The young man smiled. "That's the spirit, Bonnie not Parker."
She huffed but joined him in smiling before both heads turned slightly and their necks craned to allow them to focus on the topmost two floors of the building.
"It's pretty in this light," the man said in a low voice.
They stood mid-block on the sidewalk with their backs against the wall of a closed dry cleaning shop that occupied the ground floor of a three story building that abutted others like it along the full block. To their left was an empty shop, formerly a model train dealer, and past that a tiny restaurant that served up hamburgers and hot dogs the couple, or anyone else with even a single functional taste bud, swore was the worst thing they'd ever eaten. That it remained in business, the couple also knew, was because the owner had impaired vision when it came to noticing paying customers also buying and selling nickel and dime bags of 'condiments' as they waited for their gruel.
A lone car drove past them in the farthest of the four lanes painted on the wide urban street in front of them. Beyond that, a parking lot sat mostly empty. A trio of people crossed the street to their left as the car slowed at that intersection's red traffic light. The young woman's right hand found her companion's right hand and he shifted slightly and they clasped.
The eleven floors and the crenellated roof that made up their target of their study offered the odd glitter and had morphed from silver-gray to a reddish hue. To the right as they looked it was separated by a narrow alley from a building just shorter and rather less ornate, an even shorter building and another alley on the opposite side. The shadow they used for slight camouflage deepend as the sun set behind them and the cloudless sky's beyond the building deepened in color. The woman finally spoke.
"How are we supposed to get up to that ledge?"
"Dunno," she huffed at his answer and he grunted when she squeezed his hand, "well, Jed has to have a way... he just hasn't told anyone yet."
"That's fine, if he's doing it."
"Ah, c'mon. Not like he's ever let us down..."
Both heads turned as a deep red LTD glided into the curbside parking spot just in front of them. Blue Öyster Cult's "Don't Fear the Reaper" came through the open passenger door window. The driver was tall and broad, his dark hair in a grown-out crew cut, the thin cloth of his long sleeve shirt snug against solid muscles. As the pair stepped forward and leaned to look into the window the music stopped.
"You two going to stand here and tell every cop in this city which building you're casing? May as well be holdin' a sign."
His voice was a baritone, powerful and with a tone that assumed attention, an edge of anger clear but controlled and leavened with what might've been humor.
Might've been.
"Street's empty, boss," the young man said from outside, "eight-thirty. End of August. No one's doing shit. They've rolled up the streets already. Pigs are all gettin' doughnuts for dessert."
The car's driver growled out an extended hum as he turned and looked out the windshield. Then he turned to look at the pair.
"Get in. It's not dead everywhere. We've got a couple parties to make deliveries to."
A Date in the 'Burbs
Kelly Joy squinted at the house number scribbled on the otherwise blank card in her left hand. The nearest streetlight, the one just to the other side of the driveway she stood on was dark, the far one to her left the nearest that offered light. It was the longest day of the year so the sky wasn't yet black even though it was only moments to midnight. But black enough to not offer actual illumination.
She looked around. This was one of the suburbs she'd never live in, not because it was new, but because these were Homes, the capital H clear in her mind, large and widely spaced with expansive yards and perfect hedges, not 'houses.' Or more like hers, collections of 'reasonably priced' apartments and dumps that'd never had a prime, much less were now in the prime. The big trees had gained their full summer leaf, which didn't help with the streetlight issue.
She expected dead streetlights where she lived. Not in this kind of neighborhood.
That was one oddity. Another, she didn't know the street name, hadn't been given it and the nearest signs that she'd have expected hadn't been on the last couple of corners. She normally committed them to memory. But the car that'd brought her hadn't wavered. The driver knew where they were without them. And the only other light was on the side of the house she faced and illuminated three numbers.
That matched those on her card.
Gypsy Rose and Henri had been tight-lipped about the job. That'd upped her wariness. They were good to work for, took care of her, didn't... usually... put her in... she snagged her lower lip in her teeth then remembered and quickly released. Ran her tongue. Hoped she hadn't mussed the lipstick. It'd been specifically requested and she had no mirror to reapply.
"Shit," she said in a low voice, no one was around, at least she didn't think so as she glanced either direction, "move it, KJ, don't get made."
Habit and training kicked in and her heels clicked as she used the glow on the gleaming concrete to follow it toward the front door.
And the Job.
She glanced backward. The car had barely given her time to close the rear door before the driver had accelerated. There was nothing in sight and not even noise but for the odd insect. The instructions had been clear. She'd be picked up at half past eleven in the pee em in front of the building where her bosses had their 'office.' She'd be returned to her apartment.
But no time had been set for that last step. They were now in the southern reaches of the Valley, far from any of her regular haunts. Or near anyone who'd know her. Well, who'd admit to knowing her.
Beyond that, she'd only been told there'd be 'rough stuff.' That meant extra money, but always had a risk. More oddities. She usually received a fair overview about a client, his and very rarely her, wants. What their wife, or the rare husband, couldn't or wouldn't give them. Why she made enough untraceable money to buy... what kept the voices quiet. She'd had a tiny snort just before her ride'd arrived, just to keep her brain on slow, but Gypsy and Henri had made clear she couldn't be carrying.
Gypsy and Henri wouldn't send her into... not like the others. Like women she'd... known. The cops never helped. Assholes. Whoever this client was, the fucker had to be... Someone. Another capital letter clear in her mind. They never sent her out without a deadline, without an address, it was always that the client knew someone knew where they were and would be checking...
But not this time.
Then she forced her brain away. They wouldn't have sent her if... and they'd promised her this one job'd pay enough for her to finally take some time, go to Seattle and visit her sister and niece and nephew like she'd wanted, they'd give her the time. Well. She turned off the driveway and followed the walkway that curved toward the door and the single light alongside. And the three numbers.
Her heels clicked. They were the highest ones she had, she liked them and adjusted to walk smoothly with just the slightest strut. She was tall, even if not the tallest girl in the stable, and her legs that were by request in these heels, sheer stockings and garters meant what she thought of as lovely cross into awesome. She'd been told to not wear panties and an open cup uplift bra, not that, more of her opinion, her tits needed artificial uplift. She'd look awesome if...
She wasn't in these clothes. A loose long-sleeved cotton dress that fell to the middles of her calves, under that a full-length slip AND the Garments that she should've worn every day since her teen years but she'd given up almost at that same time. A long-sleeved jacket, like the dress in a second boring shade of brown. Well. Unless things were REALLY weird, she'd be out of these clothes at some point.
She stopped at the door, the same light that showed her the numbers let her see the low step that led to it. She reached toward the doorbell's glowing button, suddenly remembered the book in that hand. The card became the only item with her other than the lipstick in a jacket pocket and switched the book to her left hand, then smoothed her dress and put on her most alluring smile. She heard the muffled chimes when she pressed the button.
She was about to press the doorbell a second time when the door opened. The interior hallway was not brightly lit but the man in the doorway was tall. He had the advantage of the steps up into the house, but still. He wasn't broad or slender, in a button down shirt and slacks, gray hair cut short leavened with a few strands of darker color and a perfectly trimmed moustache of the same mix.
