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

worth of, what is it, tempera? Yeah, that stuff, on you.” Felicity pulled the tube from her duffel bag and Slash accepted it without looking inside. “Hey, I don’t know from art, shorty, that ain’t my department. If Sonny D. says it’s real, it’s real, you know. Anyway, he says you want a job. That the deal?”
    Felicity suppressed a smile at this boy calling her shorty when she was an inch or two taller than he. She watched as J.J. Slash scratched at his head, rubbed his chin and cracked his knuckles. Was this kid a speed freak, or just naturally hyperactive?
    â€œAs I told Ross I can steal anything,” Felicity said. “Art, jewelry, the occasional car. But sometimes after the real work’s done finding a buyer is the problem. I’d like to be part of an organization, and you look like the winning ticket around here.”
    â€œThat’s what I look like, huh?” Slash replied. He focused his attention on her as tightly and intensely as a theater follow spot. “Okay, so, how come the fake name and the phony accent before? Hey, you want something to drink? Coffee or maybe a shot? You do shots, mama?”
    â€œJ.J., could we just have some lemonade or something?” Davis asked, taking a deep pull on his cigarette. Slash glanced at the giant at the door who headed toward the back of the building.
    â€œThe name and accent are just common sense for safety,” Felicity said with a smile. “Like taking recorded messages on a phone routed through extra switches so itcan’t be traced.”
    â€œShe’s pretty slick,” Slash said, looking at Davis for just a second before sending his gaze boring into Felicity again. “It’s cool, mama. I don’t care who the hell you really are. If you’re running from somebody you’re safe with me. See I own the East Coast south of Boston, north of Miami. And them borders will be moving out soon. Not bad for a seventeen year old gang banger, huh?”
    â€œIf I may.” Felicity thought she might step onto shaky ground now, but if she was to sell herself as fresh from the Continent, she must ask certain questions.
    â€œDon’t be shy, sugar. We all grown-ups here.”
    â€œWell, this gang thing,” Felicity ventured. “I mean, I expected more of what I saw on the West Coast. Colored rags and machine guns and the like.”
    â€œYou seen too many movies, babe.” Slash laughed a high, long laugh, flipping back in his chair. His hand slid down to scratch behind the dog’s ear. A woman brought glasses on a tray, handing one each to Felicity and Davis. It was iced tea, but no one cared.
    â€œLet me clue you,” Slash continued when he had control. “See, those ain’t gangs, those are franchises. Niggas like the Bloods and the Cryps, they all run by the South Americans to sell drugs. Outsiders moving in, just like the Japa-fucking-nese. This here is pure-D American enterprise. Which reminds me. Sonny D. here said something about more money?”
    â€œWell…I took a special risk to obtain this special piece,” Felicity said. “I could have fenced it elsewhere without your ever knowing I had it. I wanted it to be my entree to you but I really think the risk and the initiative warrant ten percent.”
    Silence blanketed the room, broken only by theDoberman’s panting. Slash froze in position, his eyes still on Felicity but glazed over. It was as if he was asleep with his eyes open, but Felicity somehow sensed his brain humming like a powerful turbine behind the mask of his face. She looked over at Davis, who smiled confidently back. He had seen this act before, and this J.J. Slash clearly impressed him. A full minute passed and Felicity was about to ask something when Slash’s mouth suddenly opened and words burst out.
    â€œYou God damned skippy. You don’t ask for what you worth, you never get it. You’re in the mix, Scarlet,