Chapter 3
Rick
The day was rainy and gray, so wet and cold I felt it right down in my bones. It was only a Tuesday and already I was looking for the exits, longing for the time when I could finally forget about work for the day, and deal with something—anything—more enjoyable than my day-to-day job.
You see, my occupation concerned one thing, above all else—making others’ lives better, easier, cleaner. More to the point, it was to fix problems for people.
But in my line of work those people… well, they weren’t exactly what you might call day-to-day regular clients. No, the shot callers I worked for were the kind who didn’t want to be known, the kind who preferred to stay in the shadows.
Whether it was crooked politicians, organized crime, various ‘extra-legal’ elements, or groups that were considered fringe or perhaps outside the bounds of polite society, I helped them all. They were the sort of individuals and entities who liked to control things from the comfort of anonymity, exerting their power without anyone knowing whom it was that was actually pulling the levers.
That’s where I came in.
The stack of mail on my desk was essentially for show, a way to look busy and legitimate, above board. But it was all bullshit. None of my customers ever sent anything via the mail, and if they did it wouldn’t be anything that was of use to me. The sorts of people I worked for were those you never wanted to receive any mail or package from. Not ever.
And I intended it to stay that way.
My clients were creatures of the burner phone and the in-person meeting. They all had different names for it—‘face time’ or ‘interfacing’ or even ‘walkabout.’
It all meant the same thing though. Information of a sensitive nature needed to be communicated without prying eyes—or ears—being a problem.
I leaned back in my chair, the legs creaking softly. Futilely attempting to massage the ache from my temples, I tried not to think of all the things I still had to do that day. It wasn’t even noon yet, and I was already behind schedule. My secretary, Chloe, God bless her, had sent me a flurry of emails already, each one increasingly frantic. That right there was a problem—because emails were traceable. They could be used against you.
I’d have to have a talk with her about that.
The help these days…
As if her ears had been burning, Chloe bustled into the office, her ever-present tablet computer under one arm, a cup of coffee in another. Her black skirt—one of my stipulated wardrobe choices for any woman working for me—hugged her slim hips firmly. Her button nose, sparkling blue eyes, and willowy figure never failed to garner attention from many if not most of my clients—which was how I liked it.
Distraction could be a useful tool, especially when dealing with men not accustomed to restraining their… baser natures. Chloe had been part of a negotiated deal on more than one occasion, and I was sure there would be more in the future. Still, she needed to be taken down a peg.
“You know I probably should just fire you right now.”
Her carefully sculpted brow arched. “Oh? How would you survive? You don’t even know how to work the coffee machine.”
I sighed. “I’d live.”
“Miserably,” she murmured, planting her butt atop the corner of my desk.
“No sitting. That’s not what you do here.”
She looked bored, glancing at her painted nails. “I do everything here.”
“Who issues your paycheck?”
“Fine. Almost everything.” She pushed herself off my desk.
I scowled, straightening papers that didn’t need straightening. “How long have you worked for me?” I waved my pen toward her, narrowing my eyes. “Don’t exaggerate. You know I’ll check.”
“Officially?” She nibbled her upper lip. “Let’s see… yeah, a year? Give or take?”
“And in that year, how many times have I told you there are to be no emails regarding clients, even tangentially?”
That hit home, her pretty face paling a shade or two. “Uh, a few times, I guess.”
“More than once was too many.” I tapped the desk with my pen, emphasizing each word. “Discretion. Matters. It’s everything when it comes to what we do. You understand that?”
Her nostrils flared just the slightest bit, but she nodded.
“Good.” I jabbed a finger at her. “Start acting like it. I have to take a call, so whatever you came in to bother me with is going to wait. That’s all, Chloe.”
Without another word, she spun on her heel and made for the door. When her hand grasped the brass knob, I stopped her.
“One more thing. If I have to talk to you about this one more time, when I call you to come in here, you’ll be sitting uncomfortably the rest of the day. You picking up what I’m laying down?”
It was an empty threat, of course. I wasn’t above spanking a woman, but that was sexual—which meant it wasn’t happening. There was no way I was doing anything of the sort with a woman I was paying. That just wasn’t who I was.
Maybe it’s time you found the sort of woman where that was happening? A lot.
Her swallow was so hard, it was audible. “Okay… I mean, yes.”
“Yes, what?” I let the irritation bleed into my tone, needing to impart to the girl that my patience with her impertinence and inattention did indeed have limits.
“Yes… Mr. Trafford.”
“Now, you can go—and bring me my coffee.”
The door closed behind her at lightning speed, leaving me to myself. Finally.
Picking up my phone, I scrolled through my notes, paying attention most to my upcoming meetings. There were a few, the two o’clock regarding the security arrangements for a possible trip to Washington catching my eye. That was an opportunity that held some personal interest, which was unusual for me. My client had let slip some tidbits about the community we might be visiting that had even me raising an eyebrow. It sounded like some sort of lurid patriarchal idyll.
My kind of spot.
There had to be a catch though. There always was. Especially in my line of work. Nothing was ever easy. I wasn’t paid for easy.
People came to me for the other jobs.
And I never failed to complete them.
When I was young, I’d wanted to be a detective, of all things. A fucking cop!
I shook my head, chuckling softly at my youthful naiveté. “Stupid kid is stupid.”
It wasn’t that I’d plannedthis life though, that I’d intended to pursue this line of work. One didn’t exactly go to college to major in Fixer.
But that was what I was. People came to me to have problems solved—discreetly, quickly, comprehensively.
I was good at it.
Sure, on occasion, I’d had reason to question my vocational choice—but the money and the thrill always ensured those moments were fleeting.
Could I have misgivings about what I did, sometimes? I’d be an evil asshole if I didn’t, right? Was I truly immoral? Not at all. I could discern right from wrong, even when it was fiendishly complicated.
Was I a mercenary son of a bitch though? You bet your fucking ass. I’d help nearly anyone—if the price was right.
My endeavors didn’t allow for much of a personal life. Never had. Married to my job was one way of looking at it, I supposed. It wasn’t as if I had ‘office hours’ or anything remotely resembling a nine-to-five schedule.
‘On call’ was the understatement of the century for me.
The fact that I hadn’t had a serious relationship in years didn’t actually bother me all that much. It wasn’t that I couldn’t scare up any pussy—there was more than enough in my life if I needed it. But finding someone I could actually love? In the way I needed?
Those were probably unicorns. I was fairly convinced that sort of girl just didn’t exist.
It wasn’t that I blamed the women in my life for that either, not at all. I mean who would sign up to be, basically, a sort of humbled plaything slash serving girl? The only ones likely to be open to that were the sort that charged by the hour.
Sure, I’d had dalliances over the years with various women, some more interesting than others, but none of them had been anything beyond temporary distractions.
Did I want more? Of course. But what I had was good enough for an asshole like me.
Mostly.
My door opened, the hinge creaking a tiny bit. Chloe’s head poked in, the bemused curve of her lips indicating she’d taken my warning about as seriously as most of my directives. She’d look into it. Maybe. Sort of.
But in the end, if she knew I was truly worked up about something, she’d fall into line. Always did. It’s the only reason she’d lasted as long as she had.
“I just remembered what I’d come in to tell you. The intern starts today.”
I dropped my pen onto the desktop. “Ah, shit. Today? What happened to Friday?”
“Chester asked us to take her earlier. Said you’d okay it.” Chloe lowered her chin. “Do I need to tell him you didn’t?”
“I can’t believe I agreed to do this.” I glared at her, gritting my teeth, but nodded.
“Maybe she’ll be a flake, and you can send her packing?” Chloe offered, though the glint in her eye was more than a little mischievous. I suspected she rather liked the idea of someone else getting their ear chewed by the boss man.
“Not that simple, unfortunately. She’d really have to fuck something up before I could get rid of her. When it comes to Chester… it’s gonna take something bulletproof to justify it. Maybe literally.”
The man didn’t like ‘no’ in even the best of circumstances. Mob enforcers tended to be like that, even the more level-headed ones like Chester Nantes. I suspected that when it came to his own niece though, I was going to need a helluva lot better reason than ‘she just isn’t going to work out.’
The muted sound of the phone ringing from Chloe’s desk drifted in. She was a smart-ass, but she was actually good at her job. Fortunately for her.
Doing Chester a favor wasn’t all out of the goodness of my heart though. Nantes had connections to both bosses and crooked career politicians. He had his hand in finance too, especially crypto-focused dark money laundering, something that had exploded in the past couple of years.
Though Nantes was capable of hideous violence, the man was one of the sanest criminals I’d ever encountered. Men of his sort tended to be sociopathic meatheads, but Chester played decidedly against type. He was intelligent and cunning. And he knew that his ends could often be achieved through wily, tactical negotiation just as much, if not more, than they could via strong-arm savagery.
A smart tough guy could be exceedingly useful. And Chester had been, on more than one occasion in the past.
He could also be a major pain in my fucking ass, too. He’d been the one blowing up my goddamned phone that night I’d decided to blow off some steam at the club.
I knew the man who ran the place, Marco. I’d managed to make a rather troublesome—but completely fabricated—sexual harassment complaint against the nightclub owner go away with some strategic shifting of funds a couple of years ago. Paid to go away. It was the way of the world, sadly, when shakedowns, scams, and slanderous accusations seemed to be possible at every turn.
As a token of his appreciation, in addition to my fee, Marco had said I’d have unlimited use of his club—no questions, no restrictions. Still, I’d actually had a stupid doorman try to charge me a cover once; word apparently hadn’t gotten out to all of the staff.
Marco had fired the poor bastard before the night was over.
It turned out Chester’s calls were actually about getting me to intern his niece, though I couldn’t at that moment remember her goddamned name.
“What’s the girl’s name? Jean something?”
“Jeanie was what he told me when he called this morning.” She shrugged. “Anyway, she’ll be here in about fifteen minutes.”
“Christ. All right. Go back to… whatever it is you do here.” I waved a hand at her. “When she shows up, send her in.”
The door closed again, and I rubbed both hands up and down my face. I didn’t even know what I was going to have the silly girl do. Maybe some filing. Or sweeping. Hell, I didn’t have a clue.
But it did remind me of the woman I’d encountered that night. She’d been a definite pain in the ass too, but one I would have loved to have gotten to know more about. I wasn’t sure what it was about her, but she’d stuck with me. Completely not my type at all—and entirely too young. But still, there was… something there. Alas, it was not to be.
Which was probably for the best. As interesting as she’d been, there was trouble written all over her.
Too bad your dick doesn’t think so.
I shifted in my chair, my swelling cock twisted up in my pants. I sighed in relief as I adjusted myself, pushing my erection down the left leg of my slacks.
“You need to get laid, pal.” It was ridiculous that some intriguing piece of ass I’d run into at a club had had such a visceral effect on me, even weeks later. What was it with that girl?
I grunted, opening my right-hand drawer, dropping my pen inside it and retrieving my pistol. An MP 9mm, it wasn’t the sexiest of guns, but its slim profile and surprisingly light weight made it a good choice, especially for discreet concealment. Its only drawback was it was a bit small in my big hands. But I still made it work.
I opened the coat of my suit, slipping the piece into my shoulder holster. My meeting at two o’clock. I never, ever took a meeting without being armed. It didn’t matter if I was having lunch with a fucking nun or a Bratva goon. I was always prepared.
Fucking Boy Scout.
My door opened once again. “What?”
“She’s here,” Chloe said, tipping her head back.
“What happened to fifteen minutes?”
“Eager beaver, I guess.”
I slammed my desk drawer shut. “Fuck. Let’s get this over with.”
Chloe disappeared for a moment, then my office door swung open fully.
Buttoning my suitcoat, I looked up—and my mouth dropped open. “You…?”