“I need Stanley Morter’s home address. It’s unlisted.”
“No problem. Gimmie a second,” she replied, furiously typing away in the background. “10526 Overland Drive. He’s in a private gated community called Pinecrest.”
“I’ve gotta get into his place unnoticed. Can you tell me if he has a security system?”
“Sure thing,” she said, returning to her typing. “Top of the line. Cameras around the perimeter of the house as well as throughout the inside, as well as sensors on every door and window. The works,” she said cheerily.
“I’ve gotta get inside the place. Why do you sound so happy?” I asked, climbing onto my bike.
“Because it’s nothing I can’t walk you through doing with your cell phone as long as you’re in range of the home’s wi-fi router.”
“Well, that’s fucking disturbing.”
“Blessed are the geeks, for they shall inherit the earth,” she replied.
“I’ll call you when I get there.” I hung up and headed for the hills.
Scooby
Isat inthe dark for almost two hours before Stanley Morter entered his previously safe and secure home, seated in what felt like an expensive chair located in the corner of his bedroom. This room, like the house itself, was way too large for just one person but Stanley was clearly the kind of guy who liked to flaunt his wealth. He was also the kind of guy who’d kill to amass more.
True to her word, Sierra helped me override Stanley’s security system within seconds. She then hacked the front door keypad, giving me access to the home without leaving any signs of a break in. For my plan to work, I had to be a ghost. I’d made sure to cover every track I lay and left my boots hidden outside. I wore gloves and a wool beanie and avoided making contact with anything I didn’t have to. I would leave no trace. “What the fuck? Why is this off?” I heard Stanley Morter grumble from downstairs as he furiously punched at the keys on the alarm’s control panel. “I pay out the ass every month for this god dammed security system, and this is what I get for my money?”
I froze momentarily, fearing Morter might have someone with him, but after a few moments, it was clear he was talking to himself out loud. I didn’t need any unexpected guests arriving to this little private party. The plans I had were for Stanley Morter and Stanley Morter alone.
“This is all I fucking need,” he groaned as he walked up the stairs, clearly agitated by more than the disabled alarm. “And why the hell hasn’t Barnes called me yet?”
Stanley reached his bedroom and hit the light switch on his wall.
“Sorry, Stan, but Gary Barnes won’t be joining us tonight,” I said just as the lights came up. Revealing me, along with the silver, pearl-handled Colt .45 I was pointing straight at him.
“Holy shit. You scared me! W—what are y—you doing in m—my bedroom?” Stanley stammered.
“You didn’t listen very well during our phone conversation, so I thought maybe I’d have better luck communicating with you if we spoke in person,” I replied.
Stanley’s eyes darted to the alarm panel on his bedroom wall.
“It’s all been disabled. No panic buttons to push, no safe room to hide in. If you reach for your phone or a weapon, I’ll shoot you. If you call out for help, I will cut out your tongue and then shoot you. Do you understand?”
Stanley nodded.
“Good. Now, I’d like you to sit down and join me for a drink,” I said, pointing to the bottle of the Balvine fifty-year old which sat on the nightstand between the chair and the bed. “I hope you don’t mind. I found this downstairs and thought we’d crack it open for this special occasion.”
“What do you want from me? M—money?”
“You know something, Stan. Even if I didn’t know anything about you, I’d know you came from money. You wanna know how I’d know?”
“Sh—sure,” Stanley said, visibly shaking as I kept my gun on him.
“Because you’re not a very good listener. People who work hard, the ones who make their money from the ground up, are always excellent listeners. For instance, I’ve told you several times that I’m not interested in your money. I’ve also told you to stay the hell away from Rowan Samuels. And now I’ve told you to join me for a drink, and wouldn’t you know it? You’ve ignored everything I’ve said. Now, sit the fuck down.”
Stanley did as he was told, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. I stood up and handed the bottle to him. “Drink,” I said.
Stanley put the bottle to his quivering lips and took a sip.
“Jesus Christ, Stan. This shit’s sixty-thousand bucks a bottle. Well, I guess you’d know that.” I laughed. “Come on take a real swig,” I said, tilting the bottle to him, causing him to cough as booze spilled into his mouth and down the front of his shirt.
“Enough,” he said, gasping for air.