Monday evening, just after 7, Two sat in his car, all focus on the building across the street. He rang up the phone number for the fifth-floor apartment. No one answered. It went right to voicemail and a female voice said: “We’re away from the phone right now. Leave a message at the beep. We’ll get back to you.” Probably, the bitch who yelled “Get out!” and then shot me, thought Two. If she’s upstairs, I might not be able to control myself. But, got to remember, Hess may be right about one thing: Control. Or lack of it. That’s my big problem. Gotta fix that.
7:30. Two decided to check the apartment from a different vantage point by walking around to the beachside. All lights were out. No one was home. So, he returned to his car, laid low in his seat, and continued to watch the underground-parking garage and main entrance.
Ridge arrived home a few minutes after 7:30. Mister and Pistol gave him a break. No complaining, which was good because Ridge was beat—maybe because of Lake’s bad news about WebBird—although the mention of insurance did pique his interest. Maybe because of the Toyota brief or having to spend time with the likes of Gryme, or whatever Sasha was trying to pull. Whatever. Ridge didn’t even turn on the lights. He just fed the pets, walked to the bedroom, and crashed on the bed. I’ll just lay down a minute and get some dinner later, he thought, as Mister and Pistol jumped up and cuddled in next to him.
Back in his car, Two slipped lower in the seat. He ate the two Whoppers and fries he’d brought for dinner, while looking up every few seconds at the garage and main door. This time, he promised himself, I’m gonna do it right. He gazed again at the photo of the lawyer from the law firm’s website and checked everyone entering the apartment house to make sure the yahoo was nowhere in sight. The plan was to get into the apartment at midnight and leave the lawyer and his lady a message they would never forget. The damn dog would be gone, dead no doubt. And if the opportunity came up, he wouldn’t mind finishing off that goddamn cat too.
He reasoned to himself, If Hess knew I faked being the alarm-system apprentice and got their phone numbers and alarm codes, even he’d be proud of me. I did my homework. Planned it to a gnat’s ass. Answered the “Help Wanted” ad at Redondo Security Lock. Became an assistant. Put the “15% Off” flyer in their mailbox. Watched the phones. Took the call. Made the appointment. It was genius. What the hell more could I do?
One got all Hess’ attention. Sure, the guy was good, but he wasn’t any better than he was, Two thought. “I’m really friggin’ tired of not getting any credit,” he muttered aloud. “But this—this will change everything.”
At that moment, Two got a text message from One, asking where he was. He concocted an excuse and texted back. Then cleaned up the Whoppers and finished his fries. From that point on, he just sat and watched the garage and main entrance, while playing games on his smartphone. Incredibly, no one entered or left, except some giggling gaggles of teenagers. So much for hot night life in the beach cities, he thought, and it’s only friggin’ 8:45. Midnight can’t come soon enough.