Read Online Formerly Fingerman by Joe Nelms - Free Book Online

interagency fame. So he blew the vodka thing only weeks later. A few weeks of unemployment was an easy trade for a deep notch in the bedpost like Red Light. There was always another vine. Would it be inappropriate to attempt a Tarzan yell? Probably. He settled for growling a quiet Ungowa! to himself as he worked his way through the kitschy office.
    He exited Red Light’s fourteenth floor office to face the elevator in an empty hallway and pressed the Down button. His phone began vibrating. Gracie.
    He pulled it out and soaked up the moment. It was time to answer her call. Hitting the green answer button meant he had the go to tell her the good news. The great news. That he had fucking owned it and was back on top. They were back to really being the couple he had been pretending to be.
    Oh, but wait. Why do that on the phone? You can’t get a congratulatory (ahem) hug over the phone. Brad smiled to himself and declined Gracie’s call for the last time. He would delay gratification for a few more minutes to share the news in person. God, he was so mature.
    As he waited he allowed himself an indulgent thought.
    Things are finally turning my way.
    It was T minus nothing. Frank was headed into the building lobby. Carmine was headed down in the elevator.
    â€œShowtime.”
    It was so great when Brittany could say dramatic things that really had two meanings, even if she was the only one who realized it.
    Brad almost didn’t hear the elevator ding.
    Standing in the hallway, he was too lost in his tiny dreams of success, picturing himself striding confidently into the Red Light office wearing the warm glow of self-assurance that radiates from those who know they’re The Man. In his mind he had just shared a joke with the guy in the coffee cart outside (staying in touch with the little people), picked up his usual paper from the newspaper vendor ( Morning, Mr. Fingerman. How ’bout them Giants? ), and chuckled good naturedly at the people gathered around the three-card Monte hustler outside 1635 Broadway (Suckers!). Brad’s future self made sure to say hi to the cute young receptionist who greeted him a little too warmly every morning. Probably a crush, but who could blame her? Good morning to you too, Christy. But no thanks, I’m happily married. Which reminded him. Hmmm, perhaps an upgrade to a platinum wedding band. And a well-earned man-cation. Nice.
    Inside the waiting elevator Carmine cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows. Coming or not? Brad snapped to and glided on in.
    Brittany scanned the monitors and focused herself on the exquisite timing they had all agreed on.
    â€œPerfect, Tom. Just stay cool. Everybody’s in position.”
    The flush broadcasted over Tom’s microphone to everyone on the walkie network. He had raised his mic hand to respond to Brittany when the AutoFlush sensed that he had moved away from the urinal. It wasn’t his prostate after all. It was the jumbo coffee he poured down his gullet on his way to work, after oversleeping. Which took more than the T minus thirty seconds he had hoped to spend peeing. Damn those late night infomercials.
    â€œBe right there, Brittany.”
    â€œWait, that’s not you?”
    A cold tingle quickly walked its prickly fingers up the back of Brittany’s spine as she stared closer and closer at the feed from the camera in the elevator. There was Carmine standing next to a guy who was not Tom. This was not her plan.
    â€œWho is that? Why is he there? What’s he doing? Can we get him out of there?”
    Brittany and her fellow van mates watched helplessly as the elevator doors closed.
    One team member raised his eyebrows and actually cracked the tiniest smile.
    â€œNot anymore.”
    There’s nothing worse than a smug underling agent.
    â€œTom, how did he get past you?”
    â€œI’m in position, Brittany.”
    He sounded as if he were walking briskly.
    â€œNo, Tom. You missed