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“Again, you’re not an agent, you’re an intern. And me, coming to you asking for help means everyone else could potentially be on the take and I have no other options. I repeat. No. Other. Options. You don’t even get paid, Morales. All you do all day is fetch coffee and crappy lunches for the department and walk around flexing your truly embarrassing biceps and making inappropriate advances toward the women...”
“Not true, I dated Agent Fielding for a while. He found me irresistible.”
Tati grimaced. “Ew. You’re like an indiscriminate small bull in perpetual heat who doesn’t even earn a paycheck.”
“That’s about to change. As I said, I’m this close to a huge promotion.”
She threw her hands in the air again. “You don’t get a promotion from a company you intern for… You gethired.”
He ignored her. “Question. Have you tried getting in touch with Marshall’s secretary? A lovely woman with a bountiful behind.”
Tati glared at him. “The correct title would be Executive Assistant, a woman who happens to be in her seventies. To answer your question, yes, I spoke with Judith Holland months ago. That was before Marshall died and I was still with the Bureau. Nothing there.”
“But not since then?” He wiped his mouth. “Rookie mistake. I’ll go through the file, discreetly of course, to see if there are others ineffectively questioned.”
He stood, as if on a mission to expose state secrets, and took her hand that was still holding onto a half-eaten rib bone and he looked at Grant. “It was nice meeting you, fake fiancé to my delicate little flower.” And then he kissed the back of her hand.
At that comment and wet hand kiss, Tati pulled her hand out of his and growled. Then took a bite of the rib that also looked to have been under the heat lamp too long.
Morales made his way out of the room, his eyes darting to and fro, and his hand at his hip.
Grant was alarmed. “Is an intern allowed to carry and conceal on behalf of the Bureau?”
“That would be a no.”
“You honestly think he can help us?”
She opened another wet-wipe. “I have to admit, the few times I’ve used him, again because I had no other choice, he came through. I think once he opens his mouth, people just want him to go the hell away so they tell him everything he wants to know.”
“Do you think they’ll ever hire him?”
“Doubtful. He was caught masturbating in a Dixie cup at his desk and written up. Twice.”
Grant squinted his eyes at the disturbing visualization. “Why don’t they fire him?”
“Again, his daddy is one of the wealthiest and most dangerous men in Boston and equally smarmy. He has tons of influence alongside legendary anger management issues. Think Les Grossman inTropic Thunder, who will shove his fist up your ass and then later in the day throw you a rager. Loves to brag about his son who works for the Bureau. Which he does not. Morales is more like water-cooler fodder or aBrooklyn Nine-Ninestand-in.”
“I’m starting to appreciate Wayward. Where the most trouble we have is with a teenager who likes to deface public property, and a local drunk who smashes things when he forgets his wife left him for an orthopedic surgeon in Miami.”
“Is it any good.”
“What?” Lucas asked, distracted by her beauty and the smudge of barbecue sauce on her lip.
“The graffiti art.”
He took a swallow of water. “Unfortunately, yes.”
