Beyond Blue by Austin S. Camacho Read Free Book Online Page B

squeaky rasp that Gorman hated.
    â€œIt hurts my ears,” Gorman said. “Everything you say hurts my ears. Where did you learn to talk like that? A boiler factory?”
    â€œYour ears get hurt, my suspicion nerves get hurt. Like we’re all so well paid, okay, but, tell me, who’s the client putting up all this money to have me working out at the airport? I never see anybody paying any dough to our agency. Is this some kind of a scam, like
Candid Camera
or one of those stupid millionaire shows? Am I going to wind up on television one day, embarrassed, too humiliated to go back to my little hovel in the ghetto?”
    â€œKnowing you, you hustler, that hovel in the ghetto probably looks like one of Saddam’s palaces before the war. As for who’s picking up the freight around here, Ruby, you don’t know everything.”
    â€œI’m hep,” she squeaked, leaning back as if ready to receive a briefing.
    â€œThe truth is, I happen to be a very clever businessman and my ways are not known to mortals like you.”
    â€œGod, you are a tight-mouthed thing. Trying to get information out of you is like trying to squeeze water out of a rock.”
    â€œSo quit trying. Go get information out of the bad guys. What do you think we overpay you for?”
    Not until he was on the sidewalk helping Ruby into a taxi did Gorman decide that he would walk back to his office. The sun was as clear as it would ever be in the Big Apple skies and he liked the warmth on his face even as the wind tried to cut through his coat.
    Gorman set a comfortable pace down the sidewalk, hands in pockets, ignoring the men and nodding at the women he passed. There was quite a bit of foot traffic, but it always seemed to part as Gorman approached. He was barely six feet tall, but people had told him that he looked taller. Posture, he figured, and the right attitude.
    He stopped at the corner on a cross street, watching the “Don’t Walk” sign. Across Madison another man stood under a similar signal, waiting for the light. Gorman judged his features to be Sicilian, dark hair combed forward and almost black eyes set in an impassive face. He wore a leather coat and gloves, and wingtip shoes that were surely more expensive than Gorman’s. The man seemed to ignore the sharp wind whistling through the city streets.
    Gorman only noticed him because he seemed to have noticed Gorman.
    Francine Brooks would never have noticed Chastity Chiba under normal circumstances. One look would have told her that they were from different classes. After all, Francine was a woman of leisure, working only because she had to and working out only because it was fashionable. She carried the baby fat on her abdomen and the slightly expanded hips and loose bust of a cheerleader who figured she no longer needed to keep a perfect figure because she had already caught a man.
    Chastity, on the other hand, had the hard, trim body of a woman who works out for fun. She was blessed with the tight buns and firm round breasts of her mother’s heritage and she knew that the white women of the leisure class resented her for both. But it was okay. For a couple of days, she would be able to get her revenge.
    â€œAll right, ladies, just a few more reps,” Chastity said, kicking up her aerobics routine a notch and watching her students strain to keep up. The health club managers had been happy to give her a try as instructor once they saw the resume Gunny created for her, and especially when she offered to give lessons at no cost to the club for a week, just to prove her ability.
    When she ended the session, Chastity was pleased. The women wandering listlessly away were all bathed in sweat and stuck to their multicolored leotards and tights. After allowing herself a brief moment of ego-boo, she focused on her target, turned on the perky, and jogged over to her.
    â€œHi. You are Francine Brooks, am I right?” When Francine nodded,