Winston Sporting Goods had very poor security for a place that sold guns. Slythe had no problem disconnecting the alarm system, smashing a bathroom window, and letting himself in.
With a pencil flashlight he made his way to the firearms section. He was pleased to see a Sig Sauer among the guns hanging on the wall. He didn’t take it, but began pulling out drawers below the countertop. They held nothing but bullets, from BBs to buckshot to assault rifle magazines.
In the middle drawer he found what he wanted: a box of 9mm cartridges. He opened the box and dumped a pile of bullets out on the counter. He took the Sig Sauer off the wall and loaded it just to make sure they fit.
When he was done he popped the magazine, thumbed out the bullets, and ejected the one in the chamber. He slid the empty magazine into the gun and hung the Sig Sauer back on the wall.
He put a dozen bullets in his pocket and returned the rest to the box. He closed the box and put it back in the drawer, underneath another box of identical shells.
He swept up the glass, locked the bathroom window, and went out the back fire door, pulling it shut behind him. He reset the security alarm, hopped in his car, and drove off.
It couldn’t have gone better. With luck, no one would notice there’d been a robbery. Certainly not before tomorrow.
After that it wouldn’t matter.
Fred Russell was up at five o’clock. It was a huge tech day, and he had to be at the studio at six, and the set wasn’t at the studio—it was at the top of a five-story-high construction site. A technician’s nightmare to set up.
He pulled on a T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and running shoes, his standard attire. He didn’t stop for breakfast, he’d get coffee and a Danish from the catering truck on the set. He checked that he had his money, his keys, and his wallet. He pulled on his cap and opened the front door.
A man stood in the doorway. He seemed vaguely familiar, but Russell couldn’t place him. He was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, with a baseball cap worn backward. Otherwise—
Russell’s eyes widened.
The man from the bar.
The man Russell had just recognized stepped in with a straight razor and cut his throat.