Mirho had kept his car hidden from the street, down the block from the empty house in Armonk. Sooner or later someone had to go by him. He’d waited all day.
His ribs were sore and his face was cut in spots, but that was nothing like what he was going to give back in return once he finished what he’d set out to do. This had started out as just a job. A job like many he’d done. Messy. Quiet. Across the lines. He was used to that kind of work.
But now it had become something more. Now there was a whole lot more at stake. More than just the money. There were too many open questions. Too many loose ends. And only one way to make sure nothing came out.
He kept his Glock hidden under the newspaper on the passenger seat and rubbed his face.
Now it had gotten personal.
Sooner or later she’d be back. There was only one reason the cops hadn’t been called in so far and that was because she wanted a piece of the money too. And this time what he’d done to Rollie would be way too kind for her. He’d learned a few tricks along the way. He knew how to fillet a fish, leaving only one piece of skin.
It passed the time, just thinking about what he would do. This one had taken a few wrong turns. But in the end, things would all go his way.
He rubbed his scar. They always did.
Three twenty P.M. If no one showed, he knew where his next stop would be. Back to Staten Island. More than one way to skin a fish, he knew, right? The money, he’d find a way to make that come to him in the end.
Suddenly he saw a car go past. A clunky old white minivan. A Dodge Caravan or something. Two people in the front. He watched it wind up the cul-de-sac and make a turn.
Into the only house that was up there.
Mirho lifted the newspaper off his gun. Well, what do you know . . .
The garage door opened. The minivan pulled up in front. The two people in the car went inside, and one, well, one made his heart jump in delight. He drove his own car into the driveway and parked directly behind the van. He screwed the silencer on the Glock and stepped inside the open garage.
The door leading to the kitchen was open. He heard a woman shout in broken English. “Brandon, plees, les go. Weel be late for your appointment!”
Mirho just remained in the doorway as the woman called again. “Plees, come now.”
Suddenly she came back out into the garage. She was barely over five feet. Wide as she was tall. Her dark hair pulled back.
Mirho smiled and winked at her. “Señora.”
She gasped. Probably not sure if she was in danger or not. Until she saw the gun. Her eyes growing wider. Knowing she was.
The boy came around the corner carrying an iPad.
“Well, well, well,” Mirho said, swatting the woman to the floor, the boy just staring at him wide-eyed. “I better stop off and play the lottery,” he said, grinning, “ ’cause this be my lucky day.”