The Professional Read Online Free

fitness illusion that somehow working out was fun and glamorous. I thought about the gyms where I’d trained as a kid, when I was a fighter. I had started in Boston at Henry Cimoli’s decrepit dump on the waterfront, when the waterfront was decrepit. Henry used to say the location was perfect for screening out the frauds, because only a legitimate tough guy would dare to go down there. Then the waterfront yuppified and so did Henry, and when I went there now I felt sort of misanthropic for not wearing spandex. But there are things that can’t be compromised. I refused to dress up to work out.
    The lobby of Pinnacle Fitness had sofas and coffee tables and a snack bar where you could get juices and smoothies and tofu sandwiches on seven-grain bread. It was probably not a good place to get a linguica sandwich. I went to the front desk.
    “Gary Eisenhower here?” I said.
    The young woman at the front desk had a blond ponytail and very white teeth. She was wearing a white polo shirt with the club logo on it and black satin workout pants.
    “Excuse me?” she said.
    “Gary Eisenhower,” I said. “Is he here?”
    “Does he work here?”
    “I don’t know,” I said.
    She frowned cutely.
    “I don’t believe we have anyone by that name working here,” she said.
    “Oh,” I said. “Good. So he’s a member, then?”
    “I, ah, I don’t recognize the name,” she said.
    “Could you look him up for me?” I said.
    “I . . . I’m sure the client-services manager can help you,” the young woman said. “That’s her office right there.”
    The client-services manager had an open-door policy. I knocked on the open door and she turned in her swivel chair and smiled at me radiantly and stood. She, too, had a blond ponytail and very white teeth. But she was wearing a white top and a black skirt. The skirt was short, and there was a lot of in-shape leg showing between the hem and the top of her black boots.
    “Hi, I’m Margi,” she said. “How can I help you?”
    “I’m looking for Gary Eisenhower,” I said.
    “Is he a member here?” Margi said.
    “That’s what I was going to ask you,” I said.
    “Why do you wish to know?” Margi said.
    “I’d like to get in touch with him,” I said.
    “It is club policy, sir, not to give out member information.”
    “Something illicit going on here?” I said.
    “Of course not,” Margi said. “It is simply that we respect our members’ privacy.”
    “Me, too,” I said. “So he is a member?”
    Margi was getting brisker by the minute; no wonder she made client-services manager.
    “I didn’t say that, sir.”
    “Of course not,” I said. “But if he’s not a member, then there’s no privacy issue, is there.”
    “Of course not,” Margi said. “May I ask why you are interested?”
    “So what you can do is check your membership records, and if he is not a member, you can tell me.”
    She frowned. The reasoning had become too convoluted for her. I thought her frown was even perkier than the one I’d seen at the front desk. But I feared that she would never advance beyond client services.
    “Are you some kind of policeman or something?” she said.
    “I am,” I said.
    I used to be a policeman, and “or something” covers a lot.
    “I don’t mean to give you grief, Margi. Just check. If he’s not a member, tell me and I’ll move on,” I said.
    I was interested as well as to what she’d do if he was a member.
    She looked at me, still frowning, giving it as much thought as she was able. Then she heaved a big sigh and turned to her computer.
    “Eisenhower,” she said. “Does that start with an I?”
    “E,” I said, and spelled it for her.
    She clicked at her computer for a little while, and then I could see her face relax.
    “We have no one by that name as a member,” she said.
    She could have been lying to get rid of me. But I didn’t think she was smart enough to fake the look of relief when she didn’t find him. I thanked her.
    “Could I buy