“Don’t turn into a lobster while I’m gone.” He stepped away from the back door.
The reason he was leaving crashed over me all over again. Sharp pains cut through my middle. “As long as no one comes to murder me, I’ll be just fine,” I snapped coldly.
He stopped in his path but didn’t turn around. I saw him flex his hands at his sides. “I wouldn’t worry about that. All you’d have to do is open your mouth and anyone coming near you would run away as fast as they could.”
He started walking again, but I didn’t stand there to see if he looked back. I went out the back door, slamming it behind me. I wasn’t going to think about him. I wasn’t going to think about what he could be doing. I was going to take advantage of this beautiful place and not think at all. With any luck, the waves would carry away every single thought I had.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Kill - to deprive of life.”
Charming
The Target was a man. I didn’t get a huge folder of background information on him. Just his name, his whereabouts, and the fact that he was supposed to die. Frankly, I welcomed the fact that I didn’t have to learn anything about him. It seemed like such a waste of time to get to know someone who was practically already dead.
I didn’t even know why G.R. wanted him dead. It wasn’t for money or the job wouldn’t be an in-and-out type of thing. If he had an ability G.R. wanted for someone, he didn’t say. All I was supposed to do was complete the job and then call him so he could come collect.
Although, I really wouldn’t be surprised if this man had anything G.R. wanted. He was probably just some lame excuse to get me out of town and away from my real Target for a couple days.
I wasn’t even sure what he did with the bodies, with the souls of the Targets. Once we called and he came, our part was through and we left. I never asked him and he never volunteered the information. I never really cared. Until now.
Robert “Bobby” Salzman worked in the entertainment industry. In Hollywood, that could mean anything from blockbuster movies to adult films. Whatever he did paid him pretty well, judging from the size of his house and cherry-red Dodge Viper sitting in the driveway.
But he should have spent his money on better security. I pulled the motorcycle I “borrowed” into his driveway, leaving my helmet on but flipping up the visor so it only looked like I was too lazy to pull it off and not like I was trying to hide. I kept the leather jacket and gloves on and then unstrapped the pizza that I picked up from the local pizza joint on the way and carried it toward the door.
To any wandering eye, it would appear I was just the pizza guy delivering lunch. I made it to the front door and rang the bell. From what I knew, he lived alone, but I wasn’t sure if he was alone today, so ringing the bell would give me a chance to figure it out before I actually finished the job. It was never good when you realized there was a witness that you didn’t know about. Then your single Target became two. Yes, the rules were you killed no one but the Target, but when the job was compromised, exceptions were made.
He answered the door. I checked a housekeeper off my list of potential witnesses. He was wearing a bathing suit and no shirt. He smelled like tanning lotion and his skin was slick with the stuff. “What?” he demanded.
“Pizza delivery,” I said, holding up the pizza.
“I didn’t order a pizza.”
I read off the address—his address—on the order form attached to the pie.
“That’s me, but I didn’t order a pizza.”
“Well, I’m already here and no more orders to fill. Here,” I said, holding out the box, “on the house.”
He grunted. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, kid.”
I handed him the box and he went inside, shutting the door on my face. What? No tip? I stepped away from the door, but instead of getting on the bike, I zipped around the side of the house (super speed really comes in handy) and into the back yard. There were lots of foliage and tropical plants back here and the neighbor’s house wasn’t even visible, so it made the job even easier.
He was sitting in a patio chair with the open pizza box beside him. I stepped into his line of sight and he stiffened, standing up immediately. “What the hell are you doing, kid?”
He came over; his body language said he was ready for a fight. I kicked his legs out from under him and he fell back, hitting his head on the concrete. He lay there unmoving. I used my foot and pushed him into the pool.
If the body was found, it would appear that he slipped, hit his head, and fell into the pool and drowned.
When I was sure he was dead, I dialed G.R. “It’s done,” I said into the phone. Then I hung up.
He appeared two seconds later, stepping through the door/portal he created, and looked at the body floating in the pool.
“Job complete.”
I started to walk away, but then I stopped. I had to ask. Even if he didn’t answer. “Why this one?”
“That Viper in his driveway came from my lot. He hasn’t paid his lease in six months.”
