Ah, yes. That always got results.
Outlaw parked two blocks from Nicole Pearce’s house, then made his way in the dark to the back of the Pearce house.
It wasn’t a wealthy part of town. The houses were small, about sixty years old, most of them badly kept.
He knew how to move in the dark, it was in his bones. He ghosted from tree to shrub to wall, ending up crouching behind the Pearce house, looking out over the backyard. It was the best-kept house on the street, sporting a fresh paint job. The garden was well tended, with neatly trimmed shrubbery and flowering plants and a recently mown lawn. Someone worked hard.
There were lights on in every room downstairs. It was ten thirty. Pretty soon the household would be going to bed, if there was an old man in the house. Outlaw would make his move a few hours after lights out, when the father would be deep in sleep. He leaned his ear against the wall. There were voices in the room, a male rumble and the lighter tones of a woman, but he couldn’t make out the words.
Well, he’d come prepared. That’s what they paid him for.
He entered the combination to open his suitcase. Inside the lining was a soundless electric mini-drill and a snake mike with inbuilt microcamera. He carefully drilled a hole through the exterior wall of the house, the drill so silent he could barely hear it inches away. He broke through at floor level and threaded the mike and camera into the hole.
Shit!
The room was set up like a hospital room. There was a high cot surrounded by medical instruments, an IV tree, a bedside table with pills, a man in a wheelchair. A woman in a nurse’s uniform bending over him.
Outlaw pulled his eye away and sat with his back to the wall.
Well,fuck.Nicole Pearce’s father was sick. How the hell could he have known? It’s not as if it was on her website. That complicated things, because the geezer might die on him and he’d instantly lose his leverage. And that bag hanging from the IV tree would probably have a sedative in it. Outlaw could end up having an unconscious hostage.
Not to mention the fact that the nurse was contractually obliged to stay awake and by his bedside all night.
Shit.This was supposed to be fuckingeasy.
At least the nurse would be easy. And he had a preloaded syringe of adrenaline he could always shoot into the geezer. It would work.
He’d wait until all the lights went out, then break in. The place had no security, none. No cameras, no burglar alarm and he’d seen the locks on the front and back doors. Pathetic. These people deserved what was going to happen to them.
Outlaw settled with his back to the rear left-hand corner where he could keep an eye on the front and back of the house, stretched his legs out, preparing to go into sniper’s lethargy for a couple of hours, when every cell in his body went on red alert.
A squad car pulled up outside the Pearce house. Two cops in the front seats. The passenger window rolled down and Outlaw could hear the squawk of the radio. The guy riding shotgun pulled a mike from the dashboard attached to a curly wire, put it up to his mouth and talked, staring out the window at the façade of the house. The cop listened to a static-filled voice, then got out of the car, hand on the grip of the Beretta 92 in its holster, clearly preparatory to doing a look-see. He was wearing body armor and he looked alert.
He started walking toward the side of the house.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Outlaw melted into the shadows, moving beyond the cop’s vision, thinking furiously.
Now there were two cops to take out, besides the nurse. Count in Nicole Pearce and her father, that made five fucking bodies. His usual fee didn’t cover that. Particularly not snuffing cops. Cops never gave up on cop killings. There was no such thing as a cold case when a cop was offed. It remained hot till the end of time.
Outlaw’s hits were carefully planned and even more carefully executed. No improv, no surprises. He’d avoided capture so far because he left nothing to chance. No prints, no DNA, nada. He was meticulous, almost surgical in his precision.
Tonight he was being forced to work on the fly, leaving behind a trail of dead bodies, two of them cops.
Furious, he pulled out his cell and sent an encrypted message.
Job now requires taking out two cops, a nurse and sick old man. Will need backup. Awaiting instructions.
He was well hidden behind a neighbor’s tool shed and was prepared to wait all night for instructions, but it wasn’t necessary. Fifteen minutes later, he had an answer.
Check your bank. Then do it. Expenses OK.
When he checked his bank account, there was a payment for $1,000,000 there. Shit, for a cool million and a half, he’d off an extra two cops, a nurse and a sick geezer. Particularly since he had the element of surprise.
Killing two cops was serious stuff, though. He’d have to take the money and disappear for a while. A year, maybe more. There was a small property he’d bought in Costa Rica. He could add to it, make himself real comfortable. Dollars went a long way there. He could stay off the grid for a long time.
His gun was untraceable: he’d loaded the magazines wearing latex. He turned everything over in his mind, planning it step by step until he knew it was feasible.
