Mind Games

Add he’d gotten the combination to the safe from the old bitch before he’d killed her, he’d scored seven thousand in cash. And twenty-three hundred more from their wallets and the little stash in the old hag’s underwear drawer.

So, flush, he’d rented himself a beach house in Myrtle Beach.

Get himself a tan, case the rich tourists.

He’d stopped in this grocery for some road food because gas stations ripped you off there.

One day he might blow one up just to prove his point.

But now he figured the stop ordained. He felt damn sure of it when the rich bitch came out and put her single bag in a BMW—didn’t anybody buy fucking American?

Time to change his ride anyway, and hadn’t he lifted some West Virginia plates as backup?

Ordained.

He followed her out of the parking lot, followed her to a farmer’s market. As if people like her gave one hard shit about farmers.

She came back to her car with another small, single bag.

No kids, he decided. Not enough food.

Maybe a yappy dog, and he’d have to take care of that.

She looked like the type for a yappy little dog, with a name like Fluffy or Chauncy.

Well, he’d kick Fluffy’s yappy head in.

She drove to a neighborhood with big, important houses. MFMs, he called them. Mc-fucking-mansions.

He pulled over, knowing the Mercedes would give him enough cover, at least for a few minutes. People who lived in fancy houses didn’t expect trouble from people who drove high-dollar cars.

Their mistake.

The garage door opened, she pulled in, it closed.

He sat another few minutes, thinking, planning, and didn’t she come out the front door again?

She watered the flowers in pots on the front porch, the ones hanging from the posts. No yappy little dog came out with her, so maybe not.

As she set down the can, an SUV pulled into the drive. Another BMW.

It wasn’t an old bastard that got out, but a younger one than he’d figured. A tall one, looked fit, so that changed things a little bit.

She walked down, he walked over.

They put their arms around each other, kissed each other.

He didn’t hear any dog barking, didn’t see any kids come out yelling: Daddy’s home.

Most likely they lived just the two of them in that big-ass house. A house that should’ve been his. It all should’ve been his.

After tonight, some of it would be.

As they started inside, he drove down the street—at the precise speed limit—and circled around to see what he could see of the back.

Damned if he didn’t spot a big back yard and a goddamn pool.

Too many people had too damn much as far as he was concerned. It seemed only right and fair he get a part of that, that he get what he wanted and what he deserved.