Page 55 of Gambler's Conceit
Sure enough, he has one of those video doorbells. I sigh. It means he won’t be opening the door to me, and he’ll probably call the cops if he sees me—not that they’re going to answer anytime soon. I had to call in a favor, but no one’s going to bat an eye if this shithead calls the police.
I grab it, shoving it into my pocket to deal with later, then try the door on the whim. It doesn’t open, but it doesn’t matter. The apartment building has seen better days, and the lock on the door is flimsy. I lean down, using the set of lockpicks I carry with me, and after a moment of concentration, it’s open.
Stupid fucker. He should’ve gotten a deadbolt.
I let myself into his apartment, closing the door quietly behind me and turning the lock. I’m greeted with the welcome sight of him sleeping on the sofa. It must’ve been a long night of research and slander.
Well. Is it slander if it’s true?
Semantics. That doesn’t bother me in the slightest.
My heavy footsteps on the floor must alert him to a surprise visitor, though, because he jolts upright when he hears me approach.
Peter Donaldson turns pale and shakes his head. “Who—who the fuck are you? Get out? I’ve got—alarms. People who will look for me!”
“Sit right there, and you’ll get through this in one piece,” I tell him, feeling a surge of adrenaline rushing through me. He’s not going to survive the evening, of course, but this will be much easier if he thinks he has a chance.
I doubt he’ll believe me, though.
He’s a greasy looking man, with a messy beard and wearing an oversized shirt. He trembles as he looks between me and the closed, locked front door.
“I don’t want trouble,” Donaldson says. “If you want cash, I have a few hundred bucks in a safe.”
I smile at him, though of course he can’t see that through the mask. “Nah. I think I’d rather look at your computer equipment.Go ahead and log into your cloud storage for me. I think you have a few things you’d be relieved to have gone.”
I think that’s when Donaldson realizes exactly who I am and why I’ve come. He whimpers and shakes his head, but when I threaten him with a wickedly sharp knife, he gets off the couch.
I need to remind him periodically of what I could do to him before he finally relinquishes everything I need.
“And that’s that,” I say to him.
He turns around and looks at me in disbelief, red-rimmed eyes going wide. “What? I gave you everything.”
“You pissed off the wrong people, bud.”
I may be big, but I’m faster than people expect. Before he can even scramble out of the office chair, I slash his throat, grimacing at the mess. There’s always so much blood, but it’s the quickest, quietest way to be done with someone.
I leave his body in the chair then methodically begin my sweep of his apartment.
As expected, he has several cameras and even a microphone.
Definitely a paranoid fucker, but then, he had reason to be once he started fucking around with the mob.
I retrieve the hard drives from his computer, grab his phone and tablet, then shove them all into the small bag I’ve brought with me. Once I’m sure I have everything, I change my blood-splattered shirt and pull off the mask so I can get out of here in peace.
It’s easy enough to get out, and no one bats an eye at me. He never even had a chance to call the cops, and no one will be looking for him any time soon.
I get into my car, driving the shit straight to the dump. The guy there is paid off, too, and he waves me through.
It’s all tedious to get rid of everything, but being fastidious is why I’m in the position I am.
Only once I’m finished do I head back to my own small apartment—which is still much nicer and cleaner than Peter’s—and shower.
I clean up well, and after trimming my beard, I put on a set of nice clothes for my date with Seven.
My phone pings just as I head out the door, and I groan in annoyance. I check the text, unsurprised to see it’s from Connie.
She’s asking for more money, even though I’d given her what she’d wanted the last time.