the familiar and correct code words for an even numbered day in this particular month; they told him that his mother was safe and well. He thought while he regained control of his emotions, then looked to the guard standing beyond the Plexiglas window and made a writing in the air gesture. The guard brought in a pen and a 3x3 inch pad of paper; Timothy ripped off a sheet, folded it over, and scribbled. Folding it again, he pushed it to Anya.

"Remember that first place where we met?" he asked softly. Anya nodded, and he continued, "About two blocks south of there is a ... well, you know what it is when you see it." He pointed to the note, saying, "That's the box 44 and last two digits of the lock combination. The first two you can get from my mom. Just tell her tights." He saw the confused expression on Anya's face, chuckled, and repeated, "Tights ... like the girl clothing. And no, I didn't wear tights as a child."

Anya considered what she wanted to say, recalling that she was still pretending to be from the man's legal team. She took the note pad from him, ripped off a second piece of paper and -- following his instructions on how to do it properly -- scribbled and handed him a note. She told him, "After I've left ... I want you to ask to see this man. Tell them he's a Fed ... that you have something to tell him and only him ... tell him something important, something that the Feds don't have."

"Why?" Timothy asked, confused. He couldn't understand that Anya was trying to help along Danny's career.

"Once he proves that your information is spot on," Anya told him, "make your deal with them. Make them move you away from the city ... to Miami or Denver or--"

"I've always wanted to see Knott's Berry Farm," Timothy cut in.

Anya laughed. "Maybe you'll see it out of the blacked-out window of the SUV as they drive past it," she told him with a smile. "Tell them everything ... except what about what you just gave me."

"The list," he whispered. She nodded, and Timothy tapped his nose The Sting style. He asked, "Why not the ... you know...?" Again, he tapped his nose again.

"Because I'm going to us it for big, wonderful things," she said with hope in her tone, "that will make a great many people's lives better ... and help you bring down the Greens."

He snatched the two small sheets of paper and stuffed them in his mouth and chewed. Timothy was afraid that if they figured out Anya wasn't actually his lawyer, they'd search her and find the papers. He wasn't concerned about them learning what had been said; it had been cryptic enough not to be of value. But he didn't want Anya getting in trouble, maybe even arrested.

Then, coincidentally using the same word Danny had at the park, Timothy asked, "And ... what about my mother ... and my luggage ... the suitcases."

"You remember that phone number, right?" she asked. Timothy tapped his temple, indicating that he had it stored in his memory. She promised him, "Your mother and luggage are waiting for you, once you're in WitSec. Don't worry. You'll get them both, very soon."

They went their separate ways, Timothy back to his safe isolation cell with its 24/7 extra security and Anya back to pair of SUVs waiting for her in the parking lot with its eight heavily and legally armed bodyguards. Using the encrypted phone he'd given her, Anya texted Danny, saying: Got my 5 minutes and then some. Thank you. Will be in touch in a couple of days. BTW, you will be getting a call from the Accountant. I think the two of you have a lot about which to talk.

She sent the message, then -- as they drove through the beautiful countryside in which the Federal Detention Center sat, her mind went back to that day in the park earlier in the week, and she typed in another message: I enjoyed our kiss. When this is over, or maybe even before, we'll get to do more than that.

"Go the long way," she told the man behind the wheel, adding, "Through Hazelton."

Her bodyguard, Charlie Young, looked to her questioningly. He asked quietly, "Really? Now?"

She responded as she tapped a number into her cell phone and lifted it to her ear, "Really ... now." When a male voice sounded on the other end of the call, she said, "I'll be there in fifteen minutes ... okay?"

(Part two next)

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

An hour later:

Anya emerged from front entrance of the Hazelton House, a small, upscale bread and breakfast at which Anya often spent nights and weekends when she needed to get away from the Crime Family life. Charlie helped her back into her seat in the SUV and knowingly asked, "How was he?"

She gave him a harsh glare; Anya didn't appreciate Charlie's intrusion into her sex life, but -- at the same time -- she knew that he was only looking out for her. Charlie had always loved Anya, and in a way he was in love with her. But he was now and always had been her bodyguard first, friend second, and wanna-be lover a distant third.

In the end, she settled into her seat and looked away from him, saying, "He's the best at what he does. That's why I use him."

Anya almost added But I won't have to use him anymore soon but didn't. Charlie knew that she had feelings for Danny, based simply on the fact that he'd witnessed her kissing him in the bar and then witnessed her not repelling from him when he kissed her in the park. Charlie's employment as Anya's Chief Bodyguard hadn't begun until after Danny had disappeared from the family; in a sense, he'd replaced Danny, who -- along with three or four others during that time -- had been her on again, off again protectors.

As they headed for downtown Springfield, Anya thought back to her encounter with the male escort who was also the Hazelton House's concierge. She had no feelings for him beyond her delight in what he was capable of doing for her with his tongue and fingers and -- occasionally but not today -- a cock. He provided a sometimes badly needed service, and today, they'd been badly needed.

Anya wanted Danny to fuck her, of course, but more; she wanted him to be her lover ... and possibly her love. But they had a great deal of work ahead of them, and Anya feared that if they began a love affair too early, there might be complications to that work. Soon, she told herself. Soon.

As they drove toward the little cafe where Anya and Timothy had originally met, she called the safehouse where his mother was being safely kept and spoke the word tights to her. The woman gave her the answers she needed, just as they were pulling into the cafe's parking lot. She and Charlie walked the two blocks south, finding a mailbox store there.

The combination opened a box, inside of which was a flash drive. When she got it to an air-gapped laptop she'd had brought to her for this occasion, Anya found on the drive a list of more than 50 companies that Timothy Quint had used to launder tens of millions of dollars each year. She smiled, thrilled; with this information -- info the Greens didn't have -- she would destroy their ability to clean their dirty money, which in turn would lead to their downfall. And, in the long run, she would turn over or in some cases return these businesses to the people who ran them, sometimes for barely over minimum wage; the profits of the businesses would go into the pockets of those who actually did the work, not into the pockets of their criminal overlords.

Four days later:

It had taken four forensic accountants, ten other pairs of eyes and hands at the computers scrolling through information on screens, and more than 200 leads from informants all across Springfield and even beyond before Anya found that for which she'd been looking since getting the accountant's gift. She went to south end of Hill House's perfect lawn and selected Danny's number -- the only number, of course -- on the encrypted phone and sent the address of the location of the Green's unlaundered money. She didn't know how much was there, but it would likely be in the tens or even hundreds of millions.

Then, she stripped to her birthday suit, dove skillfully into the Infinity Pool, and swam a couple of dozen laps before wrapping herself with a towel and heading back inside to shower, eat, and retire to her bedroom to masturbate to fantasies of her future with Daniel.

 

[JackHemingway]

Anya wasn't some bratty private school princess anymore. Not that she ever was, exactly; that was the act she put on for most people, because she was an interesting and soulful individual who cared about people. She could be absolutely ruthless, though, and while she wasn't like all the members of her family, she did enough street time to prove herself. She was never in the system for more than an overnight stay, and those who didn't know better could say on paper she was an upstanding citizen, or at least the same as the other wealthy young women in the gossip column. The difference is that Anya would chase after a person who mistreated a homeless person with a bat, wearing thousand-dollar heels. She was always one to keep it interesting. Other girls broke promises. Anya broke the law.

After a thank-you and a pleasant message, it was good to hear back from Anya, but, as always, it caused chaos. Danny's "informant" had reached out again, so there were warrants to process, teams to assemble, and plenty of briefings to conduct. The powers that be on the fifth floor were less interested in knowing where the reliable information came from and more interested in headlines. With their main witness willing to talk now and make a deal, it could all easily be put under that umbrella, even if they hadn't worked out anything official yet. Soon, busts were being made, and local media reported that law enforcement was taking the mob's money. They were wrong, of course, but millions of dollars and plenty of thugs in jail were what one might call progress. The Greens weren't the only ones in town, though. Still, he got some internal credit, as the director of the local office made the rounds on local news shows. He was an administrator and an appointee, hardly an agent, but he could talk about anything without any knowledge of the subject. Anyay would probably see Daniel in one of the group background shots at a press conference, with piles of cash and weapons displayed, and a row of agents around their director.

Daniel did make an effort to let Anya know he appreciated her, and leaving a message wasn't enough, so thanks to a connection in the fashion industry he'd made during a kidnapping case, he sent her an anonymous package with a card. He was sure Anya's well-paid mansion security would scan and search the box, so no secrets, just the package with a note. He was sure one of those thugs would bring it to Anya during her typical morning repas,s whatever that was these days. Inside a designer shoebox, she'd find a pair of high-end leopard-print wedge pumps. A practical gift, no, but Anya always liked shock value. The note was a simple thank-you note, and that's all it said. If she thought they came from anyone else, that would speak volumes, but after many long, wild conversations, you learned things about people. One day, just because, Anya showed up at private school in her uniform, completely gothed out. It wasn't even her thing, but she liked scaring the nuns.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

FBI Headquarters
Springfield

The day after the biggest day in Springfield Law Enforcement history:

Alexander "Alex" Cook was waiting for Danny when he arrived at the office, pushing off the wall to join him in his walk to the elevators. Patting his ego, she said, "So, I know your flying high in the clouds with this recent bust, and that ladies across the city would be throwing their panties at you if you were Freddie Mercury rather than Feddie Reyes..."

She went silent a moment, recalling suddenly that the lead singer for Queen was somewhat of a queen himself. Alex could have picked a better example, she guessed, but still, it had sounded cute. She continued, "Anyway, did you hear what OCCD picked up over the last week or so?"

By OCCD, Alex was referring to the Organized Crime Communications Division; it was sort of the FBI's version of the NSA, only undermanned, underfinanced, and under-teched. She continued, "They picked up on something that should have been all too obvious but somehow got missed. Rudy King, Yanni Abrams, Dagger Esposito, Alecsander The Ax Dordevic ... I'm sure you know these names...?"

She hesitated for Danny's response if he had one, then continued, "I know they don't sound like they should be grouped together for any reason, what with being a Russian, Jew, Italian, and Slav. You know, I never figured that. How the hell did the Parker Crime Family come to be run by people from, what, at least ten different nationalities, according to OCCD and our own task force. I mean, the others are primarily one ethnicity or religion or whatever."

Alex realized that she was getting off track. As they exited the elevator, she returned to, "They're all dead." That got Danny's attention. She chuckled, short and sharp. "Yeah ... dead. King, Abrams, Esposito, Dordevic ... they were all buried over the last ten days or so."

She pulled a folded, wrinkled piece of paper from her back pants pocket, reading, "Heart attack, stroke, another heart attack, fatal diabetes medicine interaction." She handed the paper to Danny, continuing, "I checked with the coroner about Dordevic. A death due to medicine anything should have triggered an automatic autopsy. And yet ... nothing. The body didn't even reach the morgue. It went straight to the funeral home and was buried six hours later."

Alex paused as a pair of Agents hurried between them, off to some fire somewhere. She told him, "And they aren't the only ones. OCCD says that there are at least three other top Lieutenants from the Parker Family whose cell phones and email accounts -- even the Dark Web ones that they don't think we know about -- have gone cold ... totally cold."

She stepped in a bit closer, asking barely above a whisper, "You were undercover with the Parkers back in the day, right ... before my time here? Do you think ... you know ... could there be a purge taking place? I mean, who's running the Family now, what with Old Man Parker lying in a bed with tubes coming out of every orifice, keeping him alive. I mean, I think he's still alive. Is he?"

 

[JackHemingway]

Danny did not need another crazy woman in his life, and that was Alex. From car chases to kicking down doors, she went full throttle and had no problem cracking skulls. Still, if she were here, she wanted something and certainly would just be brushed off like some other agent. She wanted answers, and he's had hell trying to read her into his current situation, which is volatile enough, but he managed to maneuver a bit. So when they were first alone, or at least alone enough in the office complex, Danny turned to Alex.

"I was with them a long time ago, but the Parkers picked people on merit, not background, back then. They ended up with a very diverse, but very skilled family that had a bond. I can't say there was a purge or anything, but they certainly don't tolerate problems long, you know. Why they would go through all the trouble staging natural deaths, or rather making them look that way, I have no idea. The old man had no problem with a hail of bullets. Besides, most of the time, people just disappeared, so yes, this is different. Paul's wife might be acting, head, and well, his daughter was never interested in the business, I mean, she has like three degrees or something, and she probably only came home for her Dad. If he's still alive, that is."

Danny did take the paper and gave it the once over, highlighting all the important facts before looking back at Alex. "Are you hungry? Because the two tips I got didn't mention anything like this, and there is no way to trace the calls. Maybe someone who's angry or an underling of one of these dead gangsters, but I have no idea. We can help each other deal with all this mayhem after all, I don't have much to do until I get the next call, if I get one."

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

"I was with them a long time ago," Danny told Alex about his time with the Parker Family. He spoke about how they operated as a multi-ethnicity, multi-cultural, multi-religion Family, then said about the recent deaths, "I can't say there was a purge or anything, but they certainly don't tolerate problems long, you know."

He questioned the need for staging natural deaths. About Paul Parker, he said, "The old man had no problem with a hail of bullets. Besides, most of the time, people just disappeared, so yes, this is different."

They pondered on who might be running the Family now, with Danny suggesting it might be Paul's wife, Francis Parker. He lied to Alex about Anya, saying, "...his daughter was never interested in the business..."

"Are you hungry?" he asked suddenly, offering to sit down over a meal and share what they knew.

"I could eat," Alex said with a smile, adding quicky, "But let's hit Macon's across the street. I'm in need of a steak and a rum and coke." Her second reason for going there was that her Division had a safe house there for keeping snitches, informants, and the like safe for trials and transfer to the WitSec program, and right now, the room was empty and she had the key.

 

[JackHemingway]

Around forty-five minutes later, the pair were over at Macon's, enjoying two large steaks on a pile of fresh-cut steak fries, working their way through a rum drink sampler. There was a mix of shop talk and personnel stuff. Like any work pairing, you shared friends and history, and when you'd been apart for a while, it was all about catching up. In law enforcement, some transferred, those who were married, those who retired, those who got divorced, and those who married someone who had been married to someone else. They laughed about almost getting arrested, past softball games, and the time Alex was undercover as a stripper while they tossed back drinks.

"Yes, you looked very beautiful, and your accent fooled the Russians, but pulling you out was the right thing to do, and we still busted almost everyone involved in that arms smuggling ring."

Before Alex could say anything, he held up his drink, shaking a little, and smiled. "Yes, I know if we waited another week, that oil tycoon who came to the club would have bought you breast implants and a lot of jewelry. I'm sure the bureau would have loved that!"

They both laugh and are relaxed. It was good to relax with an old friend who remembered the same stories and was damn pretty, too. It wasn't like he and Anya were a thing. She might just be playing games.