Dirk had thought his plan out well, but as he cruised along the beautifully landscaped Buena Vista Boulevard toward his deadly rendezvous with Ed Roberts, he was beginning to feel anxious inside. His forehead felt damp. He grabbed a shop rag from his glove box and dried his sweaty face. He looked ahead; he was almost there. He turned slowly into the parking lot at the Arnold Palmer Country Club Complex, located just across the boulevard from Ed and Cathy Robert’s expansive home at Bridgeport. As planned, he immediately headed for the north end of the lot where the early morning golf course maintenance crew parked their vehicles. He pulled in next to the small cluster of cars and pickups and stopped. He reached over his armrest and lifted a white and black golf hat off of the driver’s side seat and put in on. He looked in the rearview mirror and pulled the hat down over his eyes to hide his face as much as possible. He grabbed his fanny pack off the same seat and got out of the truck. The morning air felt cool on his bare legs, an unusual feeling for a man who almost always wore jeans. Dirk felt odd in his sporty get up but he needed to look like a Villager. He was in his late forties and looked older than his age, so he should blend right in. He slid the fanny pack around his waist and pulled it snug. It felt heavy, weighted down by a loaded .38 caliber handgun and silencer hanging in the center compartment.
Dirk punched the remote command on his key chain and the rear hatch started to groan upward. Dirk walked to the back and lifted the bike out of the truck. Cycling was a big part of life in The Villages and many of the residents often carted their bikes to other parts of the huge community to try out new, more interesting trails.
After exploring several alternatives, the decision to ride his bicycle into Bridgeport rather than drive his SUV seemed like the best choice to Dirk. The mailbox area in Bridgeport was located just inside the security gate. Cathy had offered to give him her electronic card that would activate the gate and let him drive into the neighborhood, but he nixed that idea. By riding a bike into Bridgeport, he could use the golf cart path and avoid passing by the electric eye on the security gate. He was also concerned that there could be hidden security cameras by the gate recording everyone who entered the upscale neighborhood.
Dirk carefully climbed aboard his bike and started across the parking lot for his trip to Bridgeport. The transfer of the forty thousand dollars from Cathy to him had gone smoothly at the flea market the day before. As planned, they had met on the runway, laughed and carried on like old friends. When Dirk departed he had a check for forty thousand dollars in his shopping bag.
Earlier that day, Dirk had volunteered to take the daily deposit to the bank much to the chagrin of Daisy, who complained that it was because “he didn’t trust her worth a shit.” But it didn’t matter that Daisy was upset. It was important that Dirk include the forty thousand in the normal daily deposit so as not to draw attention to it. On a good day, the Cycle Shop could take in over a hundred thousand dollars, so a large deposit was not out of the ordinary. After completing the deposit, he had immediately wired his sister Naomi the forty grand. She was thrilled and called him over and over again to tell him how much she loved him.
The darkness was just beginning to turn into daylight as Dirk pedaled through the Palmer parking lot back toward Buena Vista Boulevard. The rising sun filtered through the bushes that bordered the Palmer area illuminating the magnificent brown cedar clubhouse. These rich bastards have it made, he thought. His dark piercing eyes surveyed the road ahead of him. The loaded .38 brushed against his thigh with each rotation of the pedal. There was no turning back now. He would soon be shooting the guts out of a man he had never even met.
Headlights suddenly flashed on the stone entryway at the entrance to the parking lot. Dirk abruptly stopped pedaling and started to coast, watching the vehicle turn into entrance of Palmer. A few seconds later, the side of the vehicle came into sight. Dirk was stunned. It was a small white, pick-up truck, with “Community Watch” written on the side.
“Damn! Just what I needed!” he mumbled. He had to think fast, he didn’t want to draw more attention to himself than necessary. He must act as normal as possible, like any Villager would act who was out for an early morning bike ride. The security vehicle slowed near the crossing path to let him by. Dirk made a split second decision to stick his arm out and turn left in front of the slowing vehicle instead of turning right which would take him out of his way. He kept his head low and rode casually across the pathway and bounced over the speed bump on the other side. A short time later he was gliding down the steep incline into the long tunnel that led under the road. He glanced over his shoulder as the small truck continued into the Palmer lot without hesitation. On the other side of the tunnel, Dirk veered right and rode slowly up the hill toward Bridgeport. He surveyed the round-a-bout and the entrance to Palmer and saw no signs of the security vehicle he had encountered earlier. He leaned left and pedaled hard into the Bridgeport neighborhood.