Permanent Interests by James Bruno

Washington was tied in knots over a veritable armada of cargo ships, fishing vessels and scows from the Orient transporting hundreds of illegal Chinese immigrants to the U.S. This on top of fear, verging on paranoia, that al-Qaida would try to smuggle a "dirty bomb" into the country. After three hours of thoroughly screening the ship's crew and poking into every conceivable crevice, the Feds gave a clean bill of health and departed.
    Customs agent Ed O'Meara lingered behind. He had unfinished business.
    He met with Ricky as agreed, in the warehouse dispatcher's office at 8:00 pm. Ricky sat comfortably behind the gray metal desk in the small windowed cubicle smoking a cigar.
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    BRUNO
    "Edmund! Lookin' good!" he greeted the customs agent in a voice of mock sincerity. "How's the wife, the kids, the mortgage?" he cracked in barely disguised ridicule.
    "Fine, fine," Ed replied impatiently. "Let's get this out of the way, and we can both go home."
    "What's the matter, Ed? Job getting you down? Haven't they given you the annual step increase yet? What about that promotion? You a GS-11 yet, Ed?"
    "Yeah, real funny Mr. Laguzza. Can we get this over with, please ?"
    "Sure, why not? Just like to keep up with old friends is all." Ricky got up and gestured to himself. "How do you like the duds, pretty spiffy, huh?" He wore pleated dark green trousers held up with bright red suspenders. The crisp blue longsleeved shirt had a white collar which was closed at the neck with a large brass pin. A broad silk tie with a detailed portrait of flappers around a Model-T
    graced his neck. Ricky was in one of his yuppie moods.
    He reached down and grabbed a small duffle.
    "Here it is, pal" he said as he dumped the contents onto the desk. Fifty stacks of 20-dollar bills rolled out. "Fifty grand, like we agreed. Take the wifey and kiddies to Disney World."
    O'Meara was not amused. He was scared. This was the seventh such dealing he'd had with this man. While it was a very lucrative relationship, the briefer his contact with Ricky, the better. Here's this horse's ass cracking sick jokes, risking getting both of them caught in the process.
    Security's sake demanded no-muss, no-fuss transactions.
    Besides, he didn't like the greaseball. This guinea wise-guy is jerking me around, a family man, O'Meara thought.
    He hurriedly gathered up the cash back into the bag.
    "What's wrong? Aren't you going to count it? Who knows, maybe this time, I'm stiffing you." Ricky took a PERMANENT INTERESTS
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    pensive puff of his Nobile as he regarded the customs man with squinty eyes.
    "I trust you, Mr. Laguzza," O'Meara lied. He just wanted to get his ass out of there. With Ricky, he felt like a mouse in the presence of a large cat which delighted in torment. O'Meara dealt with him out of necessity. He had six kids, the twins soon to enter college. His superiors cheated him of promotions. And the government imposed de facto racial and gender quotas for recruitment and promotions. The way O'Meara saw it, they could all go to hell. Fifteen years of looking through people's dirty underwear and crawling into the stinking holds of freighters won him no rewards and little hope for advancement. He had to cut his own deals. Look out for his and his family's welfare. And, after the first plunge, no looking back.
    "Hey Eddie, you don't wanna know what you cleared for me?" Ricky queried mischievously, gesturing to a dozen cases of canned lychees.
    "The less I know, the better, don't you think, Mr.
    Laguzza?" O'Meara held the bag in his hand and was poised to sprint out the door.
    "You got it, pal. That's what I like about doing business with you, Eddie. You ask no questions. Just take your money and run."
    O'Meara nodded once and made his move.
    "Just one last question, Eddie." Ricky leaned against a file cabinet with the cigar clenched between his front teeth.
    Nobody else knows about our little relationship? About this transaction?"
    O'Meara jerked his head over either