by Mia Ford
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.”
“Think we can turn her?” Ed asked.
Lester shook his head. “No, she would let you cut off her arms and legs before turning on Patsy O’Connor.” He turned to look at the rest of us. “But, she also has cancer and wants to retire. Word is, Patsy is gonna set her up in a condo in Tampa and pay her a nice retirement for her many years of devoted service.”
“And sucking his pudgy dick under the desk,” Joanie said.
“I don’t know about that,” Lester said, wincing, shaking his head at her. “What I do know is they will probably be looking for a replacement for her. This may be our chance to finally get someone on the inside.”
Ed leaned an elbow on the podium and propped his chin in his fist. “The question is, how do we go about it? I seriously doubt they’re gonna run an ad in the Times for a secretary.”
“I know,” Lester said. “Something to keep in mind, though.”
“Okay, then that’s it,” Ed said. He looked at his watch and glanced around the room. “I don’t have to tell you guys this, but we are coming down to the wire on this one. If we don’t find a way to crack O’Connor’s nuts by the end of the month, the powers that be may shut the operation down.”
I picked up my coffee cup and waited for the others to filter out of the room. I walked to the whiteboard and finished my coffee as I stared into the beautiful eyes of Sean O’Connor.
Something told me that he was the way into the organization.
And that it was up to me to convince him to let us in.
Chapter 2: Sean O’Connor
The perks of owning a piece of the hottest dance club in the city were many. There was the free booze, which someone was paying for but it was not me. There was the free food, not exactly gourmet faire but as good as any burger joint in the city. And then there was the free pussy. Or maybe I should say the plentiful pussy. I always came into The White Rabbit knowing that I was gonna get buzzed and fed and blown and not spend a dime. And if I wanted, I could just as easily get laid, all without ever leaving the building. It was like owning a little piece of heaven.
I had my own VIP table. When I wasn’t there they let celebrities and other equally important people sit there. Soon as I showed up, though, they’d clear out the table for me.
I’m not a total dick. I’d usually let whoever was sitting there first hang out, especially if they were a smoking hot chick or had the ability to attract smoking hot chicks, like the night that actor with the name I can’t pronounce hung around.
The White Rabbit was a goddam meat market on steroids.
And I fucking loved the place.
I was doing my best to hold a conversation with my old man while a sweet young thing with teased up red hair and perfect tits gave me a blowjob in the back stall of the men’s room.
She was sitting on the toilet with her dressed push down to her waist so her tits could flop free. I was reaching down to rub her titties with my cellphone propped between my shoulder and cheek. I squeezed her nipples and tried to listen to my old man’s voice in my ear.
My pants were down around my knees and I was facing her with my back pressed against the stall door. She was digging her fingernails into my ass and bobbing her mouth on my cock like one of those bobble-head dolls. She’d gag a little each time the head of my long cock hit the back of her throat.
I reached up to put my hand over the phone and barked down at her. “Don’t get anything on my clothes,” I said. She hummed an okay and kept sucking.
I held the phone to my ear. “So, dad, what were you saying?”
My dad’s gravelly voice boomed in my ear. Why is it that old people feel like they have to yell into the fucking phone? I’m not deaf, for petesake. I’m just… distracted.
“Boozie wants to retire,” he said. There was a hint of alarm in his voice I’d never heard before. He and Boozie had been carrying on for nearly forty years behind my mother’s back. Well, that’s not exactly true. Mom always knew what the old man was doing, but found solace in his American Express black card.
The thing with Boozie was that my old man really cared for her, unlike the string of hundreds of other women he’d fucked over the years. If he hadn’t married my mother, I was pretty sure I’d be calling Boozie “Mom”.
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“Dad, she has cancer,” I said, trying to keep my breathing steady even though sweet thing was sucking my cock like there was no tomorrow. She cupped my balls with her left hand and pumped the shaft with the right, keeping the bulbous head firmly suctioned between her lips.
“I know that, goddammit,” dad said. “But Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, Boozie practically runs this place. What the fuck are we gonna do without her?”
“We’ll… shit… find a replacement.”
“What the fuck’s going on there?” he asked. “Are you fucking somebody?”
“No… dad… not fucking…”
“Jesus, Sean, can you fucking concentrate for two goddamn minutes?”
I was close to cumming in sweet thing’s mouth. I said, “Yeah… dad… hold on… just a… second.”
I put my hand over the phone and gritted my teeth. Sweet thing’s hand pumped the shaft of my cock with lightning speed. I curled my toes and squeezed my eyes shut and shot my load into her mouth. She took it like a champ. She sucked and pumped and sucked until there was nothing left for me to give. She hummed as she held my cock steady between her hands and licked it clean.
“That was awesome,” she said, cleaning the corners of her lips with her fingertips.
“Yes, it was,” I said, tugging up my pants as she pulled her dress up over her tits. I stepped aside to let her open the door. She tried to kiss me as she passed, but I turned my head and shook my head. I had no desire to taste my own jizz. She shrugged, then hooked her fingers in the sides of her dress to pull it in place and shimmied past me.
“I’ll be back at the table,” she said.
“Great,” I said. “See if anybody has a breath mint.”
I shut and locked the door, then sat on the toilet to take a nice after blowjob piss and talk to my old man.
“So, dad, we’ll find someone to take Boozie’s place,” I said. “Leave it to me.”
“Okay, if you’re sure,” he said with a heavy sigh. He sounded old and tired. “Just make sure it’s someone we can trust. You know the feds are still sniffing around.”
My dad had a contact on the inside of every law enforcement organization in the city. He knew who was sniffing around, what they were sniffing around for, and who he had to pay to make things go away.
“Dad, just get some rest. I’ll start looking around for Boozie’s replacement tomorrow.”
“Okay, son, good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay, dad, goodnight.”
I slid the cellphone into the inside pocket of my jacket and braced my elbows on my knees to finish pissing.
I’d already set up a place in Tampa for Boozie and she’d get a nice monthly retirement payment deposited directly into her bank account until the day she died.
The old bat would make more in retirement than 99% of other Americans made slaving at their day job. I guess it was fair payment for putting up with my old man all these years.
Hell, I’d only known him thirty-five years and most days, I could barely stand to be around him. I couldn’t imagine being fucked by him for forty years.
Chapter 3: Claire
How does one go from being an undercover Vice cop to being a member of the Organized Crime Task Force? Well, if you ask the other assholes on the team they’ll tell you that I slept my way to the top, to which I reply: if you think this is the fucking top, you need to raise the bar considerably.
This ain’t the top, bitches.
Shit, this ain’t even the middle.
And I’d never fuck anybody just to get a job, even if that body was my hot ex-husband who knew exactly how to make my toes curl.
I graduated from NYU with a Bachelor’s Degree in Criminal Justice. It was my intention to go on to graduate school, then to law school to become a prosecuting attorney. I had too high of a moral compass to be a defense lawyer. If I knew someone was guilty, I couldn’t defend them, regardless of how deep their pockets were or how entitled they were to a good defense.
I wasn’t interested in private or corporate law, though that’s where the money was. I wanted to prosecute bad guys. I wanted to do my part in making the world a safer place.
I decided to take a break from college when I was offered a job with the Police Department. They were recruiting recent grads and one of my professors told me getting a year or two of police work under my garter belt would help me get a better handle on the justice system, which would ultimately make me a better prosecutor.
So, I entered the police academy at age twenty-two. I wasn’t crazy about the uniform or some of the good old boys I had to deal with, but there was one instructor that caught my attention right out of the gate.
Sergeant Ed Henry was tall, lean, and handsome, with little wire-rimmed glasses that slid down to the tip of his elegant nose as he spoke. He looked so handsome in his black uniform. He had broad shoulders and long legs. And when he stood just right I could tell that he was packing much more than the Glock 17 that was holstered on his hip.
He caught my eye one day and I caught his and that was all she wrote. We had a drink after class, which led to another drink and then another. Which led to a wild make-out session in the back seat of his squad car. Which led to a weekend of fucking and sucking and doing anything and everything two young horny people could do to one another. I came away from that weekend with a sore cooch and sore nipples and handcuff scrapes on my wrist. Christ, it was fun.
I should have known better than to hook up with a fellow cop, especially one who had the reputation that Ed did, but the heart (pussy) wants what the heart (pussy) wants. I knew he was fucking other women, but so long as he came home to me that was all right. I figured he would be faithful when we got married. Till then, let him sow his wild oats.
Ed and I kept our affair secret until I graduated the academy and was assigned to a precinct downtown. Shortly thereafter, he was promoted to lieutenant and assigned to homicide uptown.
We mainly saw each other on weekends, then on a whim a few months later, we flew to Vegas, got shitfaced drunk, and got married at the Elvis Chapel of Burning Love.
Our marriage was tumultuous, to say the least. We both worked long, grueling hours, and to my surprise (okay, maybe not that much of a surprise) Ed continued sleeping with half the women on the force and had the other half waiting for him.
He looked a lot like Scott Glenn in Silence of the Lambs.
He had these brooding eyes and Kennedy jawline. And he was a freakin’ acrobat in the bedroom. I swear, he would pick me up and twist me around like a pretzel and have his cock in one end of me and his fingers in the other.
We had amazing Kama Sutra level sex. Too bad it wasn’t good enough to save the marriage. We separated after two years, then finally got around to divorcing a year later.
Because of my degree, I was able to fast track to detective after just two years in uniform. I got my shield and was assigned to Vice.
If you don’t know what Vice means in police terms, it’s the division that deals with fun stuff, those human vices that someone at some point deemed immoral, illegal or not in the best interest of the community.
Things like gambling, prostitution, drug use, or pornography typically fall under the heading of Vice.
I always thought they should have called it the Department of Beating Your Fucking Head Against the Wall because that’s what it felt like we were doing most of the time.
You bust one hooker and two more pop up.
You break up one gambling ring over here and three more pop up over there.
You bust one guy for pornography and ten of his perverted buddies come out of the woodwork.
I hated working in Vice, mainly because the rumor was I had been hired for my physical attributes rather than by brain and investigative talents. I’m tall, with long legs, big tits and a round ass you could bounce a quarter off of (that’s what Ed used to say, though I’m still not sure what it means).
“Next time we need someone to go undercover as a hoo
ker, get McAfee to do it,” one wise ass said in the morning meeting. I introduced his balls to my knee after the meeting, an act that didn’t score me too many points with the boys in the squad, but was applauded by the two other females unfortunate enough to work there.
I also felt sorry for most of the girls we busted for prostitution. Most of them were runaways or castoffs that were peddling pussy because it was the only way they had to survive.
Some of them reminded me of me in my younger days. Without ambition and the chance to do something with it, there but for the grace of God go I.
And I would have made a lousy prostitute.
I love a good cock as well as the next gal, but I don’t have the patience to dicker over price and terms, no pun intended.
So, I put my head down and did the best job I could as a Vice cop. And yes, I did put on a tight halter top, stiletto heels, pancake makeup, and a miniskirt that barely covered my ass a few times to go undercover.
And though I’d never admit it to anyone, I did like how sexy wearing those slutty clothes made me feel.
And I liked how men would literally stare at me with their mouths hanging open when they saw my big tits struggling to break free of the halter and my round ass hiking up the miniskirt.
And my long legs, toned from running three miles a day, looked fucking killer in the fishnet stockings.
I stopped by Ed’s place wearing the outfit one night, and even though we were still angry from the divorce, he dragged me into the bedroom and we had the best sex of our entire relationship.
Ed just pushed the halter down around my waist so he could get to my big tits and lifted the miniskirt up over my ass. He had my panties off before I even knew what was happening. Then he bent me over and fucked me from behind while I held on to my ankles and tried not to scream.
I remember looking up between my legs, seeing his long cock sliding in and out of my dripping pussy, his balls dangling and slapping against me. I couldn’t resist reaching up and hanging on to his balls as he jackhammered into me. Like I said, Ed was a cheating asshole, but the Kama Sutra had nothing on us.