He stood for a moment with his hand on the door. “Call you tonight, Boss, or come by?”
“Call.” He shut the door and the car glided away.
Solo stood for a moment, feeling exposed and perhaps betrayed. What the hell was Willy Joe’s game this time? A test? A sacrifice play?
You couldn’t just walk out on him, crazy and vindictive fucker. Solo fought the reasonable impulse to call a cab and go straight to the airport, sighed, and turned on his heel. Shit or get off the pot.
He went up the walk briskly, checking his watch for the sake of unseen neighbors. The place was a perfect design for breaking in; a small atrium hid the front door from the street.
The atrium was cool and smelled of jasmine. He went straight to the door and rang the bell, getting his story ready in case there was a servant or a robot.
No answer. He looked around carefully for security cameras. If there was one, it was pretty well hidden.
The double lock was a Horton magnetic dead bolt and a plain Kayser underneath. He took out a plastic case of tools and threaded a probe into the Horton and pushed a button. It sometimes got the combination right away; sometimes it took a few minutes. With two mechanical picks, he unlocked the Kayser in seconds. Then the Horton gave a solid snap. He pushed the door open.
He stepped into the anteroom and eased the door shut. Books, paper books, from floor to ceiling! This might work after all; these people had real money.
The Horton lock snapped and he looked back at it—hell, it was a keypad on this side. He’d have to find another way out.
He took one step and a voice in every room said, “Hello? Who’s here?”
Shit. The place did have a system. “Professor Bell,” he said, and the system answered “okay”—but of course it was already calling the police.
Quickest way out. He ran into the kitchen. The door to the garage was also a keypad. There was a glass door and a stained-glass window looking out into the atrium. He picked up a heavy bar stool and swung it against the glass door; it bounced back, nearly dislocating his shoulder. He threw it into the stained glass, which crashed in a glittering rainbow shower, and jumped through the hole into the atrium. He rushed to the walk, paused to smooth his jacket and his tie, and started striding toward town, casually but fast.
Hope the dispatcher’s not too swift.