Read Online Air Time by Hank Phillippi Ryan - Free Book Online
Authors: Hank Phillippi Ryan
Tags: Fiction, Contemporary Women
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man-centric dark blue trousers, white oxford button-down and navy blazer. Her leonine hair threatens, as always, to escape its taut chignon, and she wears her gold badge, encased in plastic and hanging from a government-issue aluminum chain, with the flair of a Tiffany necklace. She’s pushing the limits with her sturdy shoes. They’re not standard issue, but no one else in the Bureau will recognize Ferragamo.
“This is—” Lattimer begins. But Franklin and I are already on our feet.
“Hey, Keresey,” I say. Even in this professional environment, I feel comfortable giving her a quick hug. “I didn’t know you were on the—”
“Hey, Keresey,” Franklin says, at the same time. He holds out a hand, but I’ve gotten to our old friend first.
“I see you’re already acquainted,” Lattimer puts in. He frowns. “Agent Stone. I’m certain you haven’t discussed Operation Knockoff with the media without going through the proper channels.”
“No, sir, Chief. Charlie and I know each other from way back. When I was still in Firearms. I taught her how to shoot a Smith & Wesson—” she pats her hip holster as she continues her explanation “—for a story on illegal weapons and women’s self-defense. Took her to the range at Fort Devens, in fact.”
She points to me. “You been practicing? You were quite a prodigy.”
Lattimer clears his throat, cutting off our nostalgia and reminding us he’s the man in charge. He leans backin his cordovan vinyl leather swivel chair, and waves us to our seats. Keresey stands, looking more cover girl than cop, next to Lattimer’s desk. “I brought Agent Stone in because she’s the primary on our local undercover operations.”
So Keresey’s now with the counterfeit squad. That’s promising. Maybe we can convince them to let me go undercover with her. Double team.
“You know, I’m wondering…” I stop myself, mid-sentence. If we tell them we’re going undercover, what if they order us not to? I’m pretty sure they can’t do that, but it’s a legal tangle I’d rather avoid.
“Never mind, sorry. Go ahead.” I smile apologetically at Lattimer. “Lost my train of thought.” Maybe Keresey will tell me more, off the record.
“We have one squad targeting supply side,” Lattimer continues. “Agent Stone and her crew target demand. We’re laying groundwork now, seeing if we can follow the trail backward. See where these ladies are copping their product. Trace it back to the source.”
“It’s like dealing drugs,” Keresey adds. “We know the big fish are hiding somewhere. They distribute to the street dealers regionally, and they in turn, distribute to Internet dealers, and of course, the house parties.”
“Exactly like drugs, actually,” I say. I pick up a Chanel knockoff, examining it. “Except those women are addicted to fashion. Addicted to labels.”
“And these ass—sorry, these guys, provide a cheap fix,” Lattimer agrees. “All the bag at half the price. That’s what they say. And it’s a gold mine. All cash.”
“I’m still interested in your raids,” Franklin says. “Where they were. What the results were. What you seized.”
“Let me just say,” I add, “if we make a public recordsrequest, even for redacted material, I think legally you’d have to give it to us.”
“Negative. Exemption 7. Investigative sources and methods. Investigation’s still underway.” Lattimer’s shaking his head, signaling subject closed.
I don’t think so.
“How about if you just blacked out the specific places?” I persist, going for the “see, we’re going to make you look successful so you should help us” gambit. “Just to show the public you’re making some progress? Getting the goods?”
Lattimer’s confident posture suddenly seems to sag. He leans forward, arms crossed on his desk. He’s wearing a mammoth Rolex and a chunky ring with a square blue sapphire. “Kere—Agent Stone?” he says. His voice seems to sag, too.
“This is—” Lattimer begins. But Franklin and I are already on our feet.
“Hey, Keresey,” I say. Even in this professional environment, I feel comfortable giving her a quick hug. “I didn’t know you were on the—”
“Hey, Keresey,” Franklin says, at the same time. He holds out a hand, but I’ve gotten to our old friend first.
“I see you’re already acquainted,” Lattimer puts in. He frowns. “Agent Stone. I’m certain you haven’t discussed Operation Knockoff with the media without going through the proper channels.”
“No, sir, Chief. Charlie and I know each other from way back. When I was still in Firearms. I taught her how to shoot a Smith & Wesson—” she pats her hip holster as she continues her explanation “—for a story on illegal weapons and women’s self-defense. Took her to the range at Fort Devens, in fact.”
She points to me. “You been practicing? You were quite a prodigy.”
Lattimer clears his throat, cutting off our nostalgia and reminding us he’s the man in charge. He leans backin his cordovan vinyl leather swivel chair, and waves us to our seats. Keresey stands, looking more cover girl than cop, next to Lattimer’s desk. “I brought Agent Stone in because she’s the primary on our local undercover operations.”
So Keresey’s now with the counterfeit squad. That’s promising. Maybe we can convince them to let me go undercover with her. Double team.
“You know, I’m wondering…” I stop myself, mid-sentence. If we tell them we’re going undercover, what if they order us not to? I’m pretty sure they can’t do that, but it’s a legal tangle I’d rather avoid.
“Never mind, sorry. Go ahead.” I smile apologetically at Lattimer. “Lost my train of thought.” Maybe Keresey will tell me more, off the record.
“We have one squad targeting supply side,” Lattimer continues. “Agent Stone and her crew target demand. We’re laying groundwork now, seeing if we can follow the trail backward. See where these ladies are copping their product. Trace it back to the source.”
“It’s like dealing drugs,” Keresey adds. “We know the big fish are hiding somewhere. They distribute to the street dealers regionally, and they in turn, distribute to Internet dealers, and of course, the house parties.”
“Exactly like drugs, actually,” I say. I pick up a Chanel knockoff, examining it. “Except those women are addicted to fashion. Addicted to labels.”
“And these ass—sorry, these guys, provide a cheap fix,” Lattimer agrees. “All the bag at half the price. That’s what they say. And it’s a gold mine. All cash.”
“I’m still interested in your raids,” Franklin says. “Where they were. What the results were. What you seized.”
“Let me just say,” I add, “if we make a public recordsrequest, even for redacted material, I think legally you’d have to give it to us.”
“Negative. Exemption 7. Investigative sources and methods. Investigation’s still underway.” Lattimer’s shaking his head, signaling subject closed.
I don’t think so.
“How about if you just blacked out the specific places?” I persist, going for the “see, we’re going to make you look successful so you should help us” gambit. “Just to show the public you’re making some progress? Getting the goods?”
Lattimer’s confident posture suddenly seems to sag. He leans forward, arms crossed on his desk. He’s wearing a mammoth Rolex and a chunky ring with a square blue sapphire. “Kere—Agent Stone?” he says. His voice seems to sag, too.
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