Page 9 of Sticky Fingers
I need to find her.
Whoever she is, I need to fucking find her.
Thing is, I don’t know where to start. I have my connections, sure, but I don’t know if anyone’s going to be of much help. See, I know all about the players making moves in this country...and last time I checked, none of the guys that run art-thieving schemes employ a chick like this one.
Maybe she’s working on her own? Trying to make a name for herself?
“Dude, you know what’s going to happen now, don’t you?” Dominic asks me, coming up from behind and derailing my train of thought. “Everyone’s going to try and pin this on you. You know, you have the reputation and all that shit.”
“Fuck that shit,” I say with a shrug.
I don’t give a fuck about the cops. They can try to put some cuffs on me, but I’ve never been stupid enough to let myself get caught red-handed. Besides, this time I’m fucking innocent.
“Anyway, you guys saw how I was ball-deeps in Peter’s wife,” I remind them.
“God, I know you’re an asshole, but do you have to brag about it?” Daphne sighs, rolling her eyes at me. “She’s a married woman.”
“Yeah, she is,” I reply, “but her husband wasn’t exactly taking proper care of her, you know? I just did a good deed. In fact, I should get a fucking commendation for that. Making women’s lives better, one orgasm at a time.”
“Peter’s going to be on your case now, you know that,” Dominic joins in.
Back when I was trying to buy an apartment at Clarendon Tower, Peter did his best to stop the sale. Even before he was president. He even managed to get the condo board president seat after the last one was forced to resign by saying that Clarendon Tower was letting in crooks.
He didn’t want someone with my reputation sullying Clarendon Tower’s good name.
“Yeah, fucking asshole hates my guts.”
“Yeah, well...last condo board president hatedmyguts,” Dominic laughs. “The greasy fuck did his best to kick me out of here. He wanted to get this apartment, have enough votes in the board to sell the whole building, and then turn Clarendon Tower into a hotel.”
“What the fuck is up with that? Can’t the board elect someone with a fucking head on his shoulders for a change?” Seriously, why the fuck do these assholes get such a massive hard-on for being president of something as trivial as a condo board?
I’m about to reach for the bottle for the third time in a row when someone knocks on the door. Not gently, but harshly—almost as if they were using a fucking jackhammer.
Daphne and Dominic exchange a glance, probably wondering who the fuck’s out there, but I just refill my glass.
I know exactly who the fuck’s out there.
The fucking cops.
