The stocky man pulled the tab on the soft drink can and took a slug, never once taking his eyes from the target's car. The Rover MG parked less than two rows away in the packed supermarket car park, midday shoppers busy loading bags stuffed with groceries into cars.
A guy, unknown to the stocky man, exited the back of the MG. Tall, thuggish type wearing navy jeans and a tan baseball cap. The stocky man would put any money on this being Chris, the robber who'd caused Mr Greene so much grief.
The stocky man watched from behind the tinted windscreen as Chris weaved through the aisles and disappeared behind a cream minivan. Before popping up a minute later, make his way around to the front of the vehicle before dropping out of sight again.
A few moments later, he was on the move, with plates pressed against the left leg of his jeans.
The stocky man observed Chris return to the MG. He waited until the car drove up the exit ramp before turning his engine on.
He lost the MG in afternoon traffic and needed to consult the hand-held tracking device. Took a wrong turn and got caught on a one-way street in the next town, goddamn local honking like a maniac and shouting Spanish curses out the side window. The stocky man didn't react. Relaxed, had a fair idea where his target would be.
He passed the MG as it cruised around the aisles in another supermarket car park. Armed with a fresh set of plates, they would look for a similar make of minivan. The boys had gone for a SEAT, the most popular brand of car on Spanish streets. Smart. Didn't take them long to find one. Chris, on the prowl again, only this time he had a slim jim pressed against his leg. Plates in his other hand.
The stocky man smirked as he watched Chris go to work. Hard not to admire the sheer audacity of the thieves. What they lacked in brainpower, they made up for in brazenness. Not one shopper coming in or out paid a blind bit of notice to Chris fitting the stolen plates to the white minivan. Clean. Professional. Out of idle curiosity, the stocky man timed him. One minute, twenty-eight seconds from the moment he stepped to the passenger door to the motor driving off.
He didn't follow them this time, didn't want to risk being seen and his quarry getting spooked. Not now. The boys set for tonight's job, his mission completed. The bodyguard, DeShawn, convinced his boss had done him dirty, ready to make himself scarce. Months of careful preparation about to bear fruit.
He looked skyward at the gathering dark clouds overhead. Should rain, as promised. Better for the boys, better for him. All the elements lining up to ensure smooth sailing ahead. In a few hours, he could crack out that fat Cuban he'd saved for a special occasion. Vic, baby, not even divine intervention could save your sorry ass now.
* * *
Chris walked into the living room with an easy swagger, planted himself down on the couch, cracked the bottle-top off with his disposable lighter. Caught a dark look from Ricky for drinking, and one from Reggie that said, you best pick that cap up off my floor.
"I still don't get why we have to go in so early," Chris said, looking around for somewhere to put the bottle-top before dropping it in the glass ashtray. "I know you keep banging on about the curfew an' all, but what difference does that make?"
"Are you being serious right now?" Ricky said.
"What?"
"They're running checkpoints after ten. They stop you, you got a valid reason to be on the road? Never mind the fact you've got an adult male bound and gagged in the trunk."
Chris looked at Reggie and said: "I thought that was the whole idea of you doing scout. You drive ahead, ring us if there's any sign of trouble."
Reggie's eyes narrowed. "Yeah?"
ESTÀS LLEGINT
The Retirement Plan
Misteri / Suspens8 desperate people are drawn into a plot to kidnap a millionaire. But who are the shadowy forces controlling the players? And what are their true motives? * * * On...
