And yet sadly, so little manpain.
Sorry, Crocketeers.
Title: "The Glamorous Life"
Rating: PG (mean things are said)
Spoilers: None. Okay, one: did you know Crockett and Gina slept together?
Length: 5448 words
Setting: mid-way through Season 3
Notes: For the Gina fans out there. Both of you. Also featuring useful self-defense tips!
(This is all hello_cleveland's fault.)
Time slowed to a crawl in the villa's living room as Gina held the gun straight out in front of her, silently willing her hands not to shake, forcing herself to take one breath after another. Even as she focused on the three men whose weapons were trained on her, little details imprinted on her mind that would haunt her for weeks: a ropy gray cobweb in one corner of the French doors leading out to the pool, a faint brown stain on the art deco rug, the sickly sweet smell of her deodorant and the sour tang of sweat.
At least, she hoped these things would haunt her. Right now, that wasn't a given.
Sonny stood behind her, facing down the three other men at her back. She could feel the warmth of his shoulder, hard muscles in a tank top just milimeters from her own bare arm. If she leaned back ever so slightly, she knew she would feel his skin against hers. Any other situation, she'd have called that romantic. But a Mexican standoff with six guys who'd just tried to buy her wasn't her idea of a date.
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As soon as Sonny had pulled the Testarossa smoothly through the wrought-iron gates, the butterflies in Gina's stomach turned to bees. The windows of the Coconut Grove villa reflected midday sun so bright it played tricks with her eyes, and for a moment it was hard to tell windows from water and water from sky. The courtyard offered no rest for the eyes against such light: crushed oyster driveway leading up to the shell-colored stucco building, with the beach and the ocean just a few yards away over a perfectly manicured, flat, treeless lawn. The car purred to a stop outside the heavy front doors, but Gina just sat there, paralyzed by a nameless dread. This case stank. She didn't think she could fool anyone into thinking Sonny was her pimp; it'd be an obvious lie the first time she looked his way. But there was something else giving her pause.
"Gina?" Sonny sat next to her, sunglasses as soulless as the villa windows.
"Sonny, I got a bad feeling about this." She spoke low and softly, but her voice trembled. "Something's gonna go wrong, I can feel it." He looked far away out the windscreen, then turned to her and lowered the sunglasses. As always, his green eyes wreaked havoc with her heartbeat. "Don't come apart on me now, Gina. We're cops. We just have to play our parts." His voice more than his words calmed her nerves a little, but not enough. He started to get out of the car and she laid a hand on his knee. "Sonny." He kept going, and she burned the side of her hand on the hot leather seats as he moved away.
He walked around the front of the car and opened her door. As Sonny reached in to take her hand he leaned in close, and she felt his moist breath brush the curve of her neck; just for a second, Gina thought he might kiss her. Instead he spoke, with his lips so close to her ear she felt them moving in time with his speech. "You know the drill. Play it just like we planned." He moved away and straightened up to help her out of the lowslung car. Her satin sheath dress and heels weren't exactly made for exiting high-end performance automobiles unaided. She smoothed the fabric over her hips, adjusted the oversized bow at the waist of the dress and took a deep breath. She looked across the courtyard and caught sight of a heavy-set gardener in a jumpsuit and a radio earpiece. As she watched, he inexpertly laid waste to some innocent shrubbery with a pair of clippers and Gina managed a strangled smile. Sonny was right. They were cops, they had backup, they'd done this a thousand times before.
"I don't know what you're so worried about, darlin'. I'm the pretty one." Sonny's glasses were back on now and as they walked across the red tile driveway he gave her ass a sharp smack. She turned and glared at him in irritation--only half-sincere--and he grinned behind the glasses.
Eight months she and Trudy had been busting their humps on every dirty walk in South Beach, trying to get an in on Arturo Perez. It had started back in January, when Miami's winter made nights out on the street seem colder than 60-degrees. Gina could still taste the coffee she'd bought the night she met Anna Belle, nee Anne Finette of Thief River Falls, Minnesota. By Gina's reckoning, the coffee had been burning on the diner's hot plate since the joint opened, and Anna Belle had been crying at least that long. Gina had approached the girl quietly, and put a concerned hand on her arm, not bargaining for the panic response that followed. After passing round some napkins and mopping coffee off their streetwalking finery, Gina had slid onto the stool next to Anna and over more coffee the story had emerged: three of Anna Belle's friends, all hookers, had disappeared in the last six months. The four of them had been splitting the rent on a little dive off of Ocean, out where the bargain-basement retirement homes were, and now Anna was scrambling to come up with this month's payment. She was nearly scared and desperate enough to go back to Minnesota. More than that, all of her inquiries had led to Perez, and a couple hours before she staggered into the diner, one of his henchmen had stopped by her apartment to express Senor Perez' displeasure at Anna's investigation.
Anna had held an icepack to her blackened eye and gratefully sipped the coffee Gina bought. Each of her roommates had seemingly lucked out just before their disappearance, giddily informing the others of an offer they'd received that would set them up for life, by a powerful high roller who'd sworn them to secrecy. A few days later, the lucky girl would disappear into thin air. Gina had had a momentarily uncharitable thought that perhaps one of them should have wondered about the kind of luck involved after the first, or maybe second disappearance. But as she gently brushed Anna's hair off her face and tried to figure out who could reset her nose at three a.m., the thought quickly passed. Four days after that, Gina stood wearing her badge, looking down at Anne Finette, pulled from a river colder than any she'd have found in Minnesota. She silently berated herself for not having taken the girl into protective custody.
And she'd vowed revenge: Arturo Perez would pay.
In the cool darkness of the hallway inside, a ponytailed bodyguard in a plum shirt and matching slacks had patted Sonny down in a perfunctory manner before frisking Gina thoroughly with his eyes. With a pale, pockmarked face shiny with sweat, he reminded Gina of a grub she'd once found in some lettuce. She couldn't even look at salad for a couple months afterwards. The purple bodyguard locked the front door behind them, and Gina's eyes dropped to the Glock tucked casually into his waistband. He turned back just in time to see her stare, but mistook it for something else. A hard look from Sonny wiped the leer off his face. "Let's save the pleasantries for when we see some cash, okay?"
The bodyguard stepped forward. He and Sonny were nearly the same height, but where Crockett radiated tan good looks, charm and steady, confident power, Purple radiated petty cruelty and hate. "Your jacket."
"What about it, pal?"
"Senor Perez likes his guests to make themselves at home."
Sonny broke eye contact and tried to continue down the hall, but Purple blocked the way with his arm, placing his palm flat against the dark wood paneling. The move conveniently tugged open his jacket, so the Glock was in direct view. Purple sneered. "I'm afraid the Senor insists."
Gina was fairly positive Purple practiced that move at home in front of the mirror and looked down at the floor to avoid meeting Sonny's eyes. She knew he was thinking the same thing.
The two men stared at one another for a moment, then Sonny slid the linen jacket back off his arms, revealing a teal muscle shirt and a filled shoulder holster. Without a word, Purple leaned in close and plucked the Smith & Wesson out of its holder, holding his face next to Crockett's for just a few seconds too long to be anything but insulting. Sonny's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Purple grinned and indicated the two should follow him down the dark hallway.
Sonny, hands in pockets, walked into Perez' den as casually as strolling to the St Vitus' slip. Gina used his confidence to shore up her own. The hallway was lined in dark oiled woods, and in sharp contrast to the sunlight outside, Gina noted how the effect was calculated to intimidate, so she stood up taller in her heels, her hand slipping to the giant bow resting on her hip. She'd been playing this game too long to be intimidated by interior decorating. They'd come too far for nerves to blow this bust. She was so close to nailing this dirtbag, she could feel it--the sharp sour tang of adrenaline in the back of her throat, the ease with which she picked out faint details and soft sounds at the edge of her hearing. She was determined to be the last mistake Perez would ever make.
An archway led from the dark hallway into the living room, and Gina struggled not to wobble as her high heels sank into thick white flokati. The living room was high-ceilinged, spacious and modern, filled with dazzling sunlight from one wall of windows overlooking the ocean. The furnishings were sparse and ultra-modern, but the most striking thing was the absence of color: the sofa, the armchair, the rug, the piano in the corner were all white. A glass bowl of white pebbles sat on the piano. A white porcelain sculpture in the shape of a Moebius strip stood in the exact middle of a mantelpiece surmounting a white brick fireplace. Across from the wall of windows a flight of white-carpeted stairs led up to a loft, the railing of which was whitewashed pine. Just as in the courtyard, Gina was struck by the impression that there was no escape from the light here, no corner it wouldn't reach, nothing it wouldn't steal all the color from. The only color in the room, in fact, came from a huge painting hung over the fireplace: the immense white canvas was spattered with red-brown paint, partially obscuring the image of a silently screaming face in one corner. Gina crossed an arm over her chest, rubbing her other arm to fight off goosebumps. Standing in the middle of this antiseptic nightmare in her vivid teal dress, Gina felt exposed, hunted.
Normal people don't live in places like this, she thought. Normal people don't have paintings like that one. Her eyes were drawn to it, to the rusty streaks thickly coating the canvas in wild splatters, the face in the corner so definitely female, so definitely frightened. She was captivated enough by the painting that it took her a moment to register the presence of four more henchmen ringing the edge of the room behind her, all of them dressed in shades of purple, all of them facing her and Sonny, and all of them armed.
"Gentlemen, the Little League tryouts are next door," Sonny cracked.
"So nice of you both to drop by." A disembodied voice from above filled the room before either of them could see the speaker. Instinctively they whirled towards the sound and looked up. Walking slowly towards the railing of the loft was Arturo Perez, the whole reason they were there. Gina had seen photos of him, down at OCB, but they didn't do justice to the sheer physical repulsiveness of the man. Perez was fleshy and thick, all muscles run to fat, standing on the loft balcony, leering down at them. Despite it being the middle of the afternoon he wore black satin pajamas, the top unbuttoned halfway down his chest so Gina could see his more than she cared to of his artificial, near-orange tan. For a moment, her apprehensions disappeared. This man was odious. This whole living room, this whole house was merely a set piece, a stage for this horrible little man to make himself seem bigger and more important than he actually was. No wonder he was forced to buy female companionship. Gina hoped the disgust she felt didn't show on her face. Just another job, she told herself.
"I hope I haven't kept you waiting long. I know time is money." Perez turned and padded barefoot down the carpeted stairs to the main floor. "Especially in your business, my dear." He stopped in front of Gina, too close for politeness, and she noted the incongruous whiteness of his teeth against the fake tan and coal black hair. Dyed. Of course. She forced a smile. "I hear you're worth waiting for, Arturo."
Perez' brow furrowed and he turned slightly away from her; she never saw the backhand coming, but it rocked her on her heels. "That's Senor Perez, whore. Until I tell you otherwise."
Gina rubbed a hand over her jaw and deliberately avoided Sonny's eyes. She wouldn't let him see the tears that had sprung instinctually to her eyes. But she wasn't about to spill them for this pig, either. "My apologies, Senor," she managed. That's right Sonny, she thought. You want to see professional? I'll show you professional.
"You know, Arturo, you haven't paid for that merchandise yet. You want to keep your hands to yourself til I see some green." Crockett touched his lighter to the cigarette hanging from his lips, then returned it to his pocket. "You wouldn't like me to up the security deposit now, would you?" He snapped the filter off the lit cigarette and dropped it into the deep white sheepskin before taking a long drag. Several of Perez' henchmen shuffled meaningfully at Crockett and put hands on firearms, as if for reassurance. Sonny grinned at them.
Perez threw his head back and laughed, treating Gina to the odor of garlic and gum disease. "I like you Burnett. I do. You come highly recommended and you don't let strangers push you around." Perez walked over to Crockett, and Gina noticed he showed just as little respect for Sonny's personal space as he had hers. "You and I, we could be good together."
Sonny looked over at the ring of gunmen, and then back at Perez. He exhaled, and Perez' grin disappeared in the cloud of smoke. "Nah, Arturo, I don't think so. I prefer the one-shot deals. Stops me from keeping bad company."
Perez looked nonplussed, and padded back across the white tiles back to Gina. "You are here here to sell something, are you not, Burnett? You are here asking me to part with my hard-earned money?" Sonny walked over to the piano and stubbed out his cigarette in the bowl of pebbles. "Word is, pal, you're looking to do some shopping for somethin' that ain't exactly in the catalog. You need me."
Perez' grin returned. "I knew we would be able to do business. Let's talk price."
Perez strolled over to the wall of windows and looked out at the ocean. Backlit by the sunlight, Gina could see the jowls that hung off his jawline like lough sails in dead air. He was older than she'd originally thought, not a day younger than 60. "Now I'm a man who values my privacy, Burnett," Perez said. "I don't like outsiders in my business, and I definitely don't like to share." He turned away from the windows. "Just so we're clear, you're not getting this little filly back."
Gina took a deep breath. She could imagine Anna Belle and the other hookers facing off against this man, and could imagine how outmatched they'd be, how they must have had a moment when they realized they wouldn't make it back to the little apartment on Ocean Boulevard. Right then, Gina knew she'd kill Perez if she got the chance.
"That's the deal, Burnett. Are you in?"
Sonny lit another cigarette, casually ignoring the five men behind him watching the exchange, guns in hand. "Yeah, I'm in. What terms are you offering?"
"Three thousand, and you forget you ever heard of me. Or her." Perez grinned and rested his hands on his broad stomach. The gold on his fingers was worth at least three times that much, Gina thought.
"Four," Sonny replied.
Despite the tension, Sonny and Perez haggling over her future, Gina found herself tuning out the words as their conversation continued on. She looked around her at the living room: expensive white leather furniture, state-of-the-moment abstract paintings on the walls, all centered around a million dollar view of the harbor. All of it high-priced and high-end, to conceal just how big a lowlife Perez really was. How had she let Sonny talk her into this? Would the bust be worth it? I need a new job, she thought. No, scratch that. I just need to quit working with him. Sonny looked over at her, and she could tell he realized she was checking out. She forced her mind back to Perez. This guy was real bad news, and he played for keeps. Perez padded across the sheepskin rug to stand just inches from her. He grunted and reached a pudgy hand up to her chin, tilting her head to one side, a thick and foul-smelling thumb resting on her lower lip. She jerked away from his touch and glared.
"She'll do. But I've decided to revise my offer. Instead of 4K, how about this, instead." Perez spread his arms wide, the pajamas gaping open to reveal an orange, doughy stomach. "You die, and I keep both the whore and the cash. How's that for a deal, Burnett? You like that deal?" Perez looked around the room at his flunkies, and as he started laughing, they took his cue and did the same. Perez stepped forward and grabbed Gina's arm, his fleshy fingers crushing the small bone ends in her elbow. He gestured to one of his henchmen. "Phillip, you do the honors and the cleanup. We'll be upstairs."
Gina looked up at the unnatural shoe-polish black of Perez' hair, thought of the .45 in Sonny's ankle holster and the Beretta concealed in the bow at her waist, and found her voice. "I don't think so, creep. You're under arrest."
Perez threw his head back and laughed, an unpleasant noise robbing the activity of any joy. He made a generic hand motion to his henchmen and all of a sudden everyone had guns: Gina and Sonny, back to back, surrounded by five armed henchmen and Perez.
"How 'bout that," Perez said. "It looks like you just agreed to my terms. I always get my way, and you two get to die. "
Well, Gina thought, Sonny's wearing a wire, so let's go for broke. She frowned at Perez. "The same as you killed those other women?"
Perez stepped forward, directly in front of her gun. "They were whores, baby. Just like you. Whores not even worthy of the name 'woman'." Perez kept walking forwards until his chest was resting directly against the barrel of her gun. "You want the truth? In the end they weren't even worth it. A few laughs, a quick good time...a couple of mementos for my masterpiece..." Perez broke off and looked up at the painting over the fireplace. Gina couldn't take her eyes off him. She suddenly knew what he was about to say, and it took all her effort not to throw up on his foul-smelling pajamas. "That's all they were really worth, you know. A couple strokes..." Perez fell silent again to leer at Gina. "...their only lasting contribution to this world--my painting." His eyes were dark and somehow appealing, and Gina couldn't tear herself away from his gaze, even as she knew he saw her as nothing more than a collection of parts, a means to a sick end. Then she heard the soft snick of the switchblade opening in his hand. "You and I are gonna have a little fun right now. Who knows? You might be the one who completes my master work." Gina forced herself not to look over at the painting.
Perez snickered, then leaned in closer, tilting this face as if he would kiss her. "Baby, nobody's gonna miss a few less nameless hookers."
"Her name was Anna Belle, pig." Gina's voice shook, but her hands didn't. She pulled the trigger, feeling the gun jump against Perez' chest, and he sank to the floor without a sound.
Finally, the words Gina and Sonny had been waiting for rang out miraculously over the big white room. "Miami Vice! Everybody FREEZE!"
Then everything seemed to happen all at once.
Gina heard gunfire behind her and sensed the recoil from Sonny's gun sinking into his shoulders; the gunman closest to her narrowed his eyes, and she squeezed off two shots and dove sideways for the cover of an armchair, going down hard and dimly registering the sound of tearing fabric. She rolled and came up on her elbows, gun in hand, but at the muffled thud of bullets hitting upholstery she went facedown, arms covering her head. Tiny splinters peppered her hands as more bullets plowed into the hardwood floor close by. Very close by. A sudden sharp crack of wood giving way and Gina raised her head just in time to see a uniformed officer plow through the balcony bannister. He hit the red tile floor a few feet away, head at an unnatural angle, lifeless eyes staring through her, blood trickling from his nose. Gina took in the trio of bullet holes marring the gold lettering on his uniform shirt and then struggled awkwardly to her knees. She watched over the back of the chair as Sonny, down on one knee, took out two gunmen in quick succession. Over his shoulder she watched one of Perez' men struggle to a sitting position: the front of his shirt was bloodied from a shoulder wound, but he still managed to slot a fresh clip into the pistol cradled with his uninjured arm. But before Gina could shout a warning to Sonny, an arm slipped round her throat like a noose and she was hauled to her feet, a man at her back, a gun at her head.
Sonny stood up, hands in the air, and slowly reached down to put his gun on the rug. Gina looked up and saw the SWAT team on the balcony fail to follow suit, their rifles all trained on Purple--and now her. She was running out of options. Her captor pulled her close and pressed a his cheek up against hers. It was the henchman who had answered the door. His skin was unpleasantly clammy, smooth, hairless and moist with sweat, worse than it had seemed in the dim light of the hallway. She took a deep breath and forced herself to take a long breath in, and then out, focusing her mind, pushing panic out of her list of options. Purple giggled unpleasantly in her ear. "Baby? You're my sweet ticket out of here." Gina quelled a shudder of revulsion. She hated it when men giggled. She switched gears and looked at the situation clinically, picturing the room as a detached observer, running down her list of options. Purple turned the two of them, and began to drag her towards the dark archway to the hall. "Okay people? Everybody gonna be cool, and maybe you see Miss Officer again someday." Gina's plan came into sudden, crystalline focus. Miss Officer?
As they crossed the deep sheepskin rug, Gina gave a little squeak and pretended to slip in one of her impractical heels, bobbling lightly on her toes. One shoe came off. She gasped as Purple tightened his grip, and instinctually grabbed at his arm with both hands. "Easy there, pretty lady," said Purple. Gina thought she heard a quick intake of breath from Sonny, but knew she could just as easily have imagined it.
With her gait now made uneven, Gina paused and kicked off the other shoe, leaning gently into the gunman, trying to make him believe she'd given in, that she was resigned to being dragged to whatever slimy lair he had in mind. He continued to hold the gun to her head, but as her pace stabilized he released some of the pressure on her neck, holding her just tightly enough to continue walking them both in lockstep through the archway.
As soon as they passed into the darkness, Gina made her move. She drew one knee up as high as she could, and drove it with savage force into the inside of her captor's knee, which gave way with a sickening subdermal pop. Gina had never actually dislocated a man's kneecap before, but Purple's response indicated the injury was just as painful as years of self-defense classes had taught her. With a howl he let go of her entirely and dropped to the ground. He rolled up into a grimacing, sobbing ball, clutching his injured knee to his chest and started making a strangled hissing noise, and as she stood there watching, she could barely make out a strand of drool making its way toward the tiles from his clenched jaw.
Gina walked slowly back out into the living room, as calmly as she could under the circumstances. The assembled team seemed to exhale collectively with relief, and the SWAT team on the balcony finally lowered their weapons. She took a deep breath.
Sonny's brief hug nearly undid her. The smell of him, the warmth of his skin after being pressed against Purple was such a welcome relief that Gina nearly sank into him, tempted to take more than this quick contact offered. He pulled back and looked at her with a half-smile. She grinned back at him. "Yeah right," she managed. "You're the pretty one. I'll try to remember that next time, Sonny." He squeezed her shoulder and moved away, swallowed up by the confusion of the post-shooting swarm of officialdom.
She stared after him for a second, then turned away.
"You okay, partner?" Rico holstered his gun under his suit jacket, crossing the room in a few strides. Gina hadn't remembered seeing him during the standoff, but already her memory of the event--the confrontation, the gunfire, her own part in the violence--was starting to mercifully blur. Rico's eyes rested on Gina for a split-second, but only as a part of the overall scene, a fellow officer at a successful bust. She had no doubt who came first in his mind.
Gina caught her breath and looked at her own partner. She had barely registered Trudy's presence next to her before now, silently radiating concern, a cool dry hand on her arm. Her eyes grew moist, and she realized she could feel a coolness just under her collarbone, above her heart. She looked down. When she'd hit the floor the blue satin dress had torn awkwardly across her chest, opening up a rip now gaping awkwardly, a mockery of all the torn bodies around her. It didn't matter. She didn't plan on wearing it ever again.
Trudy looked into her face with concern, gripping her arm tightly. "My god, Gina! That was too close." Her voice was barely above a whisper. Gina tore her eyes away from Sonny and Rico. The two of them together were so intimate; it was like the way of all good cop partnerships--this was the relationship you had to count on, the one that could save or kill you, after all--yet somehow more. "I'm okay," she told Trudy, and Trudy pulled her in close, holding her much longer than Sonny had. Trudy was a good partner.
But once. Just once. Just one time, she wanted Sonny to look at her the way he looked at Rico.
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Late that night, Gina stood in the shower and turned the hot water up as high as it would go. Anything less than scalding, and she didn't think the dirt would ever come off. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Perez again--piggy little eyes and greasy skin, the ridges of his jowls when he leered at her. She turned her face into the spray and fought against tears. Sonny was right: they were cops, this was just a job, nothing more.
Except...it wasn't. This one had been different, the whole setup with Sonny as her "manager", negotiating with Perez and his horrible gang. It was one thing to play hooker in the shadows, but for Sonny to see her like that, was just humiliating. Gina ground the heels of her hands into her eyes and winced, then smoothed her hair back with the flow of the water. Her body had been the bait more times than she could count, but this time the look of scorn had been in Sonny's eyes, the horrible words had come from his mouth, not that of some two-bit street hustler. If she let it, it could break her heart. She tried to focus on what he'd told her in the car, before the nightmare.
They were cops, and the compulsion that drove them to keep playing these dangerous games kept them sharp, and meant that emotions were a luxury. The sight of Perez lying dead on the floor of his antiseptic room of horrors brought Gina little comfort; sure, Perez would never hurt another woman again, but all the blood-soaked rugs in the world wouldn't give Anna Belle a second chance.
Over the sound of the shower, Gina dimly heard the phone ring in the living room and ignored it. Trudy had offered to come by and stay with her tonight, but she'd declined the offer. She felt that her partner's calm eyes and quiet reassurances would somehow be worse than being alone. Finally, Gina killed the water and stepped out into the bathroom. The bathroom door lay open and through it she could see a garbage bag on her bedroom carpet, a sliver of teal satin peeking out of the open top. She didn't think she could bear having that dress in her apartment for even one night. Cinching her robe closed, she picked the bag up on her way through the bedroom and headed for the front door.
She passed through the living room, catching sight of the framed picture of her parents next to the tv on the kitchen island. Gina hadn't realized until now how tired she was. Hot water had burned away most of the tension that had sizzled through her nerves like an oilfire, but release brought with it a different kind of emptiness. A fatigue that went more than bone-deep, accompanied by an uncomfortable wakefulness. Who was she, that she was paid to dress up like a prostitute, pretending to sell herself to scum like Perez? How had she gotten to this point where her ex-lover was the one inking the deals, collecting the cash? Pretending to collect the cash, she mentally corrected. It was getting harder to separate truth and fiction the longer she worked at OCB, and each time she went out she wondered what part of her was being buried, and how much it would hurt to get back.
Stopped at the front door, Gina rubbed her temples with her free hand, eyes squeezed shut. She could no longer even tell when she had real headaches and when her head just ached from the effort of stretching around all the lies she told to get by, all the women she wasn't, crowded in with her own self. Even with her eyes closed, the vision came anyway: Perez telling Sonny to forget all about her, and Sonny's green eyes cold as the deep ocean when he named his price.
Gina remembered why she was at the door. The trash bag in her other hand, where the satin dress seeming to burn through the plastic. It would all be okay, she decided, as long as she got the dress out of her house.
She opened the door and the bag fell from her hand.
"Gina--" Sonny said, and stopped. They both looked down at the bag where it had fallen between them, spilling the ruined dress out onto the carpet. Sonny searched for the right words. "I was just wondering, if you maybe wanted company tonight." His voice was low and soft.
Gina looked into his eyes and bit her lip. She wondered how she could ever have doubted whose side he was on.
Finally, she let the tears come.
Title: "The Glamorous Life"
Rating: PG (mean things are said)
Spoilers: None. Okay, one: did you know Crockett and Gina slept together?
Length: 5448 words
Setting: mid-way through Season 3
Notes: For the Gina fans out there. Both of you. Also featuring useful self-defense tips!
(This is all hello_cleveland's fault.)
Time slowed to a crawl in the villa's living room as Gina held the gun straight out in front of her, silently willing her hands not to shake, forcing herself to take one breath after another. Even as she focused on the three men whose weapons were trained on her, little details imprinted on her mind that would haunt her for weeks: a ropy gray cobweb in one corner of the French doors leading out to the pool, a faint brown stain on the art deco rug, the sickly sweet smell of her deodorant and the sour tang of sweat.
At least, she hoped these things would haunt her. Right now, that wasn't a given.
Sonny stood behind her, facing down the three other men at her back. She could feel the warmth of his shoulder, hard muscles in a tank top just milimeters from her own bare arm. If she leaned back ever so slightly, she knew she would feel his skin against hers. Any other situation, she'd have called that romantic. But a Mexican standoff with six guys who'd just tried to buy her wasn't her idea of a date.
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As soon as Sonny had pulled the Testarossa smoothly through the wrought-iron gates, the butterflies in Gina's stomach turned to bees. The windows of the Coconut Grove villa reflected midday sun so bright it played tricks with her eyes, and for a moment it was hard to tell windows from water and water from sky. The courtyard offered no rest for the eyes against such light: crushed oyster driveway leading up to the shell-colored stucco building, with the beach and the ocean just a few yards away over a perfectly manicured, flat, treeless lawn. The car purred to a stop outside the heavy front doors, but Gina just sat there, paralyzed by a nameless dread. This case stank. She didn't think she could fool anyone into thinking Sonny was her pimp; it'd be an obvious lie the first time she looked his way. But there was something else giving her pause.
"Gina?" Sonny sat next to her, sunglasses as soulless as the villa windows.
"Sonny, I got a bad feeling about this." She spoke low and softly, but her voice trembled. "Something's gonna go wrong, I can feel it." He looked far away out the windscreen, then turned to her and lowered the sunglasses. As always, his green eyes wreaked havoc with her heartbeat. "Don't come apart on me now, Gina. We're cops. We just have to play our parts." His voice more than his words calmed her nerves a little, but not enough. He started to get out of the car and she laid a hand on his knee. "Sonny." He kept going, and she burned the side of her hand on the hot leather seats as he moved away.
He walked around the front of the car and opened her door. As Sonny reached in to take her hand he leaned in close, and she felt his moist breath brush the curve of her neck; just for a second, Gina thought he might kiss her. Instead he spoke, with his lips so close to her ear she felt them moving in time with his speech. "You know the drill. Play it just like we planned." He moved away and straightened up to help her out of the lowslung car. Her satin sheath dress and heels weren't exactly made for exiting high-end performance automobiles unaided. She smoothed the fabric over her hips, adjusted the oversized bow at the waist of the dress and took a deep breath. She looked across the courtyard and caught sight of a heavy-set gardener in a jumpsuit and a radio earpiece. As she watched, he inexpertly laid waste to some innocent shrubbery with a pair of clippers and Gina managed a strangled smile. Sonny was right. They were cops, they had backup, they'd done this a thousand times before.
"I don't know what you're so worried about, darlin'. I'm the pretty one." Sonny's glasses were back on now and as they walked across the red tile driveway he gave her ass a sharp smack. She turned and glared at him in irritation--only half-sincere--and he grinned behind the glasses.
Eight months she and Trudy had been busting their humps on every dirty walk in South Beach, trying to get an in on Arturo Perez. It had started back in January, when Miami's winter made nights out on the street seem colder than 60-degrees. Gina could still taste the coffee she'd bought the night she met Anna Belle, nee Anne Finette of Thief River Falls, Minnesota. By Gina's reckoning, the coffee had been burning on the diner's hot plate since the joint opened, and Anna Belle had been crying at least that long. Gina had approached the girl quietly, and put a concerned hand on her arm, not bargaining for the panic response that followed. After passing round some napkins and mopping coffee off their streetwalking finery, Gina had slid onto the stool next to Anna and over more coffee the story had emerged: three of Anna Belle's friends, all hookers, had disappeared in the last six months. The four of them had been splitting the rent on a little dive off of Ocean, out where the bargain-basement retirement homes were, and now Anna was scrambling to come up with this month's payment. She was nearly scared and desperate enough to go back to Minnesota. More than that, all of her inquiries had led to Perez, and a couple hours before she staggered into the diner, one of his henchmen had stopped by her apartment to express Senor Perez' displeasure at Anna's investigation.
Anna had held an icepack to her blackened eye and gratefully sipped the coffee Gina bought. Each of her roommates had seemingly lucked out just before their disappearance, giddily informing the others of an offer they'd received that would set them up for life, by a powerful high roller who'd sworn them to secrecy. A few days later, the lucky girl would disappear into thin air. Gina had had a momentarily uncharitable thought that perhaps one of them should have wondered about the kind of luck involved after the first, or maybe second disappearance. But as she gently brushed Anna's hair off her face and tried to figure out who could reset her nose at three a.m., the thought quickly passed. Four days after that, Gina stood wearing her badge, looking down at Anne Finette, pulled from a river colder than any she'd have found in Minnesota. She silently berated herself for not having taken the girl into protective custody.
And she'd vowed revenge: Arturo Perez would pay.
In the cool darkness of the hallway inside, a ponytailed bodyguard in a plum shirt and matching slacks had patted Sonny down in a perfunctory manner before frisking Gina thoroughly with his eyes. With a pale, pockmarked face shiny with sweat, he reminded Gina of a grub she'd once found in some lettuce. She couldn't even look at salad for a couple months afterwards. The purple bodyguard locked the front door behind them, and Gina's eyes dropped to the Glock tucked casually into his waistband. He turned back just in time to see her stare, but mistook it for something else. A hard look from Sonny wiped the leer off his face. "Let's save the pleasantries for when we see some cash, okay?"
The bodyguard stepped forward. He and Sonny were nearly the same height, but where Crockett radiated tan good looks, charm and steady, confident power, Purple radiated petty cruelty and hate. "Your jacket."
"What about it, pal?"
"Senor Perez likes his guests to make themselves at home."
Sonny broke eye contact and tried to continue down the hall, but Purple blocked the way with his arm, placing his palm flat against the dark wood paneling. The move conveniently tugged open his jacket, so the Glock was in direct view. Purple sneered. "I'm afraid the Senor insists."
Gina was fairly positive Purple practiced that move at home in front of the mirror and looked down at the floor to avoid meeting Sonny's eyes. She knew he was thinking the same thing.
The two men stared at one another for a moment, then Sonny slid the linen jacket back off his arms, revealing a teal muscle shirt and a filled shoulder holster. Without a word, Purple leaned in close and plucked the Smith & Wesson out of its holder, holding his face next to Crockett's for just a few seconds too long to be anything but insulting. Sonny's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Purple grinned and indicated the two should follow him down the dark hallway.
Sonny, hands in pockets, walked into Perez' den as casually as strolling to the St Vitus' slip. Gina used his confidence to shore up her own. The hallway was lined in dark oiled woods, and in sharp contrast to the sunlight outside, Gina noted how the effect was calculated to intimidate, so she stood up taller in her heels, her hand slipping to the giant bow resting on her hip. She'd been playing this game too long to be intimidated by interior decorating. They'd come too far for nerves to blow this bust. She was so close to nailing this dirtbag, she could feel it--the sharp sour tang of adrenaline in the back of her throat, the ease with which she picked out faint details and soft sounds at the edge of her hearing. She was determined to be the last mistake Perez would ever make.
An archway led from the dark hallway into the living room, and Gina struggled not to wobble as her high heels sank into thick white flokati. The living room was high-ceilinged, spacious and modern, filled with dazzling sunlight from one wall of windows overlooking the ocean. The furnishings were sparse and ultra-modern, but the most striking thing was the absence of color: the sofa, the armchair, the rug, the piano in the corner were all white. A glass bowl of white pebbles sat on the piano. A white porcelain sculpture in the shape of a Moebius strip stood in the exact middle of a mantelpiece surmounting a white brick fireplace. Across from the wall of windows a flight of white-carpeted stairs led up to a loft, the railing of which was whitewashed pine. Just as in the courtyard, Gina was struck by the impression that there was no escape from the light here, no corner it wouldn't reach, nothing it wouldn't steal all the color from. The only color in the room, in fact, came from a huge painting hung over the fireplace: the immense white canvas was spattered with red-brown paint, partially obscuring the image of a silently screaming face in one corner. Gina crossed an arm over her chest, rubbing her other arm to fight off goosebumps. Standing in the middle of this antiseptic nightmare in her vivid teal dress, Gina felt exposed, hunted.
Normal people don't live in places like this, she thought. Normal people don't have paintings like that one. Her eyes were drawn to it, to the rusty streaks thickly coating the canvas in wild splatters, the face in the corner so definitely female, so definitely frightened. She was captivated enough by the painting that it took her a moment to register the presence of four more henchmen ringing the edge of the room behind her, all of them dressed in shades of purple, all of them facing her and Sonny, and all of them armed.
"Gentlemen, the Little League tryouts are next door," Sonny cracked.
"So nice of you both to drop by." A disembodied voice from above filled the room before either of them could see the speaker. Instinctively they whirled towards the sound and looked up. Walking slowly towards the railing of the loft was Arturo Perez, the whole reason they were there. Gina had seen photos of him, down at OCB, but they didn't do justice to the sheer physical repulsiveness of the man. Perez was fleshy and thick, all muscles run to fat, standing on the loft balcony, leering down at them. Despite it being the middle of the afternoon he wore black satin pajamas, the top unbuttoned halfway down his chest so Gina could see his more than she cared to of his artificial, near-orange tan. For a moment, her apprehensions disappeared. This man was odious. This whole living room, this whole house was merely a set piece, a stage for this horrible little man to make himself seem bigger and more important than he actually was. No wonder he was forced to buy female companionship. Gina hoped the disgust she felt didn't show on her face. Just another job, she told herself.
"I hope I haven't kept you waiting long. I know time is money." Perez turned and padded barefoot down the carpeted stairs to the main floor. "Especially in your business, my dear." He stopped in front of Gina, too close for politeness, and she noted the incongruous whiteness of his teeth against the fake tan and coal black hair. Dyed. Of course. She forced a smile. "I hear you're worth waiting for, Arturo."
Perez' brow furrowed and he turned slightly away from her; she never saw the backhand coming, but it rocked her on her heels. "That's Senor Perez, whore. Until I tell you otherwise."
Gina rubbed a hand over her jaw and deliberately avoided Sonny's eyes. She wouldn't let him see the tears that had sprung instinctually to her eyes. But she wasn't about to spill them for this pig, either. "My apologies, Senor," she managed. That's right Sonny, she thought. You want to see professional? I'll show you professional.
"You know, Arturo, you haven't paid for that merchandise yet. You want to keep your hands to yourself til I see some green." Crockett touched his lighter to the cigarette hanging from his lips, then returned it to his pocket. "You wouldn't like me to up the security deposit now, would you?" He snapped the filter off the lit cigarette and dropped it into the deep white sheepskin before taking a long drag. Several of Perez' henchmen shuffled meaningfully at Crockett and put hands on firearms, as if for reassurance. Sonny grinned at them.
Perez threw his head back and laughed, treating Gina to the odor of garlic and gum disease. "I like you Burnett. I do. You come highly recommended and you don't let strangers push you around." Perez walked over to Crockett, and Gina noticed he showed just as little respect for Sonny's personal space as he had hers. "You and I, we could be good together."
Sonny looked over at the ring of gunmen, and then back at Perez. He exhaled, and Perez' grin disappeared in the cloud of smoke. "Nah, Arturo, I don't think so. I prefer the one-shot deals. Stops me from keeping bad company."
Perez looked nonplussed, and padded back across the white tiles back to Gina. "You are here here to sell something, are you not, Burnett? You are here asking me to part with my hard-earned money?" Sonny walked over to the piano and stubbed out his cigarette in the bowl of pebbles. "Word is, pal, you're looking to do some shopping for somethin' that ain't exactly in the catalog. You need me."
Perez' grin returned. "I knew we would be able to do business. Let's talk price."
Perez strolled over to the wall of windows and looked out at the ocean. Backlit by the sunlight, Gina could see the jowls that hung off his jawline like lough sails in dead air. He was older than she'd originally thought, not a day younger than 60. "Now I'm a man who values my privacy, Burnett," Perez said. "I don't like outsiders in my business, and I definitely don't like to share." He turned away from the windows. "Just so we're clear, you're not getting this little filly back."
Gina took a deep breath. She could imagine Anna Belle and the other hookers facing off against this man, and could imagine how outmatched they'd be, how they must have had a moment when they realized they wouldn't make it back to the little apartment on Ocean Boulevard. Right then, Gina knew she'd kill Perez if she got the chance.
"That's the deal, Burnett. Are you in?"
Sonny lit another cigarette, casually ignoring the five men behind him watching the exchange, guns in hand. "Yeah, I'm in. What terms are you offering?"
"Three thousand, and you forget you ever heard of me. Or her." Perez grinned and rested his hands on his broad stomach. The gold on his fingers was worth at least three times that much, Gina thought.
"Four," Sonny replied.
Despite the tension, Sonny and Perez haggling over her future, Gina found herself tuning out the words as their conversation continued on. She looked around her at the living room: expensive white leather furniture, state-of-the-moment abstract paintings on the walls, all centered around a million dollar view of the harbor. All of it high-priced and high-end, to conceal just how big a lowlife Perez really was. How had she let Sonny talk her into this? Would the bust be worth it? I need a new job, she thought. No, scratch that. I just need to quit working with him. Sonny looked over at her, and she could tell he realized she was checking out. She forced her mind back to Perez. This guy was real bad news, and he played for keeps. Perez padded across the sheepskin rug to stand just inches from her. He grunted and reached a pudgy hand up to her chin, tilting her head to one side, a thick and foul-smelling thumb resting on her lower lip. She jerked away from his touch and glared.
"She'll do. But I've decided to revise my offer. Instead of 4K, how about this, instead." Perez spread his arms wide, the pajamas gaping open to reveal an orange, doughy stomach. "You die, and I keep both the whore and the cash. How's that for a deal, Burnett? You like that deal?" Perez looked around the room at his flunkies, and as he started laughing, they took his cue and did the same. Perez stepped forward and grabbed Gina's arm, his fleshy fingers crushing the small bone ends in her elbow. He gestured to one of his henchmen. "Phillip, you do the honors and the cleanup. We'll be upstairs."
Gina looked up at the unnatural shoe-polish black of Perez' hair, thought of the .45 in Sonny's ankle holster and the Beretta concealed in the bow at her waist, and found her voice. "I don't think so, creep. You're under arrest."
Perez threw his head back and laughed, an unpleasant noise robbing the activity of any joy. He made a generic hand motion to his henchmen and all of a sudden everyone had guns: Gina and Sonny, back to back, surrounded by five armed henchmen and Perez.
"How 'bout that," Perez said. "It looks like you just agreed to my terms. I always get my way, and you two get to die. "
Well, Gina thought, Sonny's wearing a wire, so let's go for broke. She frowned at Perez. "The same as you killed those other women?"
Perez stepped forward, directly in front of her gun. "They were whores, baby. Just like you. Whores not even worthy of the name 'woman'." Perez kept walking forwards until his chest was resting directly against the barrel of her gun. "You want the truth? In the end they weren't even worth it. A few laughs, a quick good time...a couple of mementos for my masterpiece..." Perez broke off and looked up at the painting over the fireplace. Gina couldn't take her eyes off him. She suddenly knew what he was about to say, and it took all her effort not to throw up on his foul-smelling pajamas. "That's all they were really worth, you know. A couple strokes..." Perez fell silent again to leer at Gina. "...their only lasting contribution to this world--my painting." His eyes were dark and somehow appealing, and Gina couldn't tear herself away from his gaze, even as she knew he saw her as nothing more than a collection of parts, a means to a sick end. Then she heard the soft snick of the switchblade opening in his hand. "You and I are gonna have a little fun right now. Who knows? You might be the one who completes my master work." Gina forced herself not to look over at the painting.
Perez snickered, then leaned in closer, tilting this face as if he would kiss her. "Baby, nobody's gonna miss a few less nameless hookers."
"Her name was Anna Belle, pig." Gina's voice shook, but her hands didn't. She pulled the trigger, feeling the gun jump against Perez' chest, and he sank to the floor without a sound.
Finally, the words Gina and Sonny had been waiting for rang out miraculously over the big white room. "Miami Vice! Everybody FREEZE!"
Then everything seemed to happen all at once.
Gina heard gunfire behind her and sensed the recoil from Sonny's gun sinking into his shoulders; the gunman closest to her narrowed his eyes, and she squeezed off two shots and dove sideways for the cover of an armchair, going down hard and dimly registering the sound of tearing fabric. She rolled and came up on her elbows, gun in hand, but at the muffled thud of bullets hitting upholstery she went facedown, arms covering her head. Tiny splinters peppered her hands as more bullets plowed into the hardwood floor close by. Very close by. A sudden sharp crack of wood giving way and Gina raised her head just in time to see a uniformed officer plow through the balcony bannister. He hit the red tile floor a few feet away, head at an unnatural angle, lifeless eyes staring through her, blood trickling from his nose. Gina took in the trio of bullet holes marring the gold lettering on his uniform shirt and then struggled awkwardly to her knees. She watched over the back of the chair as Sonny, down on one knee, took out two gunmen in quick succession. Over his shoulder she watched one of Perez' men struggle to a sitting position: the front of his shirt was bloodied from a shoulder wound, but he still managed to slot a fresh clip into the pistol cradled with his uninjured arm. But before Gina could shout a warning to Sonny, an arm slipped round her throat like a noose and she was hauled to her feet, a man at her back, a gun at her head.
Sonny stood up, hands in the air, and slowly reached down to put his gun on the rug. Gina looked up and saw the SWAT team on the balcony fail to follow suit, their rifles all trained on Purple--and now her. She was running out of options. Her captor pulled her close and pressed a his cheek up against hers. It was the henchman who had answered the door. His skin was unpleasantly clammy, smooth, hairless and moist with sweat, worse than it had seemed in the dim light of the hallway. She took a deep breath and forced herself to take a long breath in, and then out, focusing her mind, pushing panic out of her list of options. Purple giggled unpleasantly in her ear. "Baby? You're my sweet ticket out of here." Gina quelled a shudder of revulsion. She hated it when men giggled. She switched gears and looked at the situation clinically, picturing the room as a detached observer, running down her list of options. Purple turned the two of them, and began to drag her towards the dark archway to the hall. "Okay people? Everybody gonna be cool, and maybe you see Miss Officer again someday." Gina's plan came into sudden, crystalline focus. Miss Officer?
As they crossed the deep sheepskin rug, Gina gave a little squeak and pretended to slip in one of her impractical heels, bobbling lightly on her toes. One shoe came off. She gasped as Purple tightened his grip, and instinctually grabbed at his arm with both hands. "Easy there, pretty lady," said Purple. Gina thought she heard a quick intake of breath from Sonny, but knew she could just as easily have imagined it.
With her gait now made uneven, Gina paused and kicked off the other shoe, leaning gently into the gunman, trying to make him believe she'd given in, that she was resigned to being dragged to whatever slimy lair he had in mind. He continued to hold the gun to her head, but as her pace stabilized he released some of the pressure on her neck, holding her just tightly enough to continue walking them both in lockstep through the archway.
As soon as they passed into the darkness, Gina made her move. She drew one knee up as high as she could, and drove it with savage force into the inside of her captor's knee, which gave way with a sickening subdermal pop. Gina had never actually dislocated a man's kneecap before, but Purple's response indicated the injury was just as painful as years of self-defense classes had taught her. With a howl he let go of her entirely and dropped to the ground. He rolled up into a grimacing, sobbing ball, clutching his injured knee to his chest and started making a strangled hissing noise, and as she stood there watching, she could barely make out a strand of drool making its way toward the tiles from his clenched jaw.
Gina walked slowly back out into the living room, as calmly as she could under the circumstances. The assembled team seemed to exhale collectively with relief, and the SWAT team on the balcony finally lowered their weapons. She took a deep breath.
Sonny's brief hug nearly undid her. The smell of him, the warmth of his skin after being pressed against Purple was such a welcome relief that Gina nearly sank into him, tempted to take more than this quick contact offered. He pulled back and looked at her with a half-smile. She grinned back at him. "Yeah right," she managed. "You're the pretty one. I'll try to remember that next time, Sonny." He squeezed her shoulder and moved away, swallowed up by the confusion of the post-shooting swarm of officialdom.
She stared after him for a second, then turned away.
"You okay, partner?" Rico holstered his gun under his suit jacket, crossing the room in a few strides. Gina hadn't remembered seeing him during the standoff, but already her memory of the event--the confrontation, the gunfire, her own part in the violence--was starting to mercifully blur. Rico's eyes rested on Gina for a split-second, but only as a part of the overall scene, a fellow officer at a successful bust. She had no doubt who came first in his mind.
Gina caught her breath and looked at her own partner. She had barely registered Trudy's presence next to her before now, silently radiating concern, a cool dry hand on her arm. Her eyes grew moist, and she realized she could feel a coolness just under her collarbone, above her heart. She looked down. When she'd hit the floor the blue satin dress had torn awkwardly across her chest, opening up a rip now gaping awkwardly, a mockery of all the torn bodies around her. It didn't matter. She didn't plan on wearing it ever again.
Trudy looked into her face with concern, gripping her arm tightly. "My god, Gina! That was too close." Her voice was barely above a whisper. Gina tore her eyes away from Sonny and Rico. The two of them together were so intimate; it was like the way of all good cop partnerships--this was the relationship you had to count on, the one that could save or kill you, after all--yet somehow more. "I'm okay," she told Trudy, and Trudy pulled her in close, holding her much longer than Sonny had. Trudy was a good partner.
But once. Just once. Just one time, she wanted Sonny to look at her the way he looked at Rico.
-------------------
Late that night, Gina stood in the shower and turned the hot water up as high as it would go. Anything less than scalding, and she didn't think the dirt would ever come off. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Perez again--piggy little eyes and greasy skin, the ridges of his jowls when he leered at her. She turned her face into the spray and fought against tears. Sonny was right: they were cops, this was just a job, nothing more.
Except...it wasn't. This one had been different, the whole setup with Sonny as her "manager", negotiating with Perez and his horrible gang. It was one thing to play hooker in the shadows, but for Sonny to see her like that, was just humiliating. Gina ground the heels of her hands into her eyes and winced, then smoothed her hair back with the flow of the water. Her body had been the bait more times than she could count, but this time the look of scorn had been in Sonny's eyes, the horrible words had come from his mouth, not that of some two-bit street hustler. If she let it, it could break her heart. She tried to focus on what he'd told her in the car, before the nightmare.
They were cops, and the compulsion that drove them to keep playing these dangerous games kept them sharp, and meant that emotions were a luxury. The sight of Perez lying dead on the floor of his antiseptic room of horrors brought Gina little comfort; sure, Perez would never hurt another woman again, but all the blood-soaked rugs in the world wouldn't give Anna Belle a second chance.
Over the sound of the shower, Gina dimly heard the phone ring in the living room and ignored it. Trudy had offered to come by and stay with her tonight, but she'd declined the offer. She felt that her partner's calm eyes and quiet reassurances would somehow be worse than being alone. Finally, Gina killed the water and stepped out into the bathroom. The bathroom door lay open and through it she could see a garbage bag on her bedroom carpet, a sliver of teal satin peeking out of the open top. She didn't think she could bear having that dress in her apartment for even one night. Cinching her robe closed, she picked the bag up on her way through the bedroom and headed for the front door.
She passed through the living room, catching sight of the framed picture of her parents next to the tv on the kitchen island. Gina hadn't realized until now how tired she was. Hot water had burned away most of the tension that had sizzled through her nerves like an oilfire, but release brought with it a different kind of emptiness. A fatigue that went more than bone-deep, accompanied by an uncomfortable wakefulness. Who was she, that she was paid to dress up like a prostitute, pretending to sell herself to scum like Perez? How had she gotten to this point where her ex-lover was the one inking the deals, collecting the cash? Pretending to collect the cash, she mentally corrected. It was getting harder to separate truth and fiction the longer she worked at OCB, and each time she went out she wondered what part of her was being buried, and how much it would hurt to get back.
Stopped at the front door, Gina rubbed her temples with her free hand, eyes squeezed shut. She could no longer even tell when she had real headaches and when her head just ached from the effort of stretching around all the lies she told to get by, all the women she wasn't, crowded in with her own self. Even with her eyes closed, the vision came anyway: Perez telling Sonny to forget all about her, and Sonny's green eyes cold as the deep ocean when he named his price.
Gina remembered why she was at the door. The trash bag in her other hand, where the satin dress seeming to burn through the plastic. It would all be okay, she decided, as long as she got the dress out of her house.
She opened the door and the bag fell from her hand.
"Gina--" Sonny said, and stopped. They both looked down at the bag where it had fallen between them, spilling the ruined dress out onto the carpet. Sonny searched for the right words. "I was just wondering, if you maybe wanted company tonight." His voice was low and soft.
Gina looked into his eyes and bit her lip. She wondered how she could ever have doubted whose side he was on.
Finally, she let the tears come.