Stuff to Spy For by Don Bruns Read Free Book Online Page B

you?”
    “And I pay you on top of your salary, your bonus—” If she only knew.
    “And how much am I being paid, Mrs. Conroy?”
    “Ten thousand dollars, Mr. Moore.”
    My mouth must have dropped wide open.
    “And, another five thousand if you find any solid information.”
    This was crazy. I wanted to call Em and James and tell them the news. It was official. I was going to be rich.
    “So, do we have a deal?”
    “You’re going to tell me what to look for?”
    “I am.”
    “You’re going to give me an idea of where to look?”
    “I am.”
    “Mrs. Conroy, are you sure I’m the right person for this job?”
    “You’re the logical person for this job.”
    “Because?”
    “You’re in the right place at the right time.”
    Working a deal with Sandler Conroy’s mistress; working a deal with Sandler Conroy’s wife. I needed the money. There’s no other logical explanation why I would have put myself in such a screwed-up position. It was greed, pure and simple. There is no other answer.
    “Then we’ve got a deal.” I reached across the booth to shake her hand, but she’d laid the pencil on the table and put both hands in her lap. The lady was very cold. Sarah’s comment about “bitch” came to mind.
    She slid from the booth, stood up, and dropped a twenty on the vinyl top. “I want you to start immediately. As I said, it’s a matter of life and death.” She walked to the doorway, never even looking to see if I was keeping pace. “I’m very worried about my safety. And, I’m worried about my father’s company.”
    I grabbed the pencil and shoved it in my pocket, walking quickly to catch up. “You have a right to that. Are you close to your father?” It was none of my business, but I thought I’d ask.
    Carol Conroy paused, studying my question. Finally she turned around. “Not especially. But that’s not the issue is it?”
    “So you’re close to your father’s company.”
    The lady smirked. “Mr. Moore, I’m hiring you to do a job. I’m not interested in your philosophy.”
    When we walked outside, she squinted in the late afternoon sun.
    “Mrs. Conroy, let me walk you to your car.” I followed her eyes, up the street from where I’d parked.
    “What is he doing?” Carol Conroy shouted, pointing up the street, and I looked. An Asian man with a ball cap pulled low knelt by a Lexus half a block from us.
    “I don’t know. It appears he’s—”
    “That’s my car.” Her sharp tone was almost accusing. “Stop him.” She spun around, and her eyes burned into mine.
    I took off running, assuming I’d figure out what to do when I reached the man. My first assignment and I’d just started the job seconds ago.
    He saw me or heard me and leaped to his feet as a gray Honda Civic in the next block burned rubber, beating me to the man and stopping right in front of the Lexus. The short Asian guy stepped into the street, yanked the passenger door open, and jumped into the Honda as the driver pulled back into the street, the door swinging wildly. For a moment I thought he might fall out, but he managed to grab the handle and pull the door shut. I stopped by her car, breathing hard, watching the other car disappear. Half a block and my chest and lungs were on fire. I was beat. What kind of condition was I in? Too many beers, pizzas, burgers, and no exercise. I had to do something about this. Especially if I was going to be in this type of business. I already knew Mrs. C. was going to be pissed.
    She was walking in measured strides, shaking her head. When she got to the Lexus she gave me an annoyed look. “Too bad you didn’t move a little faster.”
    “Excuse me?” I was still trying to catch my breath and I could feel my heart racing. I could have had a heart attack, and she was telling me I was too slow?
    “Did you get a good look at him?”
    “Not a good look. His ball cap was pulled down in front. But I might recognize him if I saw him again.”
    She pursed her lips, staring in