The Informant

The fluorescent fixture on the ceiling above her head buzzed loudly, and sounded like a fly's futile efforts at escape against a closed window. Age revealed in their darkened ends, the long pair of luminous tubes flickered, and one of the bulbs burned dim orange rather than the bright white of its twin. Someone needed to replace the failing bulb and fix that annoying buzz, Alyssa thought.

Alyssa nervously waited in the dingy room, seated in an uncomfortable chair with her hands cuffed behind her back. Her mind raced. Were these handcuffs necessary? Couldn't the police see she was a respectable member of society? How could Josh be so stupid and get them both in this horrible mess? She had warned him about this, but as usual, he didn't listen. She was tired of having to mother him.

Alyssa loved her husband, Josh, and overlooked his many flaws. He was a talented high school science teacher at a prestigious private school, adored by his students and their parents alike. But Josh had concealed a minor blemish -- up until this point -- to his otherwise flawless portrait of a perfect citizen. Josh liked smoking marijuana a lot. Perhaps too much. With an academic background in botany, he also enjoyed applying his scientific knowledge to cultivating the illegal plant for his personal and recreational use.

While perfectly lawful to do in some states, Josh's activity was a felony punishable by up to 12-years prison where they presently lived. Josh had converted a small walk-in closet in their house into a grow room — the reason why they were both under arrest now, treated like common criminals, and why she was sitting here frightened and alone.

She wondered how the police found out. Did one of Josh's worthless pothead friends get busted and turn him in for a lighter sentence? Was it the helicopter she heard late one evening -- interrupting her peaceful sleep with its blades tearing through the cool night air -- equipped with a snooperscope that saw the heat on their roof from Josh's 1000-watt metal halide light? Maybe their electric consumption gave it away? What difference did it make now anyway? They were already in trouble.

"Wow, this one's a real looker," Detective Sanchez mumbled to her partner as she stared through the two-way mirror at the beautiful 24-year-old suspect she was about to interrogate.

"Yeah, they had eight plants growing hydroponically under a 1000-watt metal halide light. A small, sophisticated operation," the gruff voice of Detective Earl Noyse replied. Only a few ounces of smokable bud seized, but in typical police fashion, roots, stems and even the medium the plants grew in were weighed, greatly inflating the amount and the charges.

The door opened.

Sanchez entered the interrogation room, visually raking the gorgeous blond sitting at the old wooden table. The girl stared back at Sanchez with stunning blue eyes and silky blond hair that flowed past her shoulders in threads of gold as smooth as a sheet of water.

Alyssa watched the older, rather plain-looking woman walk toward her. Detective Sanchez wore her greying hair up in a tight bun and had what could be described as a slightly weathered, man-like appearance. She held a folder in her hand.

Sanchez slapped the folder down in front of Alyssa and dragged a wooden chair out from underneath the table. The heavy chair growled in a high-pitchl as it reluctantly slid across the floor.

Sanchez sat in front of Alyssa, her face an expressionless mask. "Seems like you and Josh have been busy entrepreneurs. Possession, manufacture and distribution of a Schedule I drug carries a pretty stiff penalty."

"I already explained all this to that other detective — Detective Nose."

"Noyse," Sanchez interjected.

Alyssa rolled her eyes. "Whatever his name is — Josh only grows it for personal use. He only had eight plants. How does that amount to manufacture and distribution?"

"Listen, dearie, we confiscated over 15 pounds of weed from your house. Both you and Josh are looking at felony records and 12 years in prison unless you cooperate."

Alyssa's voice rose higher with indignation. "There's no way those eight little plants equal 15 pounds. You can't charge us with that! I want to speak with an attorney."

Detective Sanchez was not going to tolerate Alyssa's uppity attitude. She needed to bring this young girl down a few notches.

Sanchez rose from her chair, her palms remaining flat on the table, her face now red and only inches from Alyssa as she leaned toward her and yelled. "Listen, sweetheart, you want to speak to an attorney? Fine! But then we're throwing the book at both of you. You can say good bye to each other and to your house, your car, and all those nice things you and Josh have acquired. He'll never work as a teacher again. His career and your futures will be ruined. I'll see to it!"

Alyssa felt Detective Sanchez' hot breath and spittle blast against her cheeks as the angry detective shouted into her face.

Sanchez sat down, resumed a calm demeanor and continued as if her previous rant never occurred. "Or you can cooperate with us. All of this can go away and your husband, Josh, can continue teaching. Otherwise, you're both looking at lengthy prison time away from each other. It's your choice."

Tears began flowing from Alyssa's eyes. "What do you mean, 'cooperate'? I don't even smoke marijuana, you can give me a drug test right now. I told Josh not to grow that stuff."

Alyssa spoke the truth. She very rarely used marijuana. It made her too paranoid and nervous, but Sanchez didn't care and wasn't buying anything Alyssa said. Bigger fish swam in the ocean of scum and Alyssa looked like perfect bait to catch them. "We have a big drug problem in this city, which you can help us solve. We know who distributes the drugs, but we need to find sources, who else is involved. We want to bust Reggie Johnson, but first we need to find out who he gets his drugs from."

Alyssa sniffled. "Who's Reggie Johnson?"

Was this girl serious or was she just playing stupid? How could she not know about Reggie Johnson? Everyone on the street, and part of the drug trade in this city, knew about Reggie Johnson, the high-ranking gangster responsible for murders, heinous crimes, and the area's rich supply of illicit drugs. Detective Sanchez was going to bring him down, and this hot young female was going to help her do it.

Alyssa's suburban life had sheltered her from the likes of Reggie Johnson. Her anonymity was perfect, and perhaps her ignorance was for the best too.

"Stand up for me," Sanchez barked.

"What?"

"Just do it and turn around."

Alyssa timidly rose from her chair, with her head down and shoulders hunched over in fear as she turned around.

"Stand straight!"

Alyssa's back straightened upon command. The baggy sweat pants she wore poorly concealed what could only be described as an incredibly tight and sexy ass from hours she had spent working out at the gym.

"You'll do just fine," Sanchez mumbled to herself as she studied the perfect curves of Alyssa's beautifully slender figure. She was exactly Reggie Johnson's type — young, white with perky c-cup tits and an hour glass figure; a gorgeous face with big blue eyes and silky blond hair.

*****************

They lived in a well-kept, modest sized home — the only house on a secluded street in an otherwise suburban area populated by soccer moms and dads who coached little league baseball on the weekends for their young children. An ideal place for kids of their own they planned to have soon. The yard was neatly trimmed and heavily shaded by two large oaks that reached over the house like two giant hands about to shake with each other.

Alyssa stood in the living room. "I have to do it, Josh. I'm sorry, but it's the only way. If I don't do this for them, they'll send us both to jail. You'll lose your job, have a felony record and never teach again. Why didn't you just listen to me? I told you not to grow that stuff and to stop smoking it."

Josh stared at her as she spoke, his face wearing his confusion. At 5' 10" tall and perhaps 145 pounds wet, he was never much of an athlete, his frame best described as wiry. How could the police suddenly send her off as an informant without any preparation? It didn't seem safe or right. "Well, where are you going?"

"I'm not sure," Alyssa answered. "Detective Sanchez didn't tell me yet."

Above his wire-framed glasses, his eyebrows now knitted together with concern. How could she not know where she was going? "When will you be home?"

Detective Sanchez hadn't told her that yet either. "I don't know."

"You're not sure; you don't know," Josh mimicked. "Well, what can you tell me?"

"Nothing — all Detective Sanchez told me is she needs me to find out about some guy named Ryan or something. I can't remember his name. I was so nervous."

"Oh that's just great. You don't know who this is, where you're going, what you'll be doing, or when you'll be back." Josh sat in his chair, crossed his arms, and pouted like an angry child. "You're not the five-o, Alyssa."

"I don't want to do it, Josh. But we don't have a choice."

A car horn honked for Alyssa from their driveway and Josh jumped from his chair.

Alyssa wrapped her arms around her husband, gave him a big hug and kiss. "Please, Josh, I have to go now. I'll call as soon as I can, but it may be a while. I'm not supposed to contact anyone I know while doing this."

Josh melted in her embrace and returned her hug. "I'm sorry Alyssa. You're right — this is all my fault. But I didn't mean to do this to us. The laws in this country are so fucked up. You know why they originally illegalized weed back in 1937?"

Alyssa shook her head.

"They thought black men used it to seduce white women. Isn't that ridiculous? It's all because of racism. And here we are in 2016 suffering the consequences of unjust laws based on bigotry."

The horn honked again.

"Please be careful and call me as soon as you can," Josh added.

Alyssa tore herself away from him. Josh followed her to the front door, where she grabbed her packed suitcase.

He stood at the doorway and unenthusiastically waved farewell as Alyssa entered an older Honda Accord Detective Sanchez drove.

***************

A man and woman shouted curse words at each other from the neighboring unit while their baby cried, and the sound of distant sirens drifted through the air.

"I don't want to wear this stuff," Alyssa complained, pulling down at the short, tightly-fitting mini skirt so it would cover more of her legs. "This is too short and I feel uncomfortable wearing a thong underneath it like this. Please let me put on something else."

"You're either going to do this and get the information I need, or I'll file those charges with the DA. What's it going to be? I'm getting tired of hearing you whine."

Alyssa didn't like any of this. Sanchez made her share this disgusting rat infested apartment in a bad inner-city neighborhood with some crack whore, and now she made Alyssa wear this slutty outfit. "Aren't you going to give me a wire or something?"

Sanchez believed Alyssa and her husband were low-life drug dealers. Small fry perhaps, but not much better than Johnson. Sanchez' only concern for Alyssa as her informant was in using her to catch Johnson, nothing more. To that end, she was expendable. Alyssa obviously didn't understand their working relationship yet. "You're an informant, not an undercover cop. Reggie Johnson will likely check you for a bug anyway. That's if you ever get near him. We can't risk him finding out that you're working for us."

"But it's been three days already. Please, I want to see my husband. When can I see Josh? I'm tired of hanging out at that stupid club with all those black men hitting on me all night. How am I supposed to make friends with this Reggie Johnson guy anyway and find out all this stuff for you? I haven't even seen him there yet."

Sanchez squinted her eyes and looked at Alyssa angrily. "That's your problem. Use your imagination. I'm sure a cute girl like you can put your good looks to use and figure something out, but you better do it quickly. The sooner you do, the sooner you can see Josh. The clock is ticking and you're running out of time. If you don't get me some information soon, I'll have you and Josh prosecuted and sent to prison."

"No, please don't do that. I'll get the information you want..."

While Detective Sanchez prepared Alyssa, her colleague, Detective Noyse, secretly met with Reggie Johnson.

Steel and glass skyscrapers contained fiery reflections of the setting sun like the surface of a calm sea. From Reggie's penthouse apartment, Noyse gazed out the floor-to-ceiling window at a breathtaking view of the city. "Funny how nice it all looks from way up here. It's only when you're actually on the ground and part of it that the filth and ugliness become apparent, I guess."

"It's on the desk," Reggie replied, finishing his last rep of bench presses. The muscles in his arms and chest looked like they were about to rip through his tight brown skin as he gritted his teeth.

Noyse placed a folder he had brought with him on the desk and picked up the thick envelope Reggie had left there for him. He opened the envelope and briefly thumbed through a stack of hundred-dollar bills it contained before quietly placing it inside his jacket pocket and returning to the view outside the window.

Reggie sat up from gym equipment in the middle of his expansive living room, and used a white towel hanging around his neck to wipe sweat from his face. He glanced at the closing stock prices running across the bottom of an enormous LED TV hung like a picture on the wall. He had made over $800K in the market today, he silently noted, pointing a remote control toward the set. The screen went black. "Anything I need to know?"

His six-pack abs noticeable, Reggie walked to the desk.

Noyse turned from the window. "You might want to look over the contents of that folder carefully. Sanchez is on a high horse again and she's after you and your suppliers. She recruited a new informant we busted a few days ago."

Reggie opened the folder containing Alyssa Warren's mug shot and arrest record. "Nice," he muttered out loud to himself, the picture less than flattering to Alyssa, but her beauty apparent to him anyway. He read through her report. "Hmm —married, 24-years-old, and no kids. Busted for growing weed. Tsk-tsk — naughty girl."

"The husband admitted it was his. She seems pretty straight-laced, but you never know these days."

Reggie looked up from the folder. "It's an election year. A sizable contribution to a certain incumbent's re-election campaign should take care of Detective Sanchez' investigation. In the meantime, I gotta check Mrs. Warren out. May wanna tap me some that fine white pussy. Keep that cute little informant preoccupied."

"The husband should appreciate that very much," Detective Noyse dryly replied.

Reggie returned Noyse's sarcasm with a grin. "That's what he gets for breaking the law, cutting into my business — and not doing it very well, I might add."

*************

From across a crowded, dimly lit dance club, her golden blond hair and beautiful skin stood out like headlights on a deserted road at night. Very few Caucasians frequented this establishment, and none of them had ever looked as good as her. Reggie studied how the softer features of her nose, eyes, and mouth accentuated her sharp cheekbones to produce the loveliest face. The tight miniskirt she wore only amplified an equally gorgeous figure that could easily belong to a supermodel and drew unwanted attention from practically every male in the joint.

Unaware of Reggie's presence, Alyssa stood by the bar watching some black couple dance next to her, the girl obscenely thrusting her pelvis into the guy's leg, oblivious it seemed to all else around her. An offensive rap song blasted, making even the floors and walls vibrate.

Alyssa hated this place, but Sanchez said this was Reggie Johnson's hangout, although he had not appeared here for the past three nights.

"Damn, you beautiful. Let me buy you a drink," she heard a voice say with a familiar African American accent. She was so tired of hearing that stupid accent and having to tell these ignorant black men that she was not interested. She rolled her eyes up and sighed. She had lost count of how many men had already hit on her this evening. She wanted to get out of this place and be with Josh. There was no way in Hell she would ever cheat on her husband or be with some nasty black guy.

Alyssa irritatedly turned around to tell whoever it was this time to buzz off and leave her alone.

Her eyes climbed up the muscular stature of an enormous black man, as if trying to find the top of a skyscraper. In the darkness, she somehow missed the monstrous bulge in his pants. She almost blew it, about to tell him to get lost like all the other inferior black men she had encountered this evening, before her eyes finally reached his face.

Alyssa suddenly realized that the gigantic man speaking to her was Reggie Johnson — the man she had been waiting for. He wore a Polo shirt and a thick gold necklace, grey silk slacks, and an expensive sports jacket. Diamond rings that looked big enough to sink the Titanic adorned his fingers.

Alyssa nervously forced a smile. Her opportunity finally arrived, yet her mind was blank as to what to say. "Hi," she managed to squeak out.

Reggie looked at the almost empty glass Alyssa held. "Whatcha drinking?"

Alyssa was not much of a drinker, and her tumbler contained remnants of ice water — the only substance she ever intended to consume here. But she remembered Detective Sanchez' threats — Josh's career in ruins, criminal records marring their future, 12 years in prison. Little time remained. She needed information about Reggie and his suppliers to give Sanchez. Too much was at stake to let her nerves get in her way now. This was her chance and she could not let it slip away. "I'll have whatever you're drinking."

Reggie turned to the bartender. "A Crown on the rocks for me and this lovely woman. Make 'em doubles".

The bartender briefly raised an eyebrow, thinking he might have misheard Reggie. The only thing Alyssa had ordered from him the past three nights was ice water. He proceeded to fill two tumblers with ice and generous amounts of the amber liquid without question. "Anything else, Mr. Johnson?"

Reggie gave him a fifty-dollar bill. "Not now. Keep the change."

"Thank you, Mr. Johnson."

Reggie handed Alyssa the glass. "Come on, let's sit somewhere quiet and talk."

They sat at a small table away from the music. Alyssa remained incredibly nervous. She quickly forced down the contents of her glass and felt fire form in her stomach.

"Wow, you really slammed that down. I ain't seen many women drink like that. I'll get you another. I don't want to drink by myself."

Alyssa stared blankly at him a moment as she waited for the fire in her gut to simmer. Although she rarely drank, she possessed the ability to hold her liquor well.

Reggie signaled a nearby server. "Bring my pretty friend here another double of Crown, on the rocks."

Alyssa began to feel the calming effects of alcohol she just consumed enter her bloodstream. "What's your name?"

"Reggie Johnson — and who, may I inquire, do I have the pleasure of meeting."

"I'm Alyssa."

"Where you from, Alyssa? I never seen you 'round here before. No way could I ever miss someone as beautiful as you."

She caught herself from almost fumbling the whole thing by telling him her real address. Alyssa's nervousness returned. She had forgotten the address where she was staying with the crack whore. "I just moved here — to a place on North 89th Street and Milton Avenue. Do you know the area?"