The Spectral Agent - Chapter 9 - Text

Compression socks, canes, and adult diapers aren’t what Viktor expected from a criminal empire

The Spectral Agent is my first full-length novel and an experiment.

Ed the Editor

and I are independent creators, publishing chapter by chapter: podcast first, then text. It’s designed to be heard. We’d love to receive your feedback so we can tell stories better.

Start at Chapter 1 or find where you left off.

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Listen to the story here.

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In the previous chapter:

I met Lenny at a diner to push the next phase of my plan. If I’m going to find out what the gang’s really doing with this so-called psychic kid, I need to get inside.

Lenny didn’t like the idea, but I gave him no choice. He’s vouching for me—and if this goes wrong, we both go down.

Chai spouted some words of wisdom.

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I arrived to meet Lenny on the sidewalk just as it started to rain. Dark clouds hid the sunset, and a crack of lightning lit up the sky. Lenny hurried inside. I enjoyed the rain, but I followed him in.

The automatic doors dinged pleasantly as we stepped inside. Crisp air washed over us, tinged with alcohol wipes and plastic packaging. Smooth jazz drifted from overhead. Under bright LEDs, everything gleamed. Sharp, white walls framed rows of mobility scooters and canes. Rows of shelves displayed pill organizers and glucose monitors.

A medical supply store. Not your typical gang front. It didn’t match the grungy aesthetic I was used to.

“Wait here,” Lenny said, flicking a hand at me. He headed straight to a counter, behind which stood several rows of shelves with neatly stacked pill bottles. He leaned in to speak with a woman in a white coat—likely the pharmacist—his voice low and serious.

I drifted toward a rack of compression socks and therapeutic knee braces.

“Wow,” Chai said, appearing beside me with a mock gasp. “Ruthless underworld vibes. I mean, just look at all these adult diapers.”

I kept scanning the store and replied, "This isn't what I expected. Is this really a front for the gang?"

"High-ticket items, old people paying with cash. This is a perfect place to launder money," Chai said.

"You seem very excited about the potential. Sometimes I forget you're a criminal."

"Don't be a buzz kill, man. If you're gonna go undercover, you've got to get into their minds."

“I’ve already got enough people in my mind,” I quietly muttered, passing someone who looked old enough to be my great-grandfather.

“Don’t worry,” Chai advised. “They talk to themselves, too. You’ll blend right in.” He motioned his arms at the store. “Face it, Viktor, this place isn’t a front. It’s a gold mine.”

“Excuse me, young man?” a voice interrupted.

I turned to see a hunched woman squinting at me.

“Would you help me reach the anti-fungal cream? It’s just past the stool softener.”

Chai grinned. This woman had to be really short to ask me to reach for something. I cleared my throat, stepped over, and plucked the box from the shelf. “Here,” I said, handing it to her.

She looked at it, then at me. “This isn’t the good one. I need the kind with the tingle.”

Chai vibrated with restrained laughter. “Tell her you’re here to infiltrate a gang, not sell foot cream.”

What did tingly mean? I grabbed a minty-looking box and handed it over. She gave a slow, approving nod.

"You look quite pale, you might want to try some of this," she said, handing me iron supplements. "You'll need to add fiber to keep your bowel movements regular, too".

"Viktor, you're really starting to—" Chai gasped with laughter "—blend in with this gang."

Lenny’s voice called out across the store. “We’re good.” He waved me over. I stepped past the rows of back braces and orthopedic shoes.

Just before we reached the back hallway, he leaned in. “This is it,” he said, voice tight with tension. “Don’t screw this up.”

The mood changed as soon as we crossed the threshold.

The floors were polished, shining under sterile, blinding white light. We passed wire cages filled with sealed plastic barrels, stainless steel fridges, and racks of equipment I couldn’t identify.

Definitely not your average pharmacy stock room.

“Looks a little high-end for grandmas,” I muttered.

Lenny gave me a glance. “Don’t ask questions.”

We kept walking.

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Off a loading dock, behind the supply racks, was where the real business was done. The space still smelled of antiseptic, but it was not filled with drugs for Grandma. Boxes lined the walls, and stainless steel tables divided the room. I expected to see digital scales for this type of operation, but what I didn't expect to see were the microscopes.