Barracuda Read Online Free Page A

patient.
    “Thanks for everything, Doc!” he blurted. “Hey,
Fritz, how’s the elbow?” he called out to the patient that he
suddenly recognized.
    “Better,” Fritz replied.
    Micko smiled to himself and he limped toward the
elevator. He had worked with Fritz on a detail when they were both
young patrolmen. The man’s speech and facial features reminded
Micko of Fred Flintstone’s sidekick Barney Rubble. Fritz almost
always answered any question with a one-word response. If he was
ever run over by a truck and someone asked him what happened, all
he was bound to say was, “Ouch!”
    When Micko reached his car, he decided to take
off the T-tops, pop in a doo-wop tape, and slip back into the
1950s. Dion and the Belmonts were belting out a song called
“Runaround Sue” as he drove off. He was too young to remember, but
he had an unexplained love for fifties music. It was a very cool
ride home, but even if the weather was challenged, his spirit
wasn’t. There were no signs of depression now.
    Back at his apartment, Micko took off his monkey
suit and immediately began pulling out his scuba gear. It had been
a few years since his last dive trip, and the gear needed some
serious servicing. His dive computer needed new batteries, his
regulator had to be refit, he had to replace the straps on his fins
and mask and replace the O-rings on his underwater camera and any
other gear that required them…. He couldn’t wait to call Gus and
tell him about his good news.
    Micko waited until thirteen hundred hours to
call Sharon. Gladys wanted to give her a heads-up first so her
sister would have time to do a bit of research for a cheap trip.
Micko was surprised when she answered the phone on the first
ring.
    “Gold’s Travel, Sharon speaking.”
    “Hi, Sharon, this is Mick O’Shaughnessy. Gladys
gave me your card.”
    “Oh, Michael, I’ve been waiting for your call.
How soon can you get down here?”
    “Um…down where?”
    “Five hundred Park Avenue, suite number
two-eleven.”
    “I guess I can be there in an hour.”
    “You’ll love the trip I’ve got planned for you.
See you in an hour.”
    Micko left his dive gear strewn about his living
room floor and dressed in casual jeans and an NYPD sweatshirt. He
wanted to remind Sharon that he was a poor cop. The Park Avenue
address concerned him that the trip might cost him either an arm
and a leg or his firstborn child.
    Micko rode the elevator alone, exited at the
second floor. A huge set of ornate bronze doors caught his eyes and
the number “211” was proudly displayed.
    “I can’t afford this,” he disappointedly
murmured to himself as he pushed his way into the labyrinth that
was Gold’s Travel.
    The waiting room was as big as a gymnasium, and
the walls were pockmarked with posters of various exotic vacation
destinations. After each poster was a door leading to an agent’s
office. From behind a large desk, an anorexic-looking woman
inquired, “May I help you?”
    Micko almost replied, “Yeah, I’d like to fatten
you up with a couple of Big Macs,” but instead he said, “I’m here
to see Sharon Goldberg. My name is—”
    “Oh, I know who you are,” she interrupted with a
boney smile. “Sharon is expecting you, Officer.” She resembled the
Grim Reaper as she pointed a skinny finger toward the largest
office. “Go right in.”
    Micko tried not to limp as he ambled toward the
door.
    Sharon Goldberg was just as gorgeous as Gladys
except that she was blonde. She also had a penchant for tight
blouses and black stockings. Micko had trouble not staring at her
cleavage while talking to her. He was careful to only sneak a peek
when he thought she couldn’t see him doing it.
    Sharon had a professional air about her, but she
was still a striking woman all the same. Long blonde hair hung
slightly over her shoulders and rested on a black V-neck cashmere
sweater. A small dainty emerald necklace encircled her swan-like
neck, and she wore a thin yellow belt around a