by Robert J. Krog
He flashed his club membership card at the gate guard, was greeted as Mr. Smith, and rolled on in. The parking lot was full of Lexus, Mercedes, Audis, and BMWs. He pulled into an empty spot between two of them and wished he’d had the foresight to arrive in a fancier vehicle himself.
Once parked and out of his car, he strolled the grounds, past the pool, the tennis courts, and the fancy new gym, and out into the trees and sculpted landscape beyond until he found that he was, as he’d estimated, able to look over the wall into the second-floor windows of the Sanders’ house. George’s office was, according to Luke, on the second floor, at the southeast corner of the house, overlooking the garden in the back yard. There was a light on in the window.
How to proceed? There were security cameras, of course, but he could find his way in before his target was aware. The problem was locating George in the house. He had a simple solution to that. Luke needed to be in on the hit more, not because Shaw needed the help, so much as Shaw wanted Luke to feel as dirtied by the business as possible. He didn’t like his client. The man was clearly a coward, weak and anxious, and looking for a way to justify his actions. Shaw needed the man to dirty his hands because that would be amusing. He chuckled and sent a message to Luke from the burner phone he’d been instructed to answer.