As soon as I got a hold of Dante, I told him I needed to see him in person. He asked me if I could swing by his gym in Malibu; he had to be there for the next few hours. I drove as quickly as I could to Cuerpos, which was the name of his boutique gym that had gotten so popular Dante already had several celebrity clients.
Dante and I first became friendly when we worked at Crunch Fitness in West Hollywood years ago, me as a group ex instructor and he as a trainer. Both of us having roots in Colombia, we had quickly connected. I learned that he was on probation and had recently been jumped out of the Latin Devils, one of the biggest, most violent street gangs in L.A. In order to stay out of jail, he had needed to keep his job at Crunch for a year and not associate with anyone from the gang. He made it, but just barely as he spent lots of time helping his buddy Jose get jumped out of the Devils too. Unlike Dante, who was large and a great fighter, Jose was scrawny and small. He would be squashed during the jump-out unless he learned how to fight and protect himself.
Dante had spent months teaching Jose fighting techniques and Jose’s jump-out had been successful as well.
Dante and Jose were as close as ever, which was great since I could really use Jose’s expertise right now. Jose’s primary business while in the gang had been to forge documents. Surely, he could help me create the fake identity I’d need to go after Nick’s killers.
I didn’t exaggerate when I had stressed my superb instincts while pleading my case to Brady—I did have great instincts. In my first several months as a cop I hadn’t trusted them, but as time went on, I learned to do so. My instincts had often saved my ass not only as I’d gone undercover as a trainer, but especially after I returned to L.A. and was promoted to a level II detective, taking increasingly demanding cases.
My instincts told me the answer to what had happened to Nick was most likely found in New York, not in L.A., and more specifically at Nikkei Sports Club, the mega health club I had worked for to target Cardoza. Both Nick and I had spent a significant amount of time at this club; Cardoza himself had spent years there. So my plan was to head to New York and see if I could be hired as a trainer at this same club once again; then I’d work my way from there, spread my search wider depending upon how things went.
Of course, it would be much too risky going back there as Annika, the Swedish bombshell I had posed as while training Cardoza. Cardoza and his cohorts might have figured out his Swedish trainer was really an undercover agent or cop and were now looking for her. The reason I was still alive might be as simple as them not realizing this undercover cop was also Nick’s wife, Gabi Longoria. It would be like playing with fire for me to go back as Annika. I was well aware that a few of the health club members and staff had been friendly with Cardoza and his men. I couldn’t count on all of them having left the club, which meant it would only be a matter of time before the news of Annika’s return reached the wrong ears.
I parked my blue Ford Mustang in the parking lot behind Cuerpos and walked into Dante’s gym. Almost immediately, I spotted a blond starlet doing crunches with a buff trainer in a corner and another, more famous male movie star pounding a sandbag that a trainer steadied. A couple of trainers were working with clients using free weights in the middle of the gym floor, while others were on the mats along one side of the air-conditioned studio, performing floor exercises with clients.
It made me happy to see how successful Dante had become. Launching Cuerpos had been a huge risk for him. Fortunately, the small business began turning a modest profit some months after opening day, and my dear friend started to relax. When word got out how good Dante and his small staff of trainers were via a connected talent agent, Cuerpos had exploded and suddenly everyone wanted to work out there. Dante had been smart and chosen to keep his gym exclusive by not accepting every client and thereby being able to keep his prices high.
He was standing behind the small reception desk, typing on a smartphone. Wearing a sleeveless, white T-shirt, his big, muscular arms and shoulders were on full display, revealing several tattoos on smooth olive skin, most of them memories from his days as a gangbanger. He kept blowing at his long, black curls that fell into his eyes as he gazed down at his phone.
I put my hands against the top of the high reception desk and peered up at him. When he didn’t notice me and just kept typing, I said, “Oye hombre!” Hey man in Spanish.
He removed his gaze from his screen. “Gabi. Hey.”
With a face that had turned dark, he put down the phone and came around the counter. He took me in his arms and held me tight.
“I’m so, so sorry, Gabriella,” he mumbled into my hair. “I couldn’t fuckin’ believe it when I heard. I went over to your house and found out from Brady that you were at your parents, so I went there to see how you were doin’.”
“Yeah, I know. My mom told me you’d come by. Thank you.”
He kissed me on the cheek and let go of me. “That was the least I could do.” Holding on to my shoulders, he took me in with concerned eyes that were as black as his locks. “How are you, chica? You gonna make it?”
The soft tone of Dante’s voice and the way he was contemplating me, with so much compassion and fury, made my throat hurt and tears burn the insides of my eyelids. It surprised me and infuriated me at the same time. I couldn’t allow myself to get upset. I needed to focus, find Nick’s killers. I inhaled quietly and the sorrow retreated.
“I’m okay,” I replied firmly. “And I’ll be even better after you and Jose help me with what I need.”
Instantly catching on to my state of mind, Dante swung an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go outside and talk.”
We walked out and sat on a green-painted wooden bench next to the boutique gym’s entrance. Dante turned to me. “Dime.” Tell me. “Anything you need, you know I’ll take care of it. I’d be happy to kill los hijos de puta who did this to Nick. You just give me the word and I’ll make sure they’ll be begging for mercy.”
I smiled and squeezed his knee. “I know. Gracias.” Then I leaned closer and said in a low voice, “I’m not allowed to be on the team investigating Nick’s murder, so I’ve decided to do my own. I’ll leave for New York as soon as Nick’s buried to try to get a job at Nikkia as a trainer. It looks like Cardoza or someone tied to him is behind his death. I think being at Nikkia will help me find out how this happened. But I realize I can’t discount the fact that Cardoza also has figured out his Swedish trainer was involved in his takedown, which is why I need to come up with a new identity. Plus, Brady thinks that I’m going for a nice, very long paid vacation somewhere far away, and I’d like him to keep thinking that.”
Dante stroked his strong chin and nodded slowly. “You want me to tell Jose to get you a fake driver’s license and social security card?”
“You read my mind. And if it can be a driver’s license from somewhere in the Midwest, it would be even better.”
“Sure. He can do any state. Do you want me to come with you to look for these guys?”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine on my own. I’m a cop, remember? All I need is my gun and a clear mind. And a new identity.”
Dante chuckled. “Yeah, okay. I’ll assist you from here then, like the last time. Are you planning on changing the way you look too?”
“Yeah, it’s safer. I’m sure Brady will send guys to New York to see what’s up.”
“Yeah, you should change your looks as much as possible. Have you decided how to look?”
“Yeah. I’ll color my hair red but leave it wavy the way it is now but much shorter. And I’ll get light green contacts and wear thick-framed glasses. I’ll also add a beauty mark somewhere on my face and I’ll be wearing fake upper teeth. The teeth and glasses alone make me look very different. Not good, but that doesn’t matter. Anyway, that, combined with the fact that I’m now speaking with an American accent should be enough for my old coworkers not to recognize me. Hopefully not all of them are there still. You know what a high turnover there is at gyms. Either way, I’ll keep a low profile.”
“Uh-huh. Though not at Cuerpos. So far, all of my trainers are still with me.”
I patted his knee again. “That’s because you’re such an awesome boss.”
Dante broke into a pleased grin. “Ha! True, they do love me … Which they should since I pay them better than anyone else.”
“Absolutely. Do you think Jose can have it done before I leave?”
“Yeah, it’ll only take him a couple of hours. All he needs are the name and birthdate you’ll use, as well as an address. And a couple of passport photos for the driver’s license.”
It dawned on me that I couldn’t change my hair before Nick’s funeral. His real funeral this time, I thought and suddenly it was hard to breathe again. I took a deep breath to regain control of myself.
“I’ll need to have the photos taken after the funeral,” I said. “Tons of people from the LAPD will be there, so I must look like myself still.”
“No problem. Just give Jose what you can before. As long as you don’t leave straight after the funeral, he’ll have it for you.”
“Okay. I’ll book a plane for a couple of days later.”
* * *
I arrived in New York City about a week after speaking with Dante outside his gym. Jose had been as effective as promised, and I was now twenty-eight-year-old Jamie Richards from a small town in New Mexico instead of twenty-seven-year-old Gabi Longoria from L.A. I liked my new medium red, shorter do—instead of ending mid-back, my wavy locks now ended right above my shoulders. Together with the beauty mark near my mouth a la Cindy Crawford, my emerald-green eyes, the fake teeth, and square glasses, I was confident not even my fitness manager would realize I was really Swedish Annika who used to work at Nikkei less than two years ago. Joanne, my manager, was a smart cookie who didn’t suffer fools easily.
Just to get a feel for the current state of Nikkei Sports Club, I went into the club and asked to see one of the membership advisors for a guest pass.
I was relieved to discover that the petite, black woman who came out of the club’s business office to help me with my supposed membership was a complete stranger. At least I wouldn’t have to worry my new identity would be uncovered before I’d even applied for a job at the club.
I had briefly considered doing my investigation as a club member—being on paid leave, it wasn’t like I desperately needed to work—but I’d soon discarded that idea. As a trainer, no one would find it weird if I was at the club all day long, but they would if I was a member. Nikkei was the kind of place where both the staff and the members gossiped like crazy. It wouldn’t take long before everyone knew about the weird redhead with the glasses and big teeth who was always at the club, sniffing around. I didn’t need that kind of attention.
I had my guest pass in minutes and went inside the six-story health club to explore. On my way to the women’s locker room, I ran into an old client of mine, a thirty-something woman named Melissa. She looked exactly the way she had when I used to train her, tall and curvy with her glossy, brown hair in a high ponytail.
As we were about to pass each other, our eyes met. I caught myself right before my lips could spread into a big smile of recognition and I could blurt out, “Hi Melissa!” She used to be not only my favorite client, but also a friend of mine. It was really great to see her, and I hoped she was doing as well as she looked. A little jealous, I wondered who she trained with these days. If she still had a trainer.
I changed into workout gear. Wanting to stay incognito, I threw an oversized, gray sweater over my small blue top and hip-hugging, black leggings and bunched up my red tresses into a messy knot on top of my head. Then I began roaming the several floors of the huge club, taking the stairs.
I visited the third floor where the functional training area was, surprised to spot only two trainers who I used to know. It being six p.m., primetime for Nikkei during the week, the spacious workout area was filled with members working out with trainers and some on their own. Out of the seven trainers there, five were strangers and all of them looked like they had walked straight out of the pages of a glossy fitness magazine. Not that it was unusual for trainers to be very attractive—at Crunch where I used to work before becoming a cop, all trainers were gorgeous, but this was New York. The first thing I observed as I’d come to work here originally was how different it was from the West Coast. About half of the sixty trainers on staff at Nikkei were chubby and not very attractive, a quarter were okay-looking, and only the final quarter were hot like these new trainers. I’d quickly learned that, in New York, brains had ruled over beauty. Knowledgeable, experienced but fairly unattractive trainers generally did better than hot, less experienced ones.
Had that changed now? I guess I would soon find out.
I left the third floor and took the elevator up to the fourth where the fitness manager’s office was. I figured I might as well pop in and ask Joanne how to apply to become a trainer at the club, even though I was already familiar with the process. Nikkei, like most big health clubs, hired new trainers every two months because of the high turnover of staff.
I turned the corner and walked toward the glass door behind which I hoped to find Joanne. As I got there, I peeked inside, expecting to spot Asian Joanne with her curtain of shiny black hair covering most of her face as she was typing on her computer while also talking on the phone. But the person behind the desk was a tanned, well-dressed man in his late thirties, early forties with slicked-back brown hair. He appeared to be reading something on his desktop computer screen.
Where was Joanne? And who was this guy? Could I be so lucky that Joanne had been replaced as the fitness manager? That would make it easier for me to get back in. I’d expected getting past Joanne’s sharp eyes to be a hurdle, though not an insurmountable one.
Well, I might as well find out, I thought. Intuition told me to remove the big, fake upper teeth that made me look pretty unattractive before I entered; something about this guy made me think he preferred better-looking trainers. Discreetly, I removed them and hid them in my hand. Then I opened the door and stuck my head in.
“Excuse me. Is Joanne here somewhere?”
The man looked up. “Joanne is no longer with the company. May I help you?”
So she was gone then. This must be her replacement. Awesome! I decided that a ballsy approach was best; managers preferred aggressive trainers.
“Yes, if you’re the manager. I’m a trainer and am looking to work here at Nikkei.”
His deep-set, brown eyes narrowed and he took me in for a long, silent moment.
“Why don’t you come in and shut the door,” he said finally.
Tossing the teeth in a nearby trashcan first, I walked inside the small office and stopped before his desk. He kept scrutinizing me.
“Please remove those glasses and let your hair down,” he demanded as if those were perfectly normal requests. “And if you’re wearing a workout top under that baggy sweater, I’d like it if you could take that off as well.”
“Excuse me?” I said and just stared at him. I’d said I was looking to work as a trainer, not as a bathing suit model or stripper. Not even my flamboyant fitness manager back in L.A was this direct.
As though he could hear all those words going through my head, he said in a friendlier tone, “I know that was very abrupt, but I need to get a better idea of what you look like. We only hire very attractive, highly qualified trainers here at Nikkei. The business in New York has become so competitive we need to make sure we offer our members trainers who look the part in addition to being skilled trainers. So, if you want to work here, please help me get a better look at you.”
Since I was in fact wearing a workout top underneath my sweater, I removed it. I didn’t have a problem showing off my body to this guy; I was in as good a shape as I had always been. Better even, in fact, as, lately, I was leaner than before because I ran several miles per day as well as lifted weights to help me deal with the stress of losing Nick. It was either that or getting drunk or high to dull the pain that was especially noticeable when I was alone. I preferred keeping my mind clear at all times, so working out had become my analgesic of choice.
Then I pulled out the hairband and shook out my new red locks. Last, I removed my thick glasses. Thank God I had felt I should remove those ugly teeth before entering. Of course, had I known I would have to pass a hotness test, I would have put on some makeup. As it was, my face was completely bare since I’d wanted to keep a low profile. Fortunately, I had nice skin, good bone structure, naturally dark lashes and full lips, so I wasn’t a total disaster au naturel.
“Did you want me to twirl for you as well?” I asked, wishing that I hadn’t. Firing off sarcastic remarks was not a great way to win over anyone despite that I felt like a piece of cattle being assessed at an auction.
Apparently, I didn’t have to worry. Rolf—his name according to his name tag—seemed to have a sense of humor because he let out a snort, his dark eyes glittering amused.
“Sorry, I know this is awkward, but corporate will get on my case if I don’t hire good-looking trainers. So please bear with me. You clearly look the part with that killer body. With some makeup and losing those unfortunate glasses, you’ll be dynamite. As long as your resume is as good as your looks, I can get you into the most recent group of hires. We just had a couple of trainers leave unexpectedly, so your timing is perfect. Do you have your resume with you?”
“I can email it to you.”
Producing a fake fitness resume had been a piece of cake. I had all the necessary fitness certifications from when I worked at Nikkei and, being from New Mexico, it was easy to fake experience. Lots of experience.
Rolf gave me his card and told me to send it to his email address. Then he extended his hand and, giving me a bright smile, introduced himself finally. I told him my name was Jamie.
“Well, Jamie. If you have the right credentials and are willing to work on your look, I may be able to hire you. As soon as I get your resume, I’ll run it by human resources and let you know. It would be great if you could get it in by the end of the day.”
“Will do. Thanks a lot!” With those words, I grabbed my sweater and left Rolf’s office, feeling confident I’d be a trainer at Nikkei in the next few days.