UNDERCOVER LOVE

Slutty Haven

The loud music that boomed from the giant speakers could be heard from miles away. The smell of indica sativa and sweats filled the air.

Slutty Haven was one of the most popular nightclubs in the entire city of wealth. A place that served as a meeting place for the men of the underworld.

Two rolls Royce pulled up at the front of the club. "KYLE" was boldly inscribed on the license plate of the cars.

One of the bodyguards stepped forward; he opened the door, and a man stepped out."The boss has been expecting you," the bodyguard announced.

Kyle slowly took off his glasses to reveal a set of cold blue eyes that screamed danger when stared into. He was already having a bad day, and this nonchalant bodyguard who lacked respect was trying to make it worse.

"Home-trained kids are rare these days." He placed his right arm on the left shoulder of the bodyguard, and he gave him a painful squeeze."Before you talk to me, greet." He said in a calm yet fearsome voice that sent the message home. "I'll let it slide just this once because I don't want your poor mom to lose you."

He turned towards the men who were in his company that had two briefcases each in their possessions."Let's go," With that, they walked into the club.

The right-hand man led them out a door, down the stairs into what looked like a basement. They took two turns before they arrived at a steel door; behind it was their meeting place.

Bodyguards well armed in every corner of the room, typical Pete.

Mr. Pete was seated on a brown sofa, smoke in one hand and a glass of brandy in the other, as he watched the two beautifully endowed ladies who were dancing erotically on a pole.

"For a man who loves to keep to time, you broke an important rule of yours," Mr. Pete puffed smoke into the air.

"Something came up," Kyle got comfortable on the other sofa facing Mr. Pete. "But I'm here."

One of the bodyguards stepped forward and poured Kyle a drink, but he declined.

Mr Pete smiled. "A drink won't hurt," he said, dropping his cigar in the ash tray.

"One has to be cautious in this line of business," Kyle said. "I've come here solely to do business; I'll get a drink later." He stated.

Mr. Pete knew Kyle very well, so he didn't push further.

"Welcome to slutty Haven," he said, showing off his gold set of teeth. "Ladies," he picked up two bundles from the pile that was stacked up on the table before him and handed each to the ladies. "You may leave."

They happily collected it and left the room to give the men privacy to do their business.

"Let's get down to business," Kyle signaled to them to bring forth the briefcases in their possessions, and they set them down on the table.

"You asked, and I delivered." With that, he unlocked the briefcases, and Mr. Pete's eyes widened with delight as he stared at what would make his bank account heavier.

The first two contained hard drugs that were neatly wrapped in transparent nylon. He picked up a wrap, and with the knife that was lying on the table, he made a small incision in it.

He poured some of it on the table before he sniffed it all. He closed his eyes as he savored the delight of the drug. That was some good stuff he had to admit.

The other briefcases were loaded with firearms. Military grade.

"Kyle, Kyle, Kyle," He rested his head on the sofa.

"You've never disappointed me." He sat back up. "Sometimes I question whether you're a ghost or human; how you smuggle such things into the country beats my imagination every time."

"That shouldn't concern you," he replied. "You have all the time in the world to stare at them; pay up."

Mr. Pete picked up the two silver briefcases by his side, and he handed them over to Kyle, who gave him a suspicious look while collecting them.

"It's complete," Mr. Pete assured him. He knew better than to try to double-cross Kyle; the grim reaper as he was called wasn't a nickname.

Kyle rose up to his feet, out on his dark shades, and left alongside his bodyguards.

Meanwhile, the police, who had gotten an anonymous tip from someone in the club that the illegal firearms and hard drugs that had been smuggled into the country were being sold at the haven.

Not wasting any more time, they rushed down to the club, sirens off, in case it alerted them while their illegal business was underway.

Kyle, who had decided to have a drink or two to celebrate the success of the night, was seated at the bar when he was approached by two men. They were dressed in plain clothes, but they couldn't fool him; he knew every police officer by face.

They both showed him their badge.

"Mr. Kyle, nice to see you again." One of them said. "Seeing that you've always managed to evade the law, today isn't one of those days." Mr. Paul, the taller one of the duo, said, his voice laced with hate and disgust.

Kyle just sipped his drink; it was as if he wasn't the one they were referring to, and this single act of his added to their anger.

"Mr. Kyle, we have legit information that you were the one who smuggled illegal drugs and firearms into the country, and you've come here to trade it for money."

Still no word from him. He wasn't deaf, alright; he just wanted to enjoy his night. The men were getting very impatient.

Other police officers had arrived, chasing out partygoers against their will.

"What is going on here?" Mr. Pete demanded.

Mr. Paul held up a search warrant for him to see. "We are here to search this place." He stated.

"Do I have to file a restraining order against you guys before you let me be?" Mr. Pete yelled angrily. "A week doesn't go by without you all showing your damned faces in my club."

"The hard drugs and firearms, where are they?" Asked Mr. Paul.

Mr. Pete was taken aback by their question. He was surprised, but he concealed this reaction effortlessly. How did they know?

"Have you all gone mad? You walk into my club, and the next thing you ask for is hard drugs? Why would I have those not to talk of firearms in my possession?"

"Step aside, we're going to search this place." They pushed him out of the way, and they began their search.

They turned the club upside down, but they found nothing aside from the alcohol and cigars that were very much legal in the country.

"Where is it?" Mr. Paul almost grabbed Kyle by his collar; luckily he was restrained by his colleagues.

Kyle, who had finished his drink, tipped the bartender then got up to his feet. He turned towards Mr. Paul, who was seething with rage like a dog whose chew toy had been hidden away from him.

"Why do they allow incompetent and stupid people into the force? You showed up acting on information that you deem legit, and you come here harassing civilians?"

"How dare you insult me? My information is legit; where do you keep it?" He struggled to free himself from his colleagues grip. He was mad with rage and wanted to pounce on Kyle.

"I'll see to it that you lose your job, a man who is like you should not be put in charge of our dear country's safety." It wasn't a threat; he meant every word he said.

"I'll make sure you rot in jail for the rest of your God-forsaken life!" Mr. Paul fired back.

"May the best man win."