The Assignment

Stone stepped through the entrance doorway at his condo in the afternoon following his interview with Logan and Rutherford. He threw open the curtains, squinting to shards of sunlight stabbing at his eyes and then looked around his living room. He'd not bargained on his resignation including two-week's vacation. Logan reckoned that was enough time for him to go through the formalities of interviews, and to be offered a position at the station, so as not to appear to be spirited into the job. It buzzed around in his mind that Rutherford had said he would also need time for training in how to go about gathering the information that the DOJ required.

Stone opened his window, freshening up what had been a stale odor in his condo of a Chinese takeaway that still lingered. Taking a deep intake of fresh air, he glanced down at the people on the sidewalk going about their business. He had a different translation as to what the time off meant. It meant that he was out of homicide for a while, no doubt much to Logan's glee, and he'd be bored out of his brain for two weeks. It also meant that Reagan could continue to brownnose Logan with a view to getting his recommendation to take over his job when he retired. With two years left before Logan stepped down, he hoped there would be time to redeem his self, to be in with a chance of being offered the promotion.

Stone turned from the window and picked up his jeans off the floor and then tossed them onto a chair. He couldn't see the point of training. Stone didn't think it would amount to much. He was going to be working amongst his own. All he thought he'd have to do; was to be his self, make acquaintances, and to ask a few discreet questions to get background on the rogue cop. It wasn't as though he'd need to brush up on urban-speak and learn to ride a Harley, then for him to join a biker's gang. He glanced at his telephone. He'd been told to go home and await a phone call from someone at the FBI for more instructions. He had other things on his mind and opened his laptop over at the coffee table, and then settled on the sofa.

With his computer fired up, he entered his dating site. Right away, he noticed two pokes on his profile. He'd expected more, seeing as how he hadn't been on the site while he'd been seeing his ex this past few weeks. Still, with the amount of time he'd spent on there the previous 6 months, he doubted there were many left that he hadn't scouted out and vice versa. He clicked on the first poke under his photo image, and it took him to her profile. Age thirty-two, single, and her details sounded promising. Her photograph turned him off. She was stunning but didn't look a day older than twenty-one. He didn't know why so many of them had to do that, and to upload a photograph of them at a much younger age. He'd fallen for that scenario too many times, with one he recalled also chipping twenty years from her actual age.

He exited her profile and entered one from the second poke. His shoulders sagged. She was twenty-nine and from the Ukraine, showing a fair amount of cleavage. He scanned her profile details. She'd been liked over a thousand times since enrolling a few days prior. She'd obviously been poking as many marks as she could to get responses before the site would take her down. A scammer if ever there was one. The last thing he wanted to admit to his colleagues; was that he was nearly caught out with one fraudster that screwed with his mind from Russia. She, if it was a she; the person wasn't after a green card. She was after money sending on the pretext it was for visas and flights. He only became suspicious when she said that she needed money for medical care, because her mom had been taken into hospital after an accident. When he'd checked out a Russian Bride's scam site, her profile was on there, and her emails reported by other targets were identical to the ones that she'd sent him.

Stone clicked back to his profile. He hadn't exactly been honest himself, apart from his age, and that he was looking for a long-term relationship. The last thing he wanted to do was to advertise that he worked in law enforcement. He wondered if that was where he was going wrong, for the sake of them not knowing he'd earn north of 100k as a detective, to cut out those looking for a meal ticket.

To the shrill sound of his landline ringing, bleary eyed from studying profiles, he fumbled with the handset, then answered.

"Stone."

"Agent Collins. FBI."

"I've been expecting you."

"So I understand."

"Do you want to meet?"

"No, it's best we don't see each other. Besides, I'm based in Washington DC. It'll save money if we can talk on Skype. I'll need daily sessions over the next week. Not on camera, just audio."

"No problem. But why DC and not the local FBI?"

"Rutherford must have his reasons for them not to know. The less people locally who know about your assignment, the better for keeping it secret you're to go undercover, I guess."

"Fair enough."

They exchanged Skype names, then he hung up. The invite came through and he accepted. Stone picked up his laptop and walked through to the kitchen. It was already dark outside. He switched on the light and set the peculator to supply a strong dose of caffeine. Stone glanced at his wristwatch and realized just how many hours he'd been trawling profiles on his dating site. His call came through on his laptop. He pressed the icon to accept.

"Can you hear me?" Agent Collins asked.

"Loud and clear."

"So, you've been set an undercover assignment?"

"You could say that."

"Well, I hope you know what you are letting yourself in for?"

Stone shrugged his shoulders.

"I can't see it being difficult."

"Trust me, when I say, that you won't come out of it unscathed."

Stone scoffed inwardly at that sentiment as the peculator gurgled. He inhaled and savored the aroma as he poured coffee into a mug.

"How do you work that out?" Stone asked.

"It'll mess with your mind."

"If you say so," he said, and took a sip, then rolled around the espresso in his mouth with his tongue, the flavor refreshing his taste buds before gulping it down.

"The good thing you have going for you is that you have no family ties, according to your file. Are you in a relationship?"

"No."

"Good, because it's even harder when you have to hide what you're doing from loved ones, never mind for you to protect them."

Stone chewed on his bottom lip. He couldn't see what was good about not having someone in his life, never mind not having his mom and dad there. There wasn't a day went by that he didn't miss them and to think about why his dad drank half a bottle of whisky, then crashed his car into the concrete support of an underpass that took both their lives over on the Ventura Freeway.

"Listen, I know you're well intentioned, but all they want me to do is to find some background on someone. How hard can that be? I've been doing that daily for years."

"What if you're called upon to join the KKK to get a result? How would you feel about acting the racist?"

"That's unlikely to happen." Stone took another sip of coffee. He imagined that Agent Collins was over thinking the task.

"You're saying that, but that's what it might take. Who knows where an assignment can lead you? Then there'll be the guilt of ratting on your colleagues if that's what's required for you to get a result. You're likely going to have to become friends with some people you can't stand the sight of, and to socialize with them to get what you need. It could be that some will become genuine friends—lovers even, though it's not recommended. But it has happened."

"So, will you be my handler?"

"No. You won't have one. The only contact you'll have will be to file a report with Rutherford when asked, or when you think the mission is complete. That's what being undercover is about. You'll get no daily direction."

Stones lips curled into a smile at his last words.

"How long will all this take?"

"Who knows? Like I said, you don't know where your investigations will take you. Racism could be institutionalized at the station. The target of your inquiries could have been involved with others as a cabal in a pattern of discrimination. I can only give you pointers, but out there socializing, you could end up outside the norms in how law enforcement operates. The only thing you can't do is to set up a crime to entrap someone. Especially not in California. There's case law since two-thousand and fourteen which prohibits that sort of stuff. Listen, that's enough of the introductions. Make yourself available at ten every morning this week and we'll go into more detail."

"Sure."

Stone closed the call and drained the rest of his coffee, then carried his laptop back into the living area. Settling down on the sofa, he opened his browser on the dating site. He paused and picked up the framed photo of his mom and dad from the coffee table. He never did find out what had brought on his dad's depression before the fatal car wreck that took both their lives. What he did know, was that he was sinking into depression himself, not knowing which direction his life was taking. The last thing he wanted was to mess up this assignment, so he could get back to homicide duties. 

He sighed. Without a soul mate to lift him up when he was down, Stone didn't think that he had the self-motivation to get his life back on track. He reached over, put back the frame, then took out his wallet. He teased out a passport photo from behind his driver's license. Stone shook his head as he studied the image of Nancy Roberts, an ex-girlfriend, and a prior colleague, and now Mrs. Reagan. A reminder of happier days, they had their heads together, sticking their tongues out, a recap of what could have been if she hadn't dumped him for Kyle. He slipped the well-thumbed photo back into his wallet and drew his laptop onto his knees, and then carried on searching profiles. As the images of potential women flashed by, he wondered if there was someone else out there to get Nancy out of his head, which right there and then was firmly stuck in a trashcan.