Free Big Money (Austin Carr Mystery) by Jack Getze Page A

five-forty-five. You told me to set it up after work, right?”
    I sign off my Gmail account. This new dating site offers no one worth chasing. Hope I didn’t click myself into the annual membership.
    “This interview is that big hitter from Jaffy Ritter Clark?” I say.
    I do remember typing in my credit card number. Mandatory info, they said.
    “Yup.”
    “Frank something?”
    “Franny Dahler,” Carmela says. “This big hitter’s a female. She did one point eight million in gross commissions last year.”
    “Oh, my.”
    “Right. Should I send her in?”
    Talking all day, working her dad’s accounts and helping field my calls, Carmela’s voice grows huskier each day. Sends a low lovely tingle deep in my waist. Jesus, I’m so horny even the boss’s daughter is starting to arouse me.
    “By all means,” I say. “Send in Ms. Dahler.”
    “Hire her,” Carmela says.
    Mr. Vic’s daughter has been hurling little tips on running the business my entire two weeks as chief. Even before I ransacked Mr. Vic’s office. I think the hairy-but-busty new college graduate is heady with power, although it can’t hurt to listen. She already came up with one idea that clicked like the trunk of a new Mercedes: Firing Mr. Vic’s crabby, overpaid secretary was a dash of genius.
    What do we care if the woman is Vic’s sister?
    I stand to greet the big hitter, my appointment, Franny Dahler. She’s been calling since Monday, one week after Walter left us for her current employer, Jaffy Ritter Clark. According to Carmela, Ms. Dahler wants to talk about switching firms.
    I bet Jaffy Ritter gave her big office to Walter.
    My door cracks open. I’m curious and hopeful. See, the loss of Walter’s production hurts Shore badly. And not just in profits for the owners—like me. Shore Securities needs a certain flow of business to justify four back-office people, three secretaries, and two traders, not to mention minimum clearing fees with a New York bank and fifty other expenses included in the cost of selling stocks, bonds and mutual funds. Peoples’ jobs depend on me lining up a new hitter to pick up Walter’s slack.
    The door swings wide open. Oh. My. God.
    “You’re Austin Carr?” Ms. Strawberry says.
     
     

 
    TWENTY
     
    Ms. Strawberry saying, “I was insulted you walked out of The Martha’s bar the other night.”
    I give Cutie Pie the full-boat Carr grin. Is this reddish-blond-haired stockbroker pulling all three of my legs? “I had urgent business.”
    Ms. Strawberry crosses her legs, showing me enough thigh to arouse Ben Franklin. “Really?” she says. “I was hoping you were looking at me with some urgency.”
    I clear my throat , speechless. Wonder if producing boners is how she grossed nearly two million bucks last year? She certainly has all the qualifications for male leadership. Put Ms. Strawberry in a corporate boardroom, they’d elect her chairman and chief executive, all kinds of body parts going up during the vote.
    “ Maybe your decision to leave was blurred by too much drink,” she says.
    I roll my chair up close to the desk. Don’t think Ms. Dahler’s quite ready for a complete frontal view of my lap just yet. My appreciation for her thin summer dress is quite formidable.
    “Perhaps I was over-served,” I say. “But I left because I had to, not because I wanted to. There was a lot on my mind.”
    “You mean Shore’s AASD troubles?” She grins, a startling display of pure white, perfectly capped teeth. She and Tony could have gone to the same dentist. Another movie-star-quality ranking for Ms. Strawberry’s long list of attractive physical endowments.
    Wait . How did she know about the AASD investigation? Was Ms. Strawberry close enough that night to hear me talking to myself?
    No. I know. “Did my ex-friend Walter mention the AASD investigation around Jaffy Ritter?”
    Franny nods, bouncing her chin-length, wavy red hair. “More like he gave lectures on the subject. Not just me either.