Ghostly Writer
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The New Job - 9
🕑 Added 2025-03-11 15:00:10 +0000 UTCI sigh at my handler’s declaration. “A mob war, huh? Enlighten me.”
“Last few months both families have been engaged in covert operations against each other,” the voice in my ear says. “This much we knew, but all we’d heard was the usual sabotage, blackmail, that sort of thing. This—whatever this might be—is new.”
“Yeah, I’ll say. Since when does the mob even do infiltration? Aren’t they supposed to kick in the door, shoot you over a plate of meatballs, something like that?”
“Thanks for reducing an entire people to a cultural stereotype.”
“My pleasure. The point is, this isn’t them, right?”
“Generally speaking, no.”
“So I should get more information out of sleeping beauty here, right?”
“Right. We still need you to assume Gagliardi’s identity, though. She’s still our best hope to understand just what’s going on.”
“Got it. Well, this day won’t be a total loss. I hope you agree now that I do need something to tie this guy up with, right? And you don’t care about me losing Carmella’s outfit?”
“Mission parameters change. Go nuts.”
“Wonderful,” I say as I begin to strip.
///
The man who was Gagliardi wakes up a little sooner than I want, but not so soon that he gets the drop on me.
I’ve already shredded some of the clothes I took from Carmella, using them as impromptu ropes to hog-tie him, hands and feet bound together behind his back. Considering I also stripped him naked before I did it, he’s not in the most flattering of positions as he comes to.
When he wakes, the first thing he sees is me zipping up the skirt that he was previously wearing. In fact everything he was previously wearing is now on my body, from the panties to the blouse; the only thing I’m not sporting is his ex-face, which is a ripped, crumpled mess. Luckily for me, I have that covered. For now though he wakes to see his new employee ‘Amaira’ slipping into his previous disguise, with the exception of his gaff and breasts. Those are on the floor next to him.
He groans as he comes to. I’ve been trained to do the same thing. Buys you a few more seconds when people thing you’re harmless.
“You’ve been awake for a couple of minutes,” I observe casually. “Don’t try to kid a kidder.”
His body tenses and he looks up at me carefully, suspicion in his eyes. “Who are you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I say with a smirk. “Suffice to say I am not Amaira Chopra. Surprise!”
“Figured that out when I saw you deck Carmella,” he grunts.
“Hence you being ready for my arrival, huh?” I lug my case onto Gagliardi’s desk. “Why didn’t you sic the guards on me when you knew? I mean, I know you’re undercover and all but they’d have seen Gagliardi and complied, right?”
He says nothing.
“Ah, don’t worry. I’m pretty sure I know. After all, you’re not even part of the family, right? This family, that is.” He still keeps quiet. “You’re [REDACTED] of the Morelli family. Si?”
His eyes narrow, but he nods, giving me that, at least.
“So why are you here, buddy? What’s going on? The two families in some sort of tiff?”
This is a rhetorical question, because the war between these two mob superpowers has been known to law enforcement for a while now, but I sort of want to hear it from him.
He doesn’t give me the satisfaction. “If you know who I am, you know why I’m here, cop,” he says, spitting the last word. “Knock it off with the interrogation schtick. Read me my rights already.”
I laugh. “Not my job,” I say. Opening the case, I look down at the flattened face of Gagliardi. “I’m the one that gets the evidence, not the one that slaps on the cuffs. Speaking of evidence.”
I pick up the discarded mask he wore of Gagliardi and toss it into the case, removing the pristine version I brought in. “That will probably end up in the lab. You guys seem to be doing pretty well on the mask side of things.” I smile at him. “Bit behind in a few other areas. How’s that gaff working out for you?”
Honestly, he doesn’t have the biggest dick, so I doubt he much cared.
With my own mask of Gagliardi’s face in my hands, I move to the mirror she has installed on the wall. “Tell me, how long have you been in here?”
“Long enough,” he says. “You’ll find out.”
“Oh, will I? Is that a promise?” I put the mask down near the mirror, grab a wig cap from the case and begin to pull it down on my head, covering Amaira’s luscious hair. “It sounds like a promise to me. And if it’s a promise, that means someone’s going to tell me, right? Which means that someone else in here… is working with you.” I glance over for his reaction; to his credit, he doesn’t give me one. “Carmella. Right? Or whoever that gal is beneath her face.” No reaction. “Or maybe it’s someone else. A third person? Hmm.”
Amaira’s hair is concealed now, pushed beneath the wig cap’s fabric. I pick up the mask again. “Interesting. If we’re talking long-term, I guess a third person makes sense. So you replace Gagliardi and her assistant to be safe. Who else? Who’s the next best person to have ‘on your side’, hmm?”
Flipping the mask over, I stretch the neck slightly and lift it up, glancing at Amaira’s gorgeous features for a second before I pull my new face on over my head. She smiles knowingly. There’s nothing quite like making your ‘cover’ into a mistress of disguise.
Taking a quick breath, I pull on the mask. There’s a moment of confinement, of silence, and then my eyes are finding new windows to look through. My hands slide out as the mask retracts and conforms to Amaira’s face and head, a deliberate design decision that I appreciate. It means I have one less mask to get out of this place, as the one I wore coming in is now the base for my disguise; it also means if I somehow get trapped and unmasked, they’re likely to think Amaira is the disguise expert, not some guy underneath her face.
In the mirror, Gagliardi is back, looking a little awkward at first as she blinks and makes faces, allowing the mask to form around her. Amaira’s hands press on her cheeks and caress her throat, ensuring everything is in place as my transformation continues.
“Ahh, that’s better,” I say, still using Amaira’s voice. “I have to be honest, I always did want your job, Ms Gagliardi. I know this is a sudden promotion, but I appreciate the opportunity.” I chuckle at my own dumb joke.
Returning to the case, I find a set of contact lens that I pop in quickly to take on Gagliardi’s hue, then compliment it with a set of veneers that imitate her teeth. Finally I return to the mirror, focusing myself, remembering the sounds I’ve heard coming from her mouth, which, I realize, aren’t even ‘hers’. I’m about to become a copy of a copy.
“Hi there,” I say, in a reasonable approximation of her voice. From behind me, I hear my captive snort with laughter at my first attempt. “You can keep quiet,” I say, the impersonation getting a little closer. “My name is Helena Gagliardi. Hello. My name is Helena Gagliardi.” I cough, adjust my pitch. “I like New York unique, unique New York I like. I like New York unique, unique New York I like.”
“That’s a new one on me,” he mutters.
“Better than “she sells seashells,” anyway,” I point out. Tongue twisters are good vocal practice, but they really help me ‘hear’ the sound of my impersonation. I say a few more phrases, then feel happy. I look over to the ex-guardian of Gagliardi and address him.
“So you thought you could impersonate me, hmm,” I say in Gagliardi’s voice. “Nice try.”
He rolls his eyes at my ham acting, which just makes me laugh. Returning to the case, I pull out the gloves I smuggled in and begin to roll up the ‘sleeve’ of one of them. “It’ll take more than some low-rent, no-talent American Idol wannabe to get past my security team.” I push my fingers inside the glove and stretch it out, seeing Amaira’s darker skin become covered by the replica of Gagliardi’s tones. “Someone a lot smarter, sexier and let’s face it, more handsome would need to be on the job to catch us napping.”
“Give me a break,” my captive mutters.
I turn to face him as I stretch the glove down over Amaira’s arm. My sense of touch is now doubly-dulled, but it’s still exciting to see this new look taking shape. I wiggle my new fingers and make a fist, smiling at him.
“Yeah, that’s right,” I say quietly. “I’m better than you, asshole. If I wasn’t, I’d be the one on the floor and you’d be the one doing this.”
I laugh to myself as I smooth down my new fake skin and button Gagliardi’s blouse over it. Picking up the other glove, I prepare it as I speak to my new friend again. “So, tell me. I know who sent you. I just don’t know why, yet. Care to give me a hint?”
“Fuck you.”
“Oh my, and we hardly know each other.” I squeeze my hand into the glove and carefully pull it up my arm, thinking of what I need to ask this guy. I’m sort of surprised my handler hasn’t chimed in, but maybe they’re on a coffee break or something. “Tell me this. Is she alive?”
“Who?”
I finish with my hand and slowly re-button the sleeve of Gagliardi’s blouse. Then I lean down to my captive and say, in my own voice, “You know exactly who, asshole.”
He doesn’t react to the sound of a masculine voice from this very feminine face. He doesn’t say anything at all, in fact.
“Listen, we both know I could interrogate you. Drugs, torture, the whole bit.” I’m half-lying. Not a fan of torture. Not when you can usually get a target to give up what you need with a lusty glance and a close encounter. “It’ll be so much easier if you just tell me. Somehow I doubt your plan was to kill Gagliardi and then replace her, right? If you wanted her dead, you’d want the rest of her family to know about it.”
“See? You figured it out for yourself, smart guy.”
I roll my eyes. “I’d still like to hear it from your lips. Is she alive?”
He sighs, knowing it’s pointless to keep pretending. “Yeah. She is.”
“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” I give his head a little tap like he’s a good boy. “Now. I’m going to go find your partner in playacting and see how she’s doing. Can you keep yourself occupied until I get back?”
He grunts in a vague affirmation.
“Okay then. I’d gag you, but I’m pretty sure the guard wouldn’t be interested in whatever story the naked guy trussed up like a turkey would have for him, so why not just stay quiet?”
Another grunt. I love a compliant captive. I turn on Gagliardi’s heel and strut outwards, ready for another test of my disguise.
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