Danzig spoke up. “As best we can tell, Sean has moved all illegal ops away from the offices at the warehouse. He’s a sharp motherfucker. Since he took over he has managed to insulate his father and himself pretty well.”
“So why are we still busting our hump trying to convict Patsy O’Connor of anything?” Joanie asked in her bored lesbian tone. “I think we’ve missed the opportunity to catch him with his hand in the cookie jar.”
“There are just more cookie jars now,” Ed said. “And Sean has tightened the lids on them. Just because they’re harder to find, doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Patsy O’Connor is a career criminal. He can’t quit breaking the law. It’s just not in his DNA.”
“My source says they’re still moving several millions of dollars in counterfeit goods every week through the docks,” Lester said.
“If your source is so sure, why doesn’t he give us something we can use to get a warrant?” Danzig asked as if he didn’t believe the source was as good as Lester claimed.
“He’s not in the loop anymore since Sean took over,” Lester said with a shrug of his narrow shoulders. “He said the bees are still buzzing, he just doesn’t know where the hive is.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?” Danzig asked.
“It means go fuck yourself,” Joanie chimed in. She frowned at Lester. “You been talking about this source of yours for weeks. Who is he?”
Lester shifted uneasily in his seat. “An anonymous voice on the phone.”
“You mean like Deep Throat?” I asked, referring to the White House mole from the old movie All The President’s Men.
Lester gave me the “go fuck you” look he usually reserved for Danzig and Joanie. He clenched his jaws and glanced at Ed.
“The source is anonymous, but he has given us intel that we checked out to prove he is an insider at O’Connor,” Ed said, holding up a hand to shut us up. “Let’s get back on point.”
He let his eyes go around the room, like a teacher daring his classroom to say another word.
He said, “I have already talked to the owner at the staffing agency that Sean O’Connor called. He has agreed to help us.”
“How?” I asked warily, knowing by the look on Ed’s face that it would somehow involve me.
“He is going to let us send someone out to interview for the job,” Ed said, tilting his head to look at me from beneath his eyebrows. “So, I’ll ask again. Claire, do you still have that outfit you used to wear when you were undercover in Vice.”
I huffed out a sigh. “Yes.”
“Good,” he said, handing me a resume for someone named Claire Goodman. “Your interview is at three with Sean O’Connor at the warehouse. Do your best to get the job.”
Sean
I fucking hated interview potential employees, especially potential employees who were so unbelievably unqualified that I had to wonder what the staffing company was thinking in sending them over. I had one more interview to do and if that one was a bust, I’d just give Boozie’s idiot niece the job, which is what dad wanted to do in the first place.
Boozie’s niece Little Boots (dad gave her the nickname and I have no idea what it even means) was even higher on the dumb blonde scale than her aunt, but she had a set of killer tits and a bubble ass and called dad “Uncle Patsy” and would probably suck his cock every morning as he drank his coffee if the old man asked.
I think dad was thinking he would just slide Little Boots (I had no idea what her real name was) into Boozie’s old place and take up with her where he and Boozie left off. A younger, sleeker, cheaper model.
I rubbed my eyes and blew out a long breath. I kept telling dad that times had changed. We didn’t need a guard dog at the front desk like the old days when his shady business pals came and went with regularity. We just needed someone to answer phones, do some filing and typing, get coffee, run errands and keep the place organized. I’d do my whoring at The White Rabbit and dad could go home and fuck the housekeeper.
Or mom.
We didn’t need to do it in the office anymore.
The office was for business, not for fun.
Then I saw her standing outside my office door and all thoughts of celibacy in the office went out the window. She was tall, with short dark hair and dark eyes, wearing a gray jacket and skirt that hugged her round hips and was cut just a hair longer than a miniskirt.
She had on a black camisole under the short gray jacket that showed off just enough cleavage to make my mouth water. Her face was perfect; big eyes, plump lips, a turned-up nose, and barely any makeup because she didn’t
need it.
Her legs were long and toned and tapered into a pair of perfect ankles. She wore a pair of black heels that showed off her bright red toenails. She tapped lightly at the doorframe and gave me a timid smile.