Burt’s house is one of the biggest in the neighborhood, a six-bedroom, three-floor monstrosity with an enormous backyard, complete with in-ground pool and brick barbecue, the works.
There’s no one outside. I slip up to the shed then sprint across the open space to the back of the house. It’s easy to reach up, pull, and hang off the back deck.
Burt is inside with the wife, sitting at his kitchen table. By the looks of things they’re doing their monthly bills. She’s a cute one, the wife. Twenty years younger, at least, and apparently he likes redheads.
I’m not here for that. I drop down and circle around, crouching and checking to see if anyone might spot me. It’s so damned open, but I love a challenge.
In a pouch on my belt I’ve got a device called a packet sniffer. I check the basement through the window to see what kind of Internet connection he has. It’s a fiber line, so I move around to the corner of the house and find where the fiber emerges from the ground and flows back into the house, next to the electrical conduit box. From there it’s a simple job to splice the packet sniffer into the line.
I work my way along the foundation of the house, to the garage. Going in through the garage door itself is a no-go, too loud. Fortunately there’s a back door, and there’s no deadbolt so it’s easily picked, takes me two seconds with a pick gun. I stop and scan the room; Burt might be the type to have a security camera system, but no, he feels too safe for that.
Must be nice, feeling safe. Too bad your employees don’t get a taste of that.
Rolling onto the floor, I slide under his Benz. I figure if this guy is going out for any clandestine trysts he’s going to take the flashy car; his wife’s grocery getter isn’t going to pull the cooze like a brand new SLK.
He bought the AMG package. God, this car is wasted on this asshole.
The GPS tracker is pretty unobtrusive. I attach it to the frame with some zip ties; drilling it into place would be too loud and adhesive would lose integrity too quickly. I flick it on and wait for the green light. It has a lithium battery, should last about a month, plenty of time.
I sigh. What the hell am I doing this for? I should be watching cartoons and crawling into a bottle.
I slip out from the car and lock the door before pulling it shut. Quarter after eight, plenty of time to pick up Rose.
Back to the car by eight thirty. I pull into the parking lot at the college at nine on the dot, and wait.
Wait.
Wait some more.
It’s 9:20 when students finally start piling out of the doors, heading for their cars. Rose trudges out wearily, her messenger bag over her shoulder, and scrubs her hand through her hair. Even in the harsh street lamps, she’s pretty. The sharp contrasts give her a hazy, femme-fatale look.
I wheel the car around to the sidewalk and wince when I realize I’m drawing a lot of attention. Rose looks around with some trepidation on her face and slips into the car, sighing.
“Sorry. This one likes to give us our money’s worth.”
She glances at the dash clock.
“I’m glad you’re here. I’d have missed the bus. The other profs usually let out a little early but Hevermeyer insists we take a dinner break, blathers on up until nine on the dot and makes us meet with our groups for… I’m boring you,” she sighs.
“No, no, go on.”
She leans back in the seat. “I don’t know how I’m going to do all this, between work and the kids and school. I’m losing my mind. I have to be up before five tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to take the bus again. I can drive you.”
Her voice is tight, like she’s choking up. “Thank you. You’ve been really kind to me today.”
“I did spray you with a hose.”
She glances over at me with a hint of a smile pulling at her lips. “Did you do that on purpose?”
“I’m an asshole,” I sigh, “but I’m not that big of an asshole. If you’re going to get wet for me I’d rather it be voluntary.”
She flinches and turns red.
“Did you go to Catholic school?”
“No, why?” she says, blinking.
“Nothing.” I smirk. “Straight home, or do you want to grab something to eat?”
“I am hungry, but I should get something at home. I can’t really—”
“On me,” I add quickly.
“Oh. I… If you want.”
“There a McDonalds around here?”
“Of course.”
“I need directions.”
She nods. I drive, turning where she says, until I spot the Golden Arches and pull into the drive-through.
“What do you want, like a cheeseburger or something?”
“Um,” she says, “two Double Quarter Pounders with cheese. Ask for them plain.”
I blink at her a few times.
“I’m hungry,” she says sheepishly.
“Gotcha.”
I roll up to the speaker. “Gimme two twenty piece Chicken McNuggetses, two Double Quarter Pounders plain, two large Cokes, and a large chocolate shake.”
“Fries,” Rose chirps.
“Large fries.”
After we pull into a parking spot I pass her the bag and the milkshake.
“For me?”
“Yeah, we can split it if you want.”