CSI:NY The Saints Aren't Coming

Disconnected

Chapter 42: Disconnected

"Just don't be stupid, Reed, no story is worth risking everything for." Gus chided her cousin as she adjusted the top of her strapless dress in the surveillance van.

"Like you don't take stupid risks, cuz," Reed shot back, showing the brashness of his youth.

"I am a cop, you are a blogger barely out of school-" her voiced raised and Doyle shot her a look. "Look, I gotta go, and I don't know when I'll be able to talk again, please be careful, sweetie, I need all the family I have left, okay?"

Reed made a noise before ending their call. Gus stabbed the end button her phone and threw it down. "You sure you want to go in tonight?" Doyle asked, drumming his fingers on a clipboard.

"Yeah, we need to get traction on this case. You and I both know it it was more than a prostitution ring and with Fields out, we need to pin something on them soon."

"Fine, then let's recap. You already have Marco on the hook, his cousin, Shirazi, seems to be the one in charge, at least at this club," Doyle pointed to the photograph of the Iranian stuck up in the van.

"Yeah, and he is interested in me, but is not as gullible as Marco, he knows I am not some first year co-ed, but he knows thinks I am desperate for money and to not have to go back to Alabama." Gus made a face.

"You finally have a meeting with him to discuss getting put on the service?"

Gus nodded, "Yep, tonight, baring any interruptions.

"The last 'interruption' was arms dealers show up for an impromptu meeting, Gus," Doyle warned, wondering if the detective truly knew what she was getting into.

"No one is just in one thing these days, Doyle, it is all about diversification," Gus smirked.

"Fine, just don't do anything stupid in there, Broussard, especially since you aren't wired."

"I can take care of myself, Lieutenant Doyle," Gus mocked, giving him a small salute, before she exited the van and made her way two blocks down to the club.

Their work had paid off, the doorman spotted her right away in the line and the next thing she knew, she was being whisked up stairs with Marco.

"Ah the beautiful Belle, right on time. Cousin Navid will be so happy to see you." He ushered her to the VIP room she had been in before, but this time, he moved aside a bank of velvet drapes, which were concealing a short hallway. He stopped in front of a door, knocking in a pattern.

Gus tried not to flinch at the size of the grizzled man that opened the doorway, scars crisscrossing his face. The man studied Gus carefully, clearly looking for hidden weapons, not that Gus could hide anything in the skintight red dress that was molded to her form. He nodded at the pair, stepping out so they could step in.

The room seemed blindingly light compared to the subdued décor on the other side of the curtains. Navid Shirazi sat at the desk, counting money and making notations in a ledger. A gun sat at his right hand, a tray with white powder on it on his left.

A coked out pimp with ties to arms dealers was not what Gus wanted to be dealing with, but she had little choice but to forge ahead.

"Sit!" he demanded, causing Gus to jump slightly, but she quickly complied. "Leave us," he growled at Marco, who also complied hastily.

"Savannah, the Southern Belle," Navid remarked with a nod and piercing gaze. Gus didn't like what evil she saw in the man's eyes or the fact that he was looking at her like she was a piece of steak.

"From Mobile, Alabama, sir, home of the original Mardi Gras, most people don't know that, think it is only a New Orleans thing," Gus drawled, batting her eyelashes as she uncrossed and re-crossed her legs.