That seemed like a good bet, and a place to start. Anton Hamm would have to wait. First, Keita had to rescue Charity. He would make a bit from his monthly salary from Ivernia Beech, but that was far from enough. To earn the rest from races, he would have to keep well fed, rested and fit. Keita needed new shoes and knew they would help him avoid injury, but he didn’t want to touch his savings. The next day, Keita paid ten dollars to enter the race and get a bib and a computer chip for his running shoe. He edged to the starting line, where a thousand runners waited for the starter’s gun. The key to a local race was to win, but not by such a margin that he drew much attention. The gun went off, and Keita spotted a lithe black man among the front runners. Smooth stride. Landing easily on the balls of his feet. Damn. Keita had competition. He ran right behind the pack of front runners to get a good look at them. He could tell almost everything he needed to know by watching the runners for four hundred metres.
