by Mia Ford
Along with the offices, there was a small kitchen, a single bathroom and shower, and a storage closet that held nothing more than office supplies.
There was a conference room where The Three Stooges hung out. The Three Stooges were two stick-thin Irishmen named Danny and Doug O’Malley, and a fat Italian who always smelled like garlic named Freddy Manicotti.
The Stooges had been friends of dad’s since grade school. Back in the day they were his muscle, his collectors, his enforcers. All that shit stopped when I came onboard. No more broken legs, no more extorting protection money, no more loan sharking.
I had wanted to fire The Stooges but dad wouldn’t hear of it. They were all old and fat, he said. Who was gonna hire them to do an honest day’s work? So, they sat in the conference room all day, drinking coffee and eating bear claws, collecting paychecks for doing nothing more than being dad’s old pals.
There is no more loyal a soul on earth than my dad, at least until you cross him or piss him off.
I knew the feds could raid the warehouse at any time, so I made damn sure there was nothing on the premises that could get us in trouble. Every pallet and every storage container held legal goods. The illegal goods were stored somewhere else and I didn’t have a clue where that was. That was dad’s bucket of shit to deal with, not mine.
“You find a replacement for Boozie yet?” dad asked, leaning in my doorway with a mug of steaming coffee in his hand. Back in the day, there was no one tougher than Patsy O’Connor. Now, he was a fat old man who huffed when he came up the stairs.
He was almost sixty-eight now. He had put on a lot of weight and was showing the tell tail signs of a long-term drinker. He had thick bags under his eyes and tiny purple veins lining his cheeks and bulbous nose. The middle drawer of his desk looked like a pharmacy. He lined up the pills every morning and choked them down with a cup of coffee and a shot of whiskey.
I found it amusing and a little sad that he was so concerned that Boozie’s transition from secretary and mistress to woman of leisure in Tampa cause her as little trouble as possible.
“I’m calling an agency now,” I said as I set my coffee cup on the desk and switched on my computer. “I’ll get someone in as quickly as possible.”
“Make sure they’re legit,” dad said, wagging a thick finger at me. “Check references, do a background investigation.”
“Dad, she will answer the phone and type,” I said, holding out my hands. “She will not be privy to your secrets the way Boozie was.”
“Does that mean I can’t bone her?” he asked, grinning at me. Dad always had a gap between his front teeth that he stuck his tongue in when he grinned.
“Mom probably wouldn’t like that,” I said, fingers tapping computer keys to pull up my contact list. I had an associate who owned a staffing agency. I’d call him to send over a few women to interview. I looked up at him and smiled. “Besides, your days of boning the help are over. That’s my job now.”
He chuckled at me. “Yeah, like you have to time to fuck the help here.”
I picked up my coffee cup and gave him a frown. “What does that mean?”
He let his round shoulders go up and down. “I hear rumors.”
“Such as?”
“Word is you’re turning The White Rabbit into your own little playground,” he said. He brought the cup to his lips and blew a cooling breath across the steaming surface and judged me with his eyes. “Fucking girls in the restrooms. Blowjobs under the VIP table. Big bar tab every night.”
I gave him a smile. “So? Is that wrong? We do own a piece of it, you know.”
His bushy eyebrows furrowed over his dark eyes. “Irish Dan owns a bigger piece of it,” he said, referring to Dan Reardon, one of his old pals who truly fit the notorious Irish gangster mold. “He would appreciate it if you found another place to hang out if all you’re there for is to fuck the paying customers.”
“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m butt-fucking Irish Dan’s daughter in the men’s room,” I said, picking up the phone.
“Jesus, boy, I hope you’re joking,” he said, shaking his head and making the sign of the cross on his chest. “You don’t fuck with Irish Dan. If he thought you were screwing his daughter he would personally chop off your dick and shove it down your throat.”
“I’ll remember that the next time she asks me to come to the restroom with her,” I said, offering him a smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find you a new secretary.”
Chapter 5: Claire
“What’s up?” I asked as I walked into Ed’s office and took a seat in front of his desk. Lou, Lester, and Joanie were already there, as was Danzig, who was standing next to Ed’s desk with his thick arms crossed over his chest. I caught Danzig eyeing by boobs as I sat down. I was wearing an open-collared white blouse beneath a short black jacket. I guess his vantage point gave him a quick look down my shirt as I sat down.
Danzig was such a perv. A young, very hot perv, but a perv nonetheless. I liked the way he looked in his tight t-shirts and often admired the bulge in the front of his tight jeans, but that was as far as the attraction went. He was not my type. Too many muscles, too much ego.
“Have a seat,” Ed said, sitting behind his desk, stapling his fingers to his chin. He directed Danzig to shut the door. “We might have a way into O’Connor’s organization.” He looked at me and smiled. “Do you still have that old outfit you wore during your Vice undercover days?”
“Oh lord,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Let me guess. You want me to be a dancer at The White Rabbit.”
“Close, but no,” Ed said with a contagious smile. The others grinned like they were all in on a joke I wasn’t privy to. “Remember in yesterday’s meeting, we talked about Boozie Hamilton wanting to retire? According to Lester’s source on the inside, she’d headed to Tampa for good this weekend.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, our wiretap picked up a call this morning,” Ed said, leaning his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers together. “Sean O’Connor placed a call to a company called Allied Staffing and asked them to send out a few candidates to replace Boozie.”
I frowned at Ed. “Why would he do that?”
Ed frowned back at me. “What do you mean?”
“I mean why would he be so careless as to just hire her replacement from a staffing agency?” I asked. I glanced over at Lester, who was sitting on the other side of Lou picking at his fingernails. “According to your source, Lester, Boozie was a key advisor to Patsy O’Connor and knew every nuance of the business.”
“We don’t think Boozie’s replacement is going to have the same level of access,” Ed said. “This is just a straight secretarial position, someone to answer the phone and do some typing. I guess Sean O’Connor isn’t too worried about this new person getting into anything they aren’t supposed to, although they probably would have access to files, computers, emails.”
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.”
Chapter 6: 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.
“Mr. O’Connor?” She was carrying a folder in her left hand. With her right hand, she stuck out her thumb and pointed it toward Boozie’s desk. “The lady told me to just come on back. I hope that’s all right.”
“Yes, it is,” I said, smiling as I came around the desk with my hand out. “Please, come in.”
The timidity left her lips and she smiled. She slid her hand into mine and I gave it a little shake. Her hand was warm and soft. I sniffed the air between us. She smelled of soap and lilacs. I looked down at our joined hands. I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t want to let it go. I hung on to her hand until he gently tugged it away.
“Please,” I said, directing her to the chair in front of my desk. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Soda? A glass of wine, perhaps.”
She gave me a funny look and I shook my head. “Sorry, I mean, please, have a seat.”
She sat down and made a production out of crossing her long legs. She laced her fingers around her knee. I sat behind the desk and tried not to look like a total idiot. I was usually Joe Cool around the ladies. This one had me a little frazzled, probably because I’d never expected a woman like her to walk through my door.
I worked up my best professional smile and nodded at the folder she was holding. “So, did you bring a resume, Miss…”
“Goodman. Claire Goodman,” she said formally. She opened the folder and took out a single sheet of paper and slid it across the desk to me.
“Fine, just let me take a look,” I said, picking up the resume and pretending to read it. I was having a hard time concentrating. She was just so… distracting, without even meaning to be.
Most of the women in my life were gold diggers and party girls I met at The White Rabbit or late night tittie bars. I could not tell you the last time I had a real conversation with a real woman.
My conversations usually go something like, “You wanna drink? You wanna blow me? You wanna fuck?”
I wondered Claire Goodman would respond to such tawdry lines. Not very well, I suspected.
“I have an Associate’s degree in business management, and I’ve done secretarial and administrative work for several years,” she said. “My last job was with Global Exports, so I’m pretty familiar with your industry. Before that, I worked for the city in the transit department. There are references from both places at the bottom there”
“Yes, yes, I see,” I said, frowning as if in thought. Global Exports was a small fry operation in Jersey and I couldn’t give a shit what anyone who worked for the city had to say. I forced my eyes to focus on the paper rather than her cleavage, which kept pulling at my eye like a magnet to steel. I looked up from the resume and smiled. “This looks very good. You seem well qualified.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m very good with computers and most Office programs. I’m also very good at time management, organization, scheduling…” She leaned into the desk and batted her eyelashes at me. “I also make a mean banana muffin.”
“I do love banana muffins,” I said. I kept smiling. I couldn’t stop smiling. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off my face.
This girl was like a breath of fresh air, something this place – and my stale life -- could sorely use. I picked up her resume and pretended to read it again like I was rechecking some important point. Without looking at her, I asked, “So if you were chosen for the position (I’d like to choose a position for her) when could you start?”
“Well, since it’s already Friday afternoon, how about Monday?” she suggested, her pretty brow furrowed in thought.
“Monday will be fine,” I said, still staring at the resume without actually reading a word. “Are you busy tonight?”
I glanced up to find her frowning at me. A look of caution washed over her pretty face. “I’m sorry?”
I held up a hand and shook my head. “Let me rephrase that,” I said. “We’re having a little company get together tonight at my place. Sort of a going away party for the lady you’ll be replacing. I thought it might be a good chance for you to meet the rest of the crew before you start work Monday.”
Her smiled returned. Her eyes sparkled. “So, I got the job?”
I stood up and stuck out my hand again. �
�Miss Goodman, welcome to the team.”
Chapter 7: Claire
Despite Ed’s argument to do so, I decided not to go to the interview with Sean O’Connor dressed like a whore. I did pull the miniskirt and red halter top out of the closet and tried them on, and I did look smoking hot thank you very much, but something told me that Sean wasn’t going to hire me based on the size of my tits and the bounce of my ass. He might want to fuck me, yes, but would he want me working for him dressed like that? I didn’t think so.
Everything I knew about Sean O’Connor told me that, when he wasn’t whoring in the clubs, he was the ultimate professional in the office. I would dress like a slut if I was approaching him at a club, but not at his office.
So, I compromised and wore a professional gray suit which fit me perfectly in all the right places without being overtly slutty.
I did pin the pencil skirt up a couple of inches so it fell mid-thigh rather than at my knees. The way Sean was checking me out when I walked into the office told me I’d made the right decision to make.
The interview went faster than expected and better than I’d hoped. The fake resume worked like a charm and Sean was clearly flirting with me throughout the interview. If he had called the references listed there he would have been told what a valuable addition I would be to his team, but I knew he wouldn’t bother. I had the job. I knew it the moment I sat down and my eyes locked with his.
I also knew that we were beginning what would be a very interesting relationship. I couldn’t explain it, but I could just feel it in my bones.
With any luck, I could join his little team, hack into the office computers, and find evidence we could use to bring Sean and Patsy O’Connor’s playhouse tumbling down.
Sean said he would text me his address and looked forward to seeing me around eight. I thanked him for the opportunity to work with him, shook his hand, and tried not to click my heels together as I left the room.