“Guilty as charged,” Joanie said, sticking out her tongue and running it across her lips. She held up a hand and Danzig slapped his palm against it.
“Guys, please,” Ed said. He held out his hands to me. “Claire, go on for those who are not up to speed on Sean O’Connor.”
I spoke without turning around to face the uniforms sitting behind us. “Sean O’Connor spends his nights drinking in the club’s VIP area and entertaining women with questionable morals and even more questionable taste in clothes.” I nodded at the back of Danzig’s buzzed head. “I think it might be a good idea to send someone to the club to have a look around and talk to the girls, just to see if they have anything to say about Sean.”
“Can’t hurt,” Ed said, pointing a finger at me, then at Danzig. “You and Danzig check it out.”
“Why do I have to go?” I asked.
“Because it was your idea,” Ed said.
“Fuck,” I sighed. “I hate disco music.”
“You’re not going to dance,” Ed said as he stepped behind the podium to look over his notes before moving on.
Danzig glanced over his round shoulder at me and grinned. “You and me, girlfriend. Wear something sexy and we’ll see where the night leads.”
“If I’m with you I’m pretty sure it will lead to vomiting,” I said, picking up my cup of now-cold coffee.
Lou Santiago, arguably the team member with the largest brain and the smallest sense of humor, leaned forward on his elbows and narrowed his eyes at the photograph of Sean O’Connor.
“Surely there’s dirt to be found on this guy somewhere,” Lou said. “You don’t grow up the only son of Patsy O’Connor and not have shit on your hands.”
“If there’s shit there, I can’t find it,” I said with a deep sigh.
The cop named Saunders spoke up again. I didn’t know if this guy was bucking to become a permanent member of the team or just shooting off his mouth. He asked, “Can you tell us what you do know about him?”
“Sure.” I proceeded to rattle off everything I knew about Sean O’Connor. I didn’t need my notes. I had this guy’s life memorized front, back, and sideways.
“Sean O’Connor, age 35, single, never married, only son of Patrick and Corinne O’Connor. High school football star, graduated with near perfect ACT scores, full academic scholarship to NYU, graduated in 2006 with a law degree from Harvard. Had offers from a number of big firms, but turned them all down to became his father’s personal attorney and corporate counsel at O’Connor Import & Export. He has never gotten so much as a speeding ticket. Like I said, if he wasn’t working for a known criminal organization, the guy would be so fucking clean he squeaks.”
“And that’s what makes him the key to all this,” Ed said, turning to the white board and tapping a finger to Sean O’Connor’s photograph. “This guy could have gone to a big firm right out of school and would be knocking
back two or three mill a year by now. Why would a guy who’s so fucking clean he squeaks go to work for a scum ball like Patsy O’Connor?”
“Because that scum ball is his father,” I said. “It’s the only reason I can think of, unless he’s a criminal at heart like his old man.”
“I don’t buy that,” Ed said. “We have no indication he’s a criminal regardless of his genes. He could be making way more in the private sector. We have access to his bank accounts. He’s doing well working for his old man, but nothing like he could do in a big firm.”
Lou chimed in again. “Maybe he’s trying to protect his old man.”
Ed folded his arms over his chest. “Meaning?”
“Maybe he’s trying to keep his old man out of jail while he tries to also legitimize the operation,” Lou said with a thoughtful shrug. “If it’s not about the money and the guy’s not a criminal, what else could it be?”
“Interesting angle,” Ed said, rubbing a knuckle over his chin. He looked at me. “Claire? Thoughts?”
“It’s a possibility,” I said. I liked the thought of Sean O’Connor not being a criminal. It would have been such a waste of hot human flesh to lock him up for twenty years. “A lot of the overtly criminal activities seemed to cease operations about the time Sean came onboard. They got out of extortion and loan sharking and seemingly started focusing solely on the import and export business.”
“Which we suspect is still one of the largest smuggling operations on the east coast,” Ed said. “Which keeps them squarely on our radar, regardless of how much of a choir boy Sean O’Connor appears to be.”
Lester Shanahan, who had sat listening quietly since the meeting began, cleared his throat and held up his hand like a kid in class.
“I may have a way in,” he said, flipping through the pages of the tattered notebook he always seemed to have in his hand. “According to a source of mine, Boozie Hamilton wants to retire.”
Joanie snorted. “Boozie? Who the fuck is Boozie?”
Lester gave her a hard look. “Boozie Hamilton has been Patsy O’Connor’s secretary and mistress for forty years,” he said. “She probably knows more about Patsy’s operation than Patsy himself.”