Sitting outside a tower block, watching the rain bounce off the windscreen. Waiting and watching. Making sure you’re not seen. A boring but necessary part of the job. The most boring part of this job tops the most interesting part of a normal job. People would think him odd, sitting in his car like this. Any passer-by could see you and remember your face. Take your registration. A couple of days later they hear about a man being murdered nearby; they do their civic duty and report you to the police. Frank’s heard every story there is to hear. All the different ways people are caught out. The sob-stories of a hundred halfwits, locked up because of one mistake.
Frank long ago learned how to be careful. You sit, and you watch, and you wait. You are patient. You scout a location properly. Then you move quickly. The speed at which he does his work, from order to completion, has always been his trademark. It’s one of the things that will separate him from Calum. Calum’s good, but he’s slow. Ponders the job. Takes too long in scouting. It reassures people like Jamieson to have things done quickly. Makes them think it was nice and easy.
Watching the clock. Watching the door. He doesn’t know if it’s the right door to watch. Doesn’t even know if he’s on the correct side of the building. Scott could be tucked up in bed already. Or he might have a squad of spotty-faced little mates in there with him. Better to wait, play it safe. He’s thinking that he should probably have parked further away from the building. His eyesight isn’t perfect, less so in this rain. Better to be close enough to see the door. Better to reduce the amount of walking he has to do as well. Sort of dump where the lifts could be out of order. That might be too much for him. Climbing all the way up there and back down again. Nope, that wouldn’t do. Even if he were young and fit, that would mean too long an exit time after the kill. Something else to worry about. Still, that’s what scouting is for.
It’s nearly two o’clock in the morning now. Enough waiting around. Nobody’s used the door he’s watching. There isn’t a single light visible on this side of the building. Many of the flats are empty, Frank knows that. One by one, they’re ripping these monstrosities down. Good riddance. They seem like horrible places to live. They’re certainly horrible places to do a job. As people move out, their flats are left empty. When there’s only a handful occupied, the council moves the occupants. The fewer people living in the building, the more unpleasant it becomes. Other people start using the building for their own ends. Homeless people. Junkies. People dump things there. Can’t be a nice place for a guy like Scott to live. No wonder he’s taking the stupid risk of working for Shug. Taking the risk of following in Lewis Winter’s footsteps. Living like this is a reason to be desperate.
Frank’s getting out of the car and pressing the button on his key to lock it. Hip’s a little stiff. Sitting in the car like that isn’t good for it. Doctor told him that. Told him he needed to be careful with it for a little while. Don’t overreach, that’s what he said. Frank told him he was a security consultant. The doc smiled, said something about an office job being a good thing. Frank nodded along. Now he’s walking towards the door of the building, pulling up his hood. It’s raining, but there might also be CCTV. Most of the cameras don’t work, but you still take the precaution of pulling up your hood. And it is raining, after all.
He’s in the doorway. There’s a camera up in a corner, but even with a brief glance he can see it’s useless. It looks like some little scamp has decided he doesn’t like being watched and has smashed the thing. It makes this a good door to enter through. A useful bit of scouting. Into the lobby, confronted by two lifts. Neither seems to be out of order. More good news. Nobody around. He’s pressing the button to call the lift. Nobody inside when the doors open. Inside and pressing the button for the second-from-top floor. It’s a long way up and a slow lift. Watching the lights tick up, praying they don’t stop on another floor. Other people out and about, bumping into him. The lift stops on the thirteenth floor, second from the top. Out into the cold corridor. Silent and empty, just how he likes it. Now he’s looking at door numbers. Trying to find Scott’s, so that he’ll be able to get to it in a hurry for the hit. Trying to work out what side of the building it’s on, so that he can watch for the lights.
Towards the end of the corridor, on his right, he finds what he’s looking for. Flat 34B. Door closed, silence inside. He’s checking the surroundings. Nothing of note, except the flat opposite. Flat 35A. The door is directly opposite Scott’s front door. Would be nice to know if there was anyone living there. He might have to check that out tomorrow morning. Find out who lives where, and who’s likely to hear suspicious noises. Frank’s not dumb enough to stand right in front of a door with a peephole. He’s up against the wall that the door is on, taking sideways glances at it. Looking for signs of security. Certainly no cameras up here. Door doesn’t look like it has any unexpected locks on it, either. That might become important, but hopefully not. He’s seen all he needs to for now. He’s smiling to himself as he’s walking back towards the lift. It all looks as simple as he’d hoped. He’s looking back along the corridor as the lift doors open for him. There are a couple of places where you can see wet footprints. He’ll have to remember that if it’s raining tomorrow night.
The job will be tomorrow night. He’s decided on that as the lift’s returning to the ground floor. A simple job with no complications. No need to delay it any longer than that. Out of the lift and through the lobby. Out to his car. Still raining. Rain’s a mixed blessing. More chance of leaving footprints behind. More chance of falling on your arse, if you need to move quickly. But it does give an excuse for a hood. And it keeps people indoors. There’s much to be said for that. He’s in the car, starting it up and pulling away. Driving through the city at night, as he has so many times before. Changing city, though–lurching from an industrial past to a shiny future in one ungainly bound. You have to know the place. Every nook and cranny, as the old ones would say. It takes a second before his memory reminds Frank that he is one of the old ones.
He’s outside his house. Closing the car door quietly and heading up the garden path. He’ll be using a different car tomorrow. Leaving the house earlier, too. Still, you develop the habit of carefulness, and you stick to it. He’s through the front door, closing it quietly. Locking it. He won’t put a light on. He knows where everything in the house is. He can move about in the dark just fine. The need for silence has gone, though. There’s nobody to wake up. Nobody to hide from here. There’s never been anyone in his life. Well, nobody close enough that they would live with him. Been a few women over the years, but he never let it get serious. When he was in Spain there was an Englishwoman. Mid-forties, funny, presentable. She was there visiting her son. She kept saying how silly it was that people their age were having a holiday romance. Didn’t stop her enjoying it. All Frank’s ever had were short romances. Holiday romances, you could call them. Holidays from the life he’s chosen for himself.