First Class Killing Read Online Free PDF Page B

you. I’m the boss. Tell them Fallacaro sent you.”
    Dan was doing his favorite thing, monitoring the lines in front of the Majestic ticket counter, making sure no one missed a flight. He was one general manager who spent less time in his office than in the operation, and I was always secretly envious that having taken over my job, he did it better than I ever had.
    “What do you want, Shanahan?”
    “I want to stop by and see you. I can be there in twenty minutes. You’re right on my way.”
    “Only if you want to come over and help me lift tickets. They’re hanging from the rafters out here.”
    “I like to get paid when I work. We can meet in front of your ticket counter at what? Eight-fifteen? Better make it eight-thirty in case the tunnel is backed up.”
    “Shanahan—”
    “Come on, Dan. Take a break. I haven’t seen you in…too long.”
    “You’re full of shit. You want something from me.”
    “That, too. I need your help.”
    “I’ll give you fifteen minutes,” he said. “Don’t be late.” Click.

    Dan approached the way he always did—walking fast and talking faster. When he spotted me, he vectored over, barely clearing the slow movers as he sliced through the crowd.
    “Hey, Shanahan, get me a pillow from the overhead bin, and top off my rum and coke. Just kidding. C’mon, let’s get a doughnut or something.”
    He took off again and I caught up with him at Dunkin’ Donuts, leaning over the counter, having a speed-talking contest with the woman pouring his coffee.
    “What do you want to drink, Shanahan?”
    “Tea.” I pulled out my folding money, ready to slip him a couple of bills.
    “Fucking tea from a coffee stand.” He shook his head. “Put your money away.”
    “I invited you.”
    “I’d hate for my cup of coffee to tip you over into bankruptcy.” He reached for his own cash, digging deep into the pants pocket of his very sharp charcoal suit, which, I noticed, was suspiciously well tailored to his wiry frame. His tie was silk instead of a polyester blend, and it matched his precision-pressed cotton shirt.
    “Is that a custom-tailored suit, Dan?”
    “Don’t talk about the suit.” He reached up and dragged the knot of his tie off center, as if to make it less perfect. He was trying hard to be insulted, because true operations guys never cared how they looked. He certainly hadn’t the first time I’d ever seen him. On my first day on the job at Logan, I looked out the window to see him sprinting across the ramp in a heavy rain with a kidney in his hands. Not his. A transplant kidney in a cooler. It had arrived on a late inbound flight from Chicago and was overdue at the hospital. He was soaking wet. Just another day at the office for Dan.
    “Awfully spiffy, Mr. Fallacaro. Very corporate.”
    “I’m warning you, Shanahan. Don’t start.”
    But now, despite himself, he had become a mucky-muck, and he had people to run out into the rain for him. He liked his job, had been surprised to find out how good he was at it, and I would have bet any amount of money I didn’t have that he loved that suit and the way he looked in it. God forbid he should let anyone know.
    He handed me my tea and took his jumbo steaming brew, and we walked to a couple of chairs that faced the ticketing lobby. “What do you want from me now, Shanahan? I already got you a job, for Chrissakes.”
    “You didn’t get me a job.”
    “I gave you the contact at GrapefruitAir, didn’t I? I hooked you up with Harvey. How’s he doing, by the way?”
    “He’s okay. Physically up and down, but mostly down about the case.”
    “The hooker case? Are you still on that? Jesus Christ, how long has it been? Months, right?”
    “Please, don’t you start.”
    “What’d I say? What’s so hard about chasing hookers around?”
    I looked around to make sure no one was listening. Dan had, indeed, been our first contact on the case with OrangeAir, for which I was eternally grateful. I just wished he didn’t