Blue Smoke and Murder

45

SEPTEMBER 15

8:05 P.M.

Score eased open the side door of the van. The dome light didn’t come on, because he’d smashed it. Streetlights were few and far between. Probably because the “sidewalk” was a strip of dirt along the narrow side street between what passed for a curb and the adobe walls of the houses. Despite the cheerful B amp;B, tourism hadn’t really caught on in the neighborhood of high fences and iron gates.

Two streets over, traffic came and went along a strip of restaurants and galleries. No one turned down the narrow lane lined with thick adobe walls and inward-facing houses in the old Spanish style.

Time for a little recon.

His pistol rode uncomfortably in its belt holder. Silencers were always a pain. But they were a useful pain.

He really wished he didn’t have a bad feeling about this op. Maybe it was just his natural paranoia. Maybe it was the six shipping cartons that had been driven to the house of a Western art expert.

Maybe it was the adobe walls closing in. Houses like fortresses lining dark lanes. Enough to make a man look over his shoulder.

Score shook off the uncomfortable feeling and concentrated on his work. Walking casually, like someone with every right to be where he was, he strolled down the dark, rough dirt path.

When he got to the gate, it was just the way it had looked through his binoculars. Closed. Locked. Good alarm, well installed. From the street side, the electronics that operated both gate and alarm were out of reach.

He turned to the adobe walls. If they had been meant to keep out intruders, they weren’t very good for the job. Regularly spaced tile niches offered a fast way to the thick tree branches that overhung the walls.

Score went up.

No razor wire on top of the thick wall. No sensors. No broken glass. No bells or whistles. Nothing but dust and a few dead leaves.

Frost might as well put out welcome mats.

Score smiled. People that careless deserved whatever happened to them.

He dropped lightly down into the yard behind a tree trunk. After a few minutes of listening and watching, he glided up to the Dodge Magnum.

Locked.

Electronic security.

The St. Kilda op isn’t careless, even if Frost is.

Since there was no light coming through any of the windows on the street side of the house, Score risked a quick flash of his penlight into the Magnum. Shipping cartons, just the way the man at the airport had described. Six of them. Closed up tight.

Looks like Frost wasn’t real eager to help out by appraising the paintings.

Assuming they’re paintings in the cartons rather than something to throw anyone who cares off the trail. St. Kilda has more tricks than a school for magicians.

Score turned off the penlight and faded back into the cover of the tree trunk. He could steal the car, but that was a fool’s game. Even if he got through the gate security, this close to the Mexican border a lot of the more expensive rental jobs had a hidden locater built right into the vehicle.

Trying to take the shipping cartons out of the Dodge one by one didn’t appeal to Score. Six trips up and over the wall with a crate was begging for trouble.

No matter what he decided to do, he’d have to wait until everyone inside the house was asleep. Or gone. There was nothing to guarantee that the op and the Breck woman wouldn’t leave the house at any moment. Frost’s reputation for being a difficult bastard was part of his record. He was more likely to throw out the op than he was to help St. Kilda.

Score smiled thinly. He’d wait and see what happened. A motel parking lot would be a lot easier to work with than Frost’s driveway.

He went back over the wall as silently as he’d come.

Nobody noticed.

He eased back inside the van and resumed watching the only vehicle entrance and exit to the old adobe house. If no one in the house moved out by midnight, he’d leave long enough to get some supplies from the 24/7 mini-mart/gas stations near the edge of town. Then he’d come back, make a commotion, and pick off anyone who was stupid enough to run outside.

If nothing else, it should slow down the opposition long enough for the auction to take place.

After that, he didn’t care what happened.