Confessions Of An Old Lady

  Confessions of an Old Lady

  By Christina Morgan

  Confessions of an old lady

  Copyright © 2016 by Christina Morgan.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: August 2016

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-748-7

  ISBN-10: 1-68058-748-X

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  EPILOGUE

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  PROLOGUE

  The cold steel barrel of a gun was pressed hard against my temple. He tightened his grip on my hair and yanked my head backward. I stumbled on something, I don’t know what, but I didn’t fall to the ground because of the death grip he had on my hair. My head was starting to pound and my heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to leap right out of my chest.

  “Tell me who you really are,” he growled between clenched teeth.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sonny. You know who I am,” I said, whimpering like a scared child.

  “What. Is. Your. Real. Name?” he asked with his face so close to mine I could smell the nicotine and mint on his breath. It was a sickly sweet smell.

  “Trish. It’s Trish. You know that, Sonny. I’m your girlfriend, for Christ’s sake. Why are you doing this to me?”

  He let go of my hair and shoved me with all of his power back against the wall. He put the gun flush against my forehead and pressed hard. “You will tell me who you are, by God, or I will shoot you where you stand.”

  Chapter 1

  Only five minutes after sitting down at my desk at the Drug Enforcement Agency’s Chicago field office, my phone buzzed and my supervisor’s secretary’s shrill voice came over the line.

  “Supervisory Agent Kingston would like to see you in his office.”

  A click of the line told me she had hung up before I could even ask why. I scooted my chair back, stood up, and headed toward his office. I remember thinking during the long walk down the corridor what I could have done wrong to warrant being called to the principal’s office like this. I had a spotless record—thirty arrests and twenty-one convictions in my first year since joining the DEA. I had never been called on the carpet for my performance, or anything, for that matter, so why the boss would have called me in the minute I sat down at my desk that morning was beyond me. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t as nervous as a whore in church. I was still considered a rookie, after all, and I did not want any blemishes on my record this early into my career.

  I knocked on the thick wooden door with the nameplate which read:

  “Supervisory Agent Warren Kingston.”

  “Come in!” his voice boomed from the other side.

  I pushed the door open slightly and poked my head in just enough so he could see me.

  “Ah, Agent Rockford, come on in. Have a seat.” He gestured toward the empty metal-framed chair in front of his desk, directly opposite his big, black leather chair.

  “What can I do for you, Chief?” It felt as if a dozen butterflies were flittering around in my stomach.

  “Well, first let me ask you how you’re liking your job. Do you like being a DEA agent?”

  “Yes, of course. I love it. It’s been an amazing year. Thank you for this opportunity.” I looked down at my hands, which were trembling, and stuffed them up underneath my thighs.

  “Good, because I’ve got an assignment for you. Frankly, I think you’re a little green for it, but the powers-that-be believe you are a perfect fit. Are you up for a new assignment, Agent Rockford?”

  I had joined the DEA on a whim when a recruiter visited the University of Kentucky, where I was a senior studying pre-law. My father, a retired Chief of the Lexington Police Department, had balked at my decision to join the federal agency, and my mother, a clerk at the local courthouse, had cried. No one in my family had ever left the Bluegrass State and I think that bothered them more than any potential danger I might face on the job. But I had excelled in my first year and it was nice to be recognized for all my efforts.

  “I’m ready for whatever job I am assigned, sir. Just tell me where to be and when to be there.”

  He unfolded his meaty hands, reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a manila file folder, and laid it on his desk. He scratched his bald head then pointed at me with his forefinger and said, “I like your ambition, Agent Rockford. Maybe you’re right for this job, after all. It’s pretty dangerous, though, I should warn you. And when a DEA agent says something is dangerous, they mean it is dangerous.”

  “That’s okay with me, sir. I’m game for a little danger. What’s the assignment?” Spit it out, for God’s sake.

  He opened up the file and looked down at it for a moment before he finally answered me. I stifled a giggle when I saw that he had what appeared to be donut crumbs in his grey mustache. “Looks like you’ve got a pretty solid arrest history. Says here you’ve arrested thirty criminals in your first year. Pretty impressive shit for a rookie.” He closed what was apparently my personnel file and clasped his hands together on the desk. “But Rockford, it’s only fair you know that I don’t think you’re ready for an assignment this big. I fought with Arlington on this one pretty fervently. Not because I have a lack of faith in your abilities, but because of the dangerous nature of the job. But I was overruled. The higher-ups feel you fit a certain profile that would be just right for it. Plus, you’re from Kentucky, so you’re familiar with the location of the assignment.”

  “It’s in Kentucky?” This got my attention. It was very rare that an agent received an assignment close to home.

  “Now don’t get your hopes up. This is not the kind of operation where you can visit with Mommy and Daddy, if that’s what you’re thinking. Could take a year, probably more. Are you okay with a long-term job like that?” He leaned back as far as he could in his chair and folded his hands behind his head.

  I was anxious for him to tell me exactly what I would be doing. I couldn’t understand why he was dragging it out for so long.

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “What’s the assignment?�
� For the third effing time.

  He leaned forward again, this time craning his neck in my direction with his head bowed low, as if doing so would prevent anyone else from hearing what he was about to say. “It’s an undercover operation. We’re calling it Operation Black Betty.”

  “Undercover?” I had always wanted to be assigned to an undercover operation, but had been told by my colleagues it would take years of experience before the Agency would let me go undercover. “Yes! I’ll do it!”

  His hands went up in front of his face, meaty palms facing me. “Now hold your horses, young lady. I haven’t even described the operation to you just yet. It’s very dangerous. I mean, deadly dangerous. You’ll be risking your life every day.” He pulled out another file from his desk drawer—this one red—and opened it up in front of me. “Operation Black Betty’s mission is to take down the Lords of Chaos Motorcycle Club in Nicholasville, Kentucky.”

  “That’s only thirty minutes from my hometown,” I told him.

  “Exactly one of the reasons you were picked for this job. You know the lay of the land. You know the culture. Some big-city agent who’s never lived in the South couldn’t pull it off. Not without eventually slipping up. That and the big wigs in Virginia think you’d be able to work your way into the group’s confidence.”

  “How am I supposed to infiltrate a motorcycle gang that is by definition a men-only club? They don’t let women into those things.”

  “Exactly. They don’t let women join. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. However, their ‘old ladies’ are very close to the day-to-day functions of the club and are usually in on most of the club’s secrets.”

  “Old lady?” I was twenty-five at the time, so I was puzzled as to how I was supposed to play an old lady.

  He laughed when he saw the confusion on my face. “No, no, no. An ‘old lady’ is the term they give their girlfriends and wives. You, my dear Olivia Rockford, are going to endear yourself to one of the club’s highest ranking members, Sonny Jackson. And you’re going to become his girlfriend…his old lady.”

  “How the hell am I supposed to do that? What if he doesn’t like me?” I considered myself to be relatively attractive, but I was no Kate Upton.

  “You’re pretty, you’re smart. You’ll figure something out. That’s not my job, that’s your job.”

  I sat there in silence for a moment, taking it all in. It sounded incredibly dangerous, yet it was the kind of assignment that could make my career. If I could pull this off, I’d be promoted at the very least.

  “When do I start?” I asked, looking up at him, ambition and excitement overflowing.

  “Whoa, now. Slow your roll there, Agent Rockford. You’ve got to go through some serious training before you can even go down to Kentucky. I’ve got some agents coming in from Arlington who’ve worked in these gangs before and they’re going to teach you everything you need to know. It’ll take a couple of months, at least, to train you.”

  “I’ll do it,” I said with the eagerness of a teenager ready to get her driver’s license.

  “Great. I’ll call Arlington and get the fellas down here ASAP so you can start your training.” He picked up the receiver of the desktop phone and held it in mid-air, pointing it at me.

  “Thank you, sir, for this opportunity. Thank you for having faith in me.”

  “Ah, don’t thank me,” he said, shaking the phone receiver from side to side. “Remember, I still think you’re too green for a job this dangerous, but hey, lucky for you somebody up there―” he pointed in the general direction of Arlington, Virginia, I assumed “—has faith in you.”

  I must have looked as deflated as I felt, because he smiled and changed his tune. “Oh, no, don’t get me wrong. You’re an exemplary agent, and I believe you will do the best job you can do for the Agency. I just…I’m just worried about you, Olivia, that’s all. Be careful, okay?”

  This was somewhat surprising and a little touching. Chief Kingston wasn’t really prone to showing his emotions, so for him to show his concern for me truly meant something.

  “Now get out of here,” he said, seemingly trying to show his authority after a brief unadulterated moment of sensitivity. “Get back to work.”

  I walked briskly back to my desk, trying to decide if I was nervous or excited about my new assignment. It sounded extremely dangerous, but thrilling at the same time. I was determined, no matter what, to kick ass on this job. Although I didn’t have much experience as an agent, I considered myself a very resourceful person, not to mention the fact I had an IQ of 140. However, something told me I was going to have to learn to dumb myself down a little if I wanted to pass myself off as a biker’s babe.

  ***

  I arrived at my lonely little apartment in downtown Chicago a little after seven. The only thing waiting for me when I got there was my cat, Cleo—short for Cleopatra, due to the black lining around his eyes, which looked like Queen Cleopatra’s eyeliner. He padded right up to me when I walked through the door and threw my keys on the kitchen counter. I bent down to pick him up and carried him to the living room, where I flopped myself down on the sofa and kicked my feet up on the glass coffee table.

  I looked around at my tiny apartment and realized just how much I missed home. It was going to be great to be back in Kentucky, near my home town, but I wouldn’t be able to visit with my own family, as they could blow my cover. It was really going to suck being only thirty minutes from Lexington, but not being able to drive to my childhood home.

  I recalled the day I told Mom and Dad I had decided to join the DEA. Dad immediately tried to talk me out of it, saying it was too dangerous, and besides—what about my law career? Mom had cried, of course, but Mom cried about everything. I carefully tried to explain to them how I’d never really wanted to go to law school in the first place and how excited I was about the prospect of being a big-time federal agent. The thought of being stuck behind a desk all day and working long hours in a business suit still made me squirm. I had always been a tad on the conservative side. I never went bungee jumping, or skydiving, or even drove over the speed limit. So the thrills and possibilities that came with being a DEA agent and breaking out of my cocoon excited me. Explaining this to Mom and Dad had been difficult, but they eventually came around, as long as I promised to visit often and call at least once a week.

  I had kept my word on the calls, but visiting often proved more difficult than I had imagined. I hadn’t been home to Lexington since Christmas, but my job rarely allowed me weekends to myself, so there just wasn’t enough time to fly to Kentucky, visit with family, and then fly back…even though a flight from Chicago to Lexington was only an hour and cost only one hundred fifty dollars. It made my mother sad and she never failed to remind me. Almost every time I called, she’d make at least one comment about how long it had been since I’d been home. On the rare occasion Dad got on the phone, he just asked if I needed anything, told me he loved me, and then handed the phone back to Mom. My father was never a man of many words.

  Then there was my sister, Carly. She had recently moved back to Lexington after a whirlwind romantic tour of Europe with her now-husband, Maxim, whom she’d met in Minsk, Belarus nearly ten years ago. She also laid guilt trips on me frequently for not being there to see her daughters grow up. They needed their aunt, she said repeatedly.

  Besides missing my family, there was one other thing I was missing in my life because of my career…any sort of love life whatsoever. True, I had been on a few dates here and there—usually blind dates arranged by friends at the Agency—but even if the poor schmuck wasn’t a total loser, I simply did not have time to “date” anyone. I was married to the job. Besides, if I wanted to have a successful career, there were sacrifices which needed to be made, and companionship was one of them.

  I cuddled Cleo closer to me…the only man in my life. The only one who would listen to me complain about being overworked and alone and not tell me I had no one to blame but myself. I closed my eyes as I st
roked the top of his head, and within minutes, we were both asleep.

  Chapter 2

  The next morning, I went on a long-overdue jog. I tried to go every day, but this was yet another area of my life which was lacking, thanks to my job. I scrolled through my playlist until I found an upbeat Bruno Mars song, put in my earbuds, and began at a slow pace. As my feet pounded the pavement, I tried to think of something―anything―other than my current case load.

  Given that I had no love life to contemplate, my thoughts turned again to home and family. Growing up the daughter of the Chief of Police had its ups and downs. On one hand, I had a stable childhood. I had everything I needed, but maybe not everything I wanted. On the other hand, having a policeman for a father definitely had its drawbacks. My father was a kind and gentle but stern man who expected good behavior from me, his oldest child, at all times. There were no excuses to be had for bad behavior or sub-par grades, meaning anything less than honor roll. On the few occasions when I had slipped up, you would have thought I had committed a felony. In fact, my father’s punishments were akin to those doled out to hardened criminals. At least, that’s how it felt at the time. Once, when I was caught sneaking back through my bedroom window after meeting my boyfriend for a joyride around town in his new Mustang, I was “sentenced” to two months of manual labor. I became the family’s personal maid and had to do all the laundry, clean the kitchen, bathrooms, and garage.

  That is not to say my father was unkind. In fact, I always referred to him as my “Papa Bear,” because he reminded me of a big, stuffed teddy bear. Chief Gregory Rockford was six foot two and still in great shape, with only a bit of a belly beginning to protrude over his belt buckle. His hair was mostly grey by the time I graduated from UK and he sported a thick silvery mustache beneath his strong Irish nose. When he smiled, dimples appeared on his otherwise smooth cheeks, and his laugh was genuine, deep, and contagious.