ALIAS

CHAPTER 1: DETECTIVE JACOB

“THAT BOTTLE ALONE costs more than half the women outside." Jake turned right, nobody. He quickly turned to his left, but still nobody. He stood up, now slightly alarmed but he immediately regained his cool when the voice said, "I'm right behind you." He swung around quickly and bumped into one of the most gorgeous women he had ever seen. He had almost knocked her off her feet but she regained her balance and composure and she was now smiling right at him. He acted unflustered and ushered her to sit next to him, which she obliged. He took a look at her outfit. She had worn violet from top to the ankles, a low-cut violet blouse, a Chanel belt and maroon palazzo pants, probably Chanel too. She had a violet scarf covering her neck and most of her upper body, which covered her cleavage completely. The scarf and palazzo pants meant that this woman had class. The black stilettos confirmed it. She was right about the women outside. They were cheap because they wore flimsy outfits that emphasized their feminine assets and were easy to take off or simply push aside for a quick shag. Most of them were victims of failed plastic surgery or illegal silicone shots. They were also vectors of various STIs. They belonged to men who had little regard for class, standards, or hygiene. But this one covered her body well in designer clothes, leaving almost everything to his imagination. She was meant for the few men willing to spend their money on something more refined.

"Well, how much do you cost yourself?" He asked.

She blushed slightly. “Half the drink.”

“That's a hefty sum.”

“Some even offer more.”

“I don't see why.”

“Oh, now you gon' be like that?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“You”, he answered implicatively.

“What if you don't want to go home with me?”

“Who said anything about going home?” His answer was even more implicative this time.

She stood up and stepped a few paces back. She flipped her hair and dug her fingernails into the thick rich blond curls. Then she fixed her eyes on him. “Ooh, what do we have here? You’re another cheeky little cheater, are you? Your wife not enough for you?” She purred seductively, making sure Jake's eyes were fixed on her. She was determined to beguile him but she was realistic. She figured that this man was smart and it wouldn’t be any help acting like she hadn’t slept with more than a dozen adulterers like him.

Across from where the two were 'conversing', Karl, the burly club DJ and a good friend of Jake, was watching them. He immediately played LP's “Other People”, Jake's favorite song. Jake immediately took notice and chuckled, f*****g Karl.

I never tried to be a hero...

He turned to her and resumed the conversation. More of a game than a conversation, he joked to himself.

“Naah, just have a grumpy neighbor, she hates noise.” She giggled, a little louder than what would be deemed appropriate, trying to make him think he was funny. Oldest trick in the book. I don't need an ego massage, Jake told himself.

You took us from the stars to zero...

“You think you could make me make noise, pretty boy?” She said this while looking at him dead in the eye, with her left hand just below her navel. She undid the two bottom buttons of her blouse. She was challenging him. She wanted him to want to conquer her, to pay her. She was good at this. Hand at her groin, drawing his attention to her flat tummy. Must have worked tirelessly for that. Or done surgery; everybody does surgery these days.

“Why don't you just f**k the grump out of her?” She asked, her voice mischievous and provocative.

We had a love devout, without a shred of doubt...

We never worried 'bout, other people...

Tiny waist, also went to great lengths for that. Maybe she had a rib or two plucked out. Subtle red nail polish complimented her tanned skin. This woman was exquisite. Wait, he had to check whether the tan was even on both arms. It was a pet peeve he never tried to get rid of. He looked for the other hand. Oh, it was on her bosom; she was really good at this. And ah, yes, the tan was perfect. She had two gold bracelets on this arm, pure gold.

Jake almost believed that she had dressed exclusively for him, but suddenly he remembered who she was, a prostitute, a pricey one for that matter, and it was her job to make any man with deep pockets feel special. He was studying her and she was studying him too, looking at his eyes, countering his every move with a move of her own, seducing him, reeling him in.

He was hers and he knew it. She seemed to know it too.

You broke the spell and wanted something else,

Well, go f**k yourself with other people...

She took off the scarf. Her cleavage was enough to make him usher her back to the seat, this one was a gem, pure temptation, his blood was already boiling. He was already enamored by her beauty and had to use all his restraint to fight the impulse to ask for a quick one in the bathroom or some dark alley nearby.

No more song, no more dance,

No dance floor, we left it all to chance...

Jake knew he never had a chance; she won the game and the prize was hers- five hundred bucks because he was by all odds going to bed her. He had lost the game, but he had also won a prize in his regard, a prize which he could only have won by losing the game. He chuckled at the silly paradox and asked for a glass. He tipped the waitress so she could let him pour her the 1000$ worth of Cognac. She sipped the drink with her eyes fixed on his. They were the bluest blue he'd ever seen. She wore almost no makeup, just a little lipstick and a slight blush. She had the looks of one of those Hollywood stars, those who one could never discern their age. Her face was a cross between hot and cute babyface, she looked like she was in her late twenties, but Jake could guess she was either in her late thirties or early forties.

Oh, baby it's just your body, go, let in on everybody...

“Wanna finish this drink somewhere else?” He asked, barely holding eye contact for ten seconds.

“Thought you'd never ask.”

She stood up, almost too eagerly, and swallowed what was left in the glass. "There are richer men than you here but tonight I'm about the looks, not the money," she said. He almost gave a nasty comeback, but he caught his tongue almost immediately. She looked at him, faking pity, "What? Nobody's ever told you you're good-looking? Don't worry, they're all blind,” she added as she led him outside.

They won't be there when you're sorry,

Other people...

"Let's go finish this expensive liquor," Jake said with an overconfident finality, knowing that she would hit back. And she did.

“Well, aren't you majestic, Mister One-Thousand-Dollar-Cognac? I have a hundred-year-old bottle of scotch that's worth more than your car. You wanna see, Jake? I live a few blocks from here.” He was slightly startled that she knew his name. She sensed this, “What? You're a cop and I'm a w***e. Every w***e knows your name. But not entirely because you're a cop. But you can call me Thursday. Real name by the way. No idea what my parents were thinking.” Now she was talking too much. She was also losing that seductive cool that she had enchanted him with, but he didn't care cause she was a babe and he wanted to bed her so badly. He wanted to laugh at the name, but he did not want to upset her, which felt a little worrying because she was just a hooker, she wouldn't care. What has gotten into me?

She had the Cognac in her hand and she drank directly from it. She figured that Jake was gonna f**k her anyway, so there was no point in keeping up the seductive charade. I might be hooking up with a psycho, Jake thought.

“So, Thursday, what do you...do you have another name? I'm gonna find it hard to call you Thursday.”

“Okay officer, my name is Melissa Thursday Collins. You can call me Miss Collins if you want to be professional.”

“Wouldn't it be more professional to call you Thursday, you know, because of your profession?” She flashed him the middle finger then retorted, “Yes, I am Thursday, the last good decision you make before Friday carries you away to the land of bad decisions.”

“I don't even understand what you're saying.” He started laughing.

“You're gonna laugh at me now that I'm drunk? You think you're better than me? Because you're a cop?” Her tone had sharpened. Typical drunk prostitute, he said to himself. He lifted his hand and placed it on her shoulder in a rather desperate attempt to calm her down, but she burst into mocking laughter. “Gotcha! C'mon, you thought I was getting mad? Aww, you're such a sweetheart, trying to calm me down. I should let you f**k me for free. Where's your car? Nice men like you kinda turn me on.” They walked past a couple of blokes who started catcalling her on sight. She immediately turned around and dismissively pointed them to the cheap hookers outside.

She knew her worth. Satirical.

“You've been around many of those nice men, Melissa?” He teased her, again knowing she was gonna tease back. He had been with a number of women in her profession, but this one was much more interesting than the rest. She could hold a lively conversation.

"See that's the tiny part I ain't liking about you. One compliment, however minuscule and you just start swinging your d**k around. You're a shy man, stop acting all testosterone-y with me. Where the f**k is your car? Plus, you shoulda bought vodka man. This fancy stuff hits really slow." Her seductive powers were gone completely. She looked like she needed to get laid more than he did.

Jake drank vodka when he needed something strong. Every man who's ever served, either behind bars or in the military needs that once in a while, especially him, with the things he'd seen, the things he'd done, the things he'd seen people do.

Things he wouldn't share with anyone but a bottle of vodka every Saturday evening.

“Where the f**k is your car?” s**t, I was drifting away for a moment.

“It's right in front of you.”

He let her study his vintage Cadillac front to back. Tank, was the car's name, although he pronounced the name more like 'Tink' to make it sound more feminine. She was a classy, shiny, slender, black beauty who was glowing in the dark. The glow seemed to grow with every step he took toward her. She was calling to him, waiting for him, the only woman he believed would ever do that to him.

Jake had bought Tank on a fine Sunday three years ago, after busting one of the most notorious scammers on the West Coast. He was going to buy a Camry to celebrate, but the moment he entered the dealer's store, he noticed Tank at the display, shining at him, shining for him. And his wallet took a heavy dent for Tank. Melissa inspected Tank and saw that there wasn't a single scratch on her slick dark body. “So,” he asked with a broad grin, “still more expensive than your Scotch?”

“Huh,” she scoffed,” Boy please.” Jake got even more eager to see the bottle that was more expensive than his Tank. He was also a little jealous.

“By the way, I'm driving. You ever copped a speeding ticket, cop?” She took the keys from his pocket, slightly but very intentionally brushing her hand between his thighs, and then pulled his hand, almost violently, towards the car.

The drive to her house was short, but it felt long to both of them. This was because they were both quiet and shy. The alcohol hadn't quite gotten to Jake's head yet. This wasn't good because he had never been good with women for as long as he could remember, always waiting for women to notice his looks and approach him. If that failed to work, he would draw his courage from a bottle of scotch and it would work wonders. He could tell that Melissa was a shy person too, when sober. She had been a little tipsy when she approached him earlier and the effect of whatever she had drunk then was now fading away. The fact that his drink was hitting slowly didn't help her case. She was getting drunk way slower than she wanted and from the good number of swigs that she was taking straight from the bottle, he could tell she was getting frustrated.

Melissa was driving carefully, which conflicted with her words from earlier. Jake watched her intently, first out of the fear that she'd hurt his Tank, but the fear subsided and he found himself studying her deeply instead. She did not look like the kind to ever want to be a hooker, but she also didn't seem to hate the job. Maybe she has a side business or is gonna start one soon. Expensive hookers were typically jovial and confident, but there was more than that in her. There was a gleam of hope in the woman's eyes that he almost pitied. He felt for her, he wanted to ask her why she chose this path- with her wits and looks, she would have had a great job -making good money - probably not as much as she was making right now, but a job with fewer risks than this one. He wasn't a man of many feelings, so when he found himself staring at her blue eyes- he was getting quite attached to them actually - he got a little worried.

He was falling in love.

No, not again. Not after Vietnam.