Read Online Agent on the Run (The Agents for Good) by Guy Stanton III - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Guy Stanton III
Tags: Romance Thriller
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something about her that still didn’t add up with me.
“Well you knock yourself out with playing with those. I’m getting something to eat and some sleep before round two of this scavenger hunt starts.”
I headed back out to the town mindful to be cautious about being seen as I left the apartment. I thought about where to eat. Truthfully there weren’t many places yet available in terms of providing a real selection.
The economy in the nation had really pulled together as a whole in America after the Code had come down. Nations around the world, not so adversely affected by the Code, had given generously and America was well on the way to getting back up on its feet, but the recovery was still tough going in places.
An old fast food restaurant had just reopened. I didn’t really care for the food they offered, but perhaps because of the nostalgia of younger days I chose to eat at it. It seemed that everyone else had the same idea and there was quite a line, but it was moving along quickly so I stayed.
When I got to my turn at the register I ordered and paid and then went to stand off to the side with the other people who were waiting for their orders. Everyone behind the counter was busy, and they were doing their best to be organized against the rush. As each person stepped forward to grab their bag the manager himself would assist them.
His words became a constant repeating litany, “Do you need any sauces?” To which he fulfilled whatever their requests may be from bins on the other side of the counter generously. I stepped up to the counter to claim my bag and thinking to beat him to the punch I asked for honey mustard sauce.
The manager glanced up my tall frame and his whole disposition changed in the familiar hang-up that I was used to, but nonetheless angered by. With a curt jerk of a finger he gestured to an outward amenity station, “You can get your sauce over there!”
I was tired and hungry and right now the thought of pulling the pompous white hided racist across the counter and pummeling him half to death sounded like a good idea. Before I could act out on that ill advised fantasy though the sudden quiet of the place was punctuated by sudden, “Hey!”
All eyes of the people caught up in the sanctimonious taboo swiveled to a man standing in line waiting for his food a couple of feet away from me. He was an aging portly built man complete with beard and tattoos. He had truck driver and biker written all over him and he was white.
He had a no-nonsense attitude about him that might find some root in the faded Semper Fi tattoo bedecking one arm. Despite the man’s worn down and bedraggled appearance there was still something about him that demanded respect.
“I didn’t fight and bleed alongside people of his color in the fight for freedom so lily livered panty waisted idiots like you could stand so high and mighty behind a counter and dictate to someone as if they were beneath you, when you don’t even have a drop of spilled blood within you for a noble ideal and that’s if you ever had the gumption to even try! Now you reach your hand into that box and pull out them sauces like the man asked for or so help me I’ll come back there and lay you out!”
The apoplectic red-faced manager quickly did as ordered and then disappeared into the recesses of the kitchens, as the normal flow of the restaurant gradually restored itself in the absence of the manager. Something else was somewhat restored, my faith in my fellow man. I inclined my head toward the unlikely defender of equality and received one in return.
I had been going to just leave the restaurant with my food, but I decided to stay and claim a spot so to speak.
Jane was hard at work the next morning when I stepped within the apartment. From the amount of active computer monitors and strands of wires radiating out from the devices I had brought back I surmised that she had been at it all night. She truly did seem to be
“Well you knock yourself out with playing with those. I’m getting something to eat and some sleep before round two of this scavenger hunt starts.”
I headed back out to the town mindful to be cautious about being seen as I left the apartment. I thought about where to eat. Truthfully there weren’t many places yet available in terms of providing a real selection.
The economy in the nation had really pulled together as a whole in America after the Code had come down. Nations around the world, not so adversely affected by the Code, had given generously and America was well on the way to getting back up on its feet, but the recovery was still tough going in places.
An old fast food restaurant had just reopened. I didn’t really care for the food they offered, but perhaps because of the nostalgia of younger days I chose to eat at it. It seemed that everyone else had the same idea and there was quite a line, but it was moving along quickly so I stayed.
When I got to my turn at the register I ordered and paid and then went to stand off to the side with the other people who were waiting for their orders. Everyone behind the counter was busy, and they were doing their best to be organized against the rush. As each person stepped forward to grab their bag the manager himself would assist them.
His words became a constant repeating litany, “Do you need any sauces?” To which he fulfilled whatever their requests may be from bins on the other side of the counter generously. I stepped up to the counter to claim my bag and thinking to beat him to the punch I asked for honey mustard sauce.
The manager glanced up my tall frame and his whole disposition changed in the familiar hang-up that I was used to, but nonetheless angered by. With a curt jerk of a finger he gestured to an outward amenity station, “You can get your sauce over there!”
I was tired and hungry and right now the thought of pulling the pompous white hided racist across the counter and pummeling him half to death sounded like a good idea. Before I could act out on that ill advised fantasy though the sudden quiet of the place was punctuated by sudden, “Hey!”
All eyes of the people caught up in the sanctimonious taboo swiveled to a man standing in line waiting for his food a couple of feet away from me. He was an aging portly built man complete with beard and tattoos. He had truck driver and biker written all over him and he was white.
He had a no-nonsense attitude about him that might find some root in the faded Semper Fi tattoo bedecking one arm. Despite the man’s worn down and bedraggled appearance there was still something about him that demanded respect.
“I didn’t fight and bleed alongside people of his color in the fight for freedom so lily livered panty waisted idiots like you could stand so high and mighty behind a counter and dictate to someone as if they were beneath you, when you don’t even have a drop of spilled blood within you for a noble ideal and that’s if you ever had the gumption to even try! Now you reach your hand into that box and pull out them sauces like the man asked for or so help me I’ll come back there and lay you out!”
The apoplectic red-faced manager quickly did as ordered and then disappeared into the recesses of the kitchens, as the normal flow of the restaurant gradually restored itself in the absence of the manager. Something else was somewhat restored, my faith in my fellow man. I inclined my head toward the unlikely defender of equality and received one in return.
I had been going to just leave the restaurant with my food, but I decided to stay and claim a spot so to speak.
Jane was hard at work the next morning when I stepped within the apartment. From the amount of active computer monitors and strands of wires radiating out from the devices I had brought back I surmised that she had been at it all night. She truly did seem to be
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