by Mia Ford
By the time we arrived at the police station, Tim was already there, waiting with a confident look on his face and his briefcase in hand. He demanded that dad and I be put into separate interrogation rooms, and gave the cops strict instructions that no one was to speak to either of us without him present. The officer in charge clearly knew better than to fuck with Tim because he grunted orders to a couple of uniformed cops and I was put in one interrogation room and dad in another. The Stooges and the warehouse workers were put in a holding cell all together.
Thirty minutes later, I was sitting next to Tim in the small interrogation room with my hands free and an unopened bottle of water on the table in front of me. I guess they figured that I was going to be doing a lot of talking and would need to wet my whistle. They were sorely mistaken.
Across the table from Tim and I was a detective in an ill-fitting gray suit who identified himself as Lieutenant Ed Henry of the Organized Crime Task Force. Next to him was a lanky Irish cop named Lester Shanahan.
I recognized his nasally voice immediately, but he didn’t recognize mine. Each time we had talked I had used a digital voice changer on a burner phone. He had no clue he was talking to his inside man; his source. He would never know it was me feeding him little tidbits of information for the last few months.
“So, Lieutenant Henry,” Tim began, folding his manicured hands together on the table in front of him. “What are the charges?”
Ed Henry crossed his arms over his chest and gave Tim a smug look, then directed his dark eyes at me.
“Well, let’s see. We have a warehouse full of counterfeit designer merchandise,” he said arrogantly. “Your client and his father were onsite, directing the operation. We found filing cabinets full of fake bills of lading going back thirty years signed by Patsy O’Connor. And I’m pretty sure we can trace ownership of the warehouse back to your client or his father. And I expect the worker bees we brought in will be more than willing to testify that they were working for the O’Connor family, once they find themselves facing five years in the state pen for smuggling and distributing counterfeit goods.”
Tim listened quietly, then spread his hands. “Is that it?”
Henry glanced at Shanahan, then gave Tim a frown. “Isn’t that enough?”
Tim smiled and opened his briefcase. He brought out a single slip of paper and lay it on the table facing the two cops. At the top of the page was the letterhead for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. At the bottom of the page was the signature of F. Lee Bradley, Assistant Director, FBI, New York Division.
“What the fuck is this?” Henry said, picking up the paper and frowning as he read the words between the logo and the signature. His face flushed blood red as he handed the paper to Shanahan.
“This is bullshit.” He aimed a stiff finger at me. “He’s a goddamn confidential information for the FBI? Him?”
Tim reached across the table and plucked the letter from Lester’s hand. He slid the letter back into his briefcase and closed the latches.
“My client has been working as a confidential informant with the FBI for nearly ten years, Lieutenant Henry,” Tim said. “He is an integral part of an ongoing investigation the FBI is conducting into all manner of smuggling at the ports, as well as corruption within the Port Authority itself.”
“Does that including smuggling and racketeering done by his own father?” Henry asked.
Tim looked at his watch as if he were bored. “Lieutenant Henry, I hate to burst your bubble, but when you have the time to go through that warehouse you’re going to find that it does not contain counterfeit goods as you claim. It contains cheap handbags, shoes, and watches from a reputable company in China. There is no attempt to pass these goods off as anything other than what they are, which is basic flea market fare.”
“This is bullshit,” Henry said again. “I don’t know anything about an investigation at the docks by the feds.”
Tim shrugged. “Perhaps you and the feds should learn to communicate better. That’s not my client’s problem.”
I tried not to smile. Honestly, I almost felt bad for Henry. The blood had drained from his face and he had a confused glaze to his eyes. He glanced over his shoulder at the large mirrored glass cut into the wall. I knew Claire was back there in the dark, watching. I could feel her eyes on me. I almost smiled. Almost.
Henry looked sideways at Shanahan, like this was all his fault. To Tim, he said, “You’re telling me your client was not smuggling counterfeit designer goods for sale on the black market.”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Tim said. “My client and his father are legitimate businessmen. I’m sure you know that by now, given that you’ve had someone undercover in his operation for two weeks.” Tim leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “I’m sure you also know your undercover operative has been fucking my client’s brains out every night for two weeks, so you’re going to have some credibility issues there with the District Attorney, I’m sure. It could be very embarrassing for you and your whole department if the media got wind of just how far your officers will go to entrap an innocent citizen.”
Henry shifted uneasily in the seat. “This is bullshit,” he said again. It seemed to be his only argument. “We have a confidential CI who— “
“Has obviously been feeding you misinformation,” Tim said with a heavy sigh that said the conversation was over. “Now, Lieutenant, if you will release my client and all his associates immediately, we’ll just call this an unfortunate misunderstanding and be on our way. Otherwise, my first call will be to the FBI and my second call will be to Fox News. They would just eat this shit up.”
“Fuck you,” Henry said, gritting his teeth. His face flushed deep crimson. Little veins bulged from his temples. He literally looked like a balloon about to pop. He pushed himself out of the chair and glared at me. “Fuck you both.”
When the cops left the room, Tim stood up and gave me a grin as he stuck out his hand. “Congratulations, old pal. You’re now free of the cops and the Feds. And finally, you can force your old man to retire.”
“Thanks,” I said, shaking his hand. I glanced toward the mirrored glass and put a hand on Tim’s shoulder.
“Come on,” I said, “Let’s find my old man and get the fuck out of here.”
Chapter 24: Claire
It had been two weeks since Sean’s arrest and quick release. Things had settled down a little at the office, but Ed would still turn red and curse the gods at the mere mention of Sean O’Connor’s name.
After Sean glared at me through the one-way mirror and left with his attorney, I snuck out before Ed could find me and bring down his wrath. I holed up in my apartment all that weekend, not answering the door or the phone, bouncing between bouts of intense guilt and sobbing, to unbridled anger and cursing. It was one of the worst weekends of my life. All I could think about was calling Sean, taking him into my arms, into my bed, though I knew that was something I could never do again.
I crawled back into the office on Monday and tried to keep my head down and my mouth closed. I’d never seen Ed so angry. He stormed around the office for a few days, threatening to fire us all, especially me, whom he ultimately blamed for things going awry. I took his abuse and didn’t argue back. I knew my relationship with Sean was probably not the wisest decision I’d ever made, but if that warehouse had indeed been filled with millions of dollars in counterfeit goods, Ed would have been praising me rather than threatening to send me packing back to Vice.
A week later I was offered a spot in Robbery/Homicide. It was a lateral move, but I jumped at the chance to leave Ed’s task force. It was never a good idea to work for my ex in the first place. And given his inability to stop reminding me that fucking Sean O’Connor was a stupid fucking thing to do, moving to a new job was an easy decision.
* * *
The next Saturday morning around nine I was standing at the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffee pot to finish when the doorbell rang. I’d just
gotten out of the shower and was wearing a robe and slippers with a towel around my neck. I didn’t think much of it. My neighbor, an elderly lady named Mrs. Grant, was always ringing the doorbell to ask if I’d seen her cat. God bless her, her mind wasn’t all there. She hadn’t had a cat in twenty years according to her daughter. Still, I always promised to keep my eye out and let her know if I saw a gray tabby that answered to the name Louis.
I opened the door and prepared a smile for her. When I saw Sean O’Connor standing there, the smile froze on my lips. I blinked at him a few times to make sure I wasn’t imagining things.
“Hi, Claire,” he said with a shy smile. “Can I come in?”
Damn him. What the fuck was he doing here, standing outside my door with a pitiful look on his gorgeous face and a sad twinkle in his eye. He was wearing jeans and a tight t-shirt that reminded me how muscular he was. He had a pair of Raybans pushed to the top of his windblown hair. I wondered if his Mercedes convertible was parked downstairs.
I half-hid behind the door and pretended that I was not happy to see him. I worked up a frown and snarled at him. “Why do you want to come in?”
“I feel like we left a lot of things unsaid,” he said with a slow shrug. “I’d like to just say a few things, then I’ll be gone for good.”
I stared at him for a moment, struggling to resist the urge to rip off the robe and take him into my arms. Instead, I gave him a sigh and told him to come in. I led him into the kitchen and poured us each a cup of coffee.
“How have you been?” he asked as he watched me set out the cups of coffee and take the chair across from him.
“I’ve been fine,” I said, sliding the sugar bowl in front of me. I stirred in three spoons of sugar and a little milk. I didn’t bother offering sugar and milk to Sean. I knew he took his coffee black. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been good,” he said, putting his hands around the coffee cup. He stared down into the black brew for a moment as if he were reading tea leaves to see what his future might bring.
“You said you wanted to talk,” I said, picking up the cup and holding it carefully between my hands. “So, talk.”
He glanced up for just a second and gave me a little nod. “Okay, it’s a long story, but I’ll try to make it short.”
“Please do,” I said, sounding hateful. “I have things to do.” I immediately regretted my tone, but he seemed unfazed.
With his voice low and tone even, he told the story I’d been dying to hear. “Ten years ago, just as I was graduating law school, my dad came to me and said the FBI was investigating his operation. He said they were trying to nail him for smuggling, racketeering, and a number of other lesser charges. I didn’t have to ask if he was guilty because I knew he was. I’d known for a while what he did for a living and so long as it didn’t affect me, I chose to ignore it. Then, when he asked for my help. He was terrified of going to prison and losing everything he’d worked for. It was the first time he’d asked me for help. There was no way I could ignore him.”
“So, you went to work for him,” I said quietly, mirroring the sadness in his eyes.
“Actually, I went to the FBI first to see if I could make a deal for him,” he said, frowning at the memory. “And I did so without his knowledge. I told them I was there not only as my dad’s lawyer, but as an officer of the court who wanted to help them shut down illegal activities in the port. Not just my dad’s operation, but others, as well, especially those who dealt in things like drugs and human trafficking.” He smiled wistfully for a second.
“I guess I was young and wanted to do my part in cleaning up the city. Anyway, I worked a deal with them. I would take over my dad’s operation and phase out all illegal activities. I would encourage my dad to retire and move out of state. And I would act as a confidential informant on their behalf. Anything I could do to help bust up criminal activity along the ports I would do, so long as it didn’t put me or my family at risk.”
“So, you became a confidential information for the FBI to protect your dad.”
He nodded. “Yes. And for the last ten years I have managed to legitimize my dad’s operation. Anything even remotely illegal has been phased out. The operation is one hundred percent legit.”
I frowned at him. “I don’t understand. Why the need for the second warehouse full of cheap purses? Why all the cloak and dagger bullshit with the Organized Crime unit?”
He smiled again without looking up at me. “My dad had a very hard time pulling his fingers out of the pie that had been feeding him so well for so long. It was like trying to get a leopard to change his spots. He worried that the legitimate businesses wouldn’t do as well as the illegitimate ones. So rather than importing knockoff designer goods, I started importing the cheap purses. Dad had no idea I’d made the change. To him it all looked the same. He never looked at the accounts, so I transitioned everything and assured him that business was good, and that the money was rolling in.”
“Okay, so you set up a fake criminal operation to keep your dad happy?” I shook my head at him. “Do you know how insane that sounds?”
“I do,” he said. “But it worked. Dad was happy, the business was legit and profitable. Everything went according to plan. The only problem was the FBI would not let me off the hook so long as dad was around. And dad refused to retire, no matter how hard I pushed him to do so.”
“So, as long as your dad was involved in the business, the FBI had its hooks in you.” I stared into his eyes for a moment. “Oh, my god, that’s what this was all about. You wanted the police to raid the warehouse so you could convince your old man to retire.”
He finally looked into my eyes for more than a couple of seconds. “Yes. I knew the only thing that would make the old man retire was the threat of spending the rest of his life in prison. So, when I caught wind that your group was sniffing around, I decided that would be a good way to put all this to rest.”
My mind raced as we looked at each other. Suddenly I had an aha moment. “Oh, my god, you were Lester’s inside man.”
“I was,” he said, nodding. “I fed Lester tidbits of information, hoping you guys would eventually put it all together and bust the warehouse.”
“Why didn’t you just give Lester the address?” I asked.
“Because the cops would have checked it out and found that there was nothing there. I needed the SWAT to storm that warehouse while me and dad were there. I wanted dad to think that his playhouse had finally crumbled. That the only thing to do was to shut it all down and try to avoid prison.”
“And that’s what you told your dad after the raid?”
“Yes. Tim Reed, my attorney, told my dad that he had worked out a plea deal for him. If he would sell the business and move to Tampa, they would drop all charges.”
“And your dad fell for it.”
He shrugged. “He’s a tired old man who couldn’t let go of his past. Once Tim told him the lie, that he could spend the rest of his life in prison if he didn’t take the deal, he couldn’t pack fast enough.”
“It was all a ruse,” I said, falling back in my chair.
“It was all a ruse,” he said. “And I was starting to think it wasn’t going to work, then Boozie decided to leave. I told Lester about it. I said it would be a good time to send in someone undercover.”
“Wait, what? You suggested that they send in someone?”
“I did,” he said, his eyes going around my face. “I had no idea it would be someone so… interesting.”
“You knew I was an undercover cop? The whole time?”
He shook his head. “Not the whole time. I suspected you at first. That’s why I hired you. That’s why I moved in so fast on you. Sexually.”
“It was a test,” I said, tapping a fist to my forehead. “And I failed miserably.”
“Actually, you didn’t fail,” he said. “I figured an undercover cop wouldn’t sleep with me. So, when you did, I thought, hmm, guess she’s not a cop after all.” He picked up
the coffee cup and toasted me with it. “Congratulations. I didn’t know you were a cop until I saw you standing outside the warehouse.”
I tried to smile, but it wouldn’t stick. I said, “I’m really sorry I lied to you.”
“Hey, that was your job,” he said. “And you did it extremely well.”
“So, what’s happened since then?”
“Well, my dad has retired. He and mom are already in Tampa living the high life in a retirement community. I have a buyer for the business, which should close next week. And the FBI has finally released me from our deal. For the first time in ten years, I am on my own.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “So, what will you do now?”
“Take a little time off. Maybe talk to a few law firms about going to work.” He leaned into the table and gave me the smile that made my panties melt. “And… I was also hoping we might start over, you and I.”
I blinked at him. “You were?”
“I was.”
“I think that would be… wonderful,” I said.
“Good.” He held his hand out across the table. “Hi, my name is Sean.”
I slid my hand into his. “Hi, Sean. My name is Claire.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Claire.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sean.”
“Claire?”
“Yes, Sean?”
“Would you like to fuck?”
“Yes, Sean. I think that would be lovely.”
Epilog: Claire
I lay back on the pillows with my hands squeezing my tits, biting my lip as I watched Sean hurry out of his clothes. His cock sprang from his jeans and made me giggle in anticipation. It was so long and thick and veiny, just as I remembered.
“Hello, old friend,” I said, reaching for him. I spread my legs as Sean climbed on top of me. I reached between us and took his cock in my hand and began to milk him slowly. Just feeling him in my hand again made the juices gush from my pussy. I could have cum just from touching him. It had been too long. I didn’t ever want to go two weeks without having him inside me.