Read Online Lost Art Assignment by Austin Camacho - Free Book Online

passers-by on California’s beaches. Her eyes savored again the delicacy of the artist’s hand. Beside her, Davis took in a deep breath and slowly let it out.
    â€œExquisite,” he said, after a moment. “Look at her hair. Astonishing. And the detail of that knit sweater. We’re privileged, Nicole, you know that? We may be the first two people in decades to view this masterpiece in natural sunlight,” He sighed, and his left hand dropped with casual confidence onto Felicity’s knee.

-10-
    â€œI thought you said this guy was a gang leader,” Felicity said. They had been in New York barely two hours when their hired limousine parked in front of a restored brownstone on Manhattan’s West 53rd Street.
    â€œDoes that mean he has to live in the streets?”
    â€œI suppose not.” Felicity glanced left at the white Mercedes stretch limousine, then right at two black men sitting casually on the stoop next door. Behind her, across the street, metal glinted in a window beneath a stern black face. Another large man with nothing to do stood just behind the glass doors at the top of the steps leading into the building.
    Yes, as they said in old American movies, this must indeed be the place.
    Her duffel bag slung over her shoulder, Felicity climbed the brown stone steps with Davis holding her arm. Her suitcase stayed in the trunk. At the double glass door Davis walked in, brushed past the guard type and led her upstairs. Behind them, the guard spoke quietly into a small radio.
    Felicity looked up toward the third floor, smiling at the wisdom of living in between. This gang boss was no fool. Davis knocked twice, and the door swung open. Felicity’s eyes widened. Through the door, she couldn’t see all of the man who opened it. He was very big, very dark, and looked like an inflated Macy’s parade balloon. He stepped aside, and Davis ushered Felicity inside.
    The odor of frying meat struck Felicity as soon as she entered. Layered over the homey sound of grease crackling in a pan, rap music thumped unrelentingly from another room. It made for a mismatched image with the tasteful decor. The living room was done in soft pastels, the fireplace mantle littered with Hummel figurines. A black leather three piece living room group stood on a highly polished parquet floor.
    Before they had been inside for a full minute, a thin, frantic figure in baggy pants and a slouching top hat rushed in from the back of the house. He was a teenager, Felicity judged, a black kid whose head looked stretched out and dented in on the sides. A large, black Doberman pinscher trotted at his side. His eyes flashed and he was grinning like an idiot.
    â€œWhat up, my man, what it is, what it IS!” The boy grabbed Davis’ hand for a shake, and the two bumped chests in a half-hug. Then Slash stepped back, his attention drawn by Felicity. He stuck out his lower lip, nodding slowly, as if to say “not bad.”
    â€œThis is Nicole,” Davis said. “She is holding me down. Nicole, my dear, this is your benefactor, Mister J.J. Slash.”
    â€œHow do you do?” Felicity said, managing to keep her eyes from bulging. This was the mastermind behind millions of dollars worth of artwork changing ownership in recent months? She offered her hand politely. Slash slapped it.
    â€œI do damned fine mama. Not bad, Sonny D. I didn’t know you was boo’ed up but I got to give you props for this one. Hey, there’s no shortage of chairs. Cop a squat. Let’s rap a little.”
    Felicity and Davis took opposite ends of the leather sofa, while Slash perched on the very edge of a recliner’sseat cushion. His smile reminded her of a hungry shark’s. The dog dropped to the floor beside his feet.
    â€œLookahere,” Slash said, and Felicity wondered where he meant. “Sonny D. knows I like to cut straight to the bone. He say you pretty cool walking around with a hundred grand