Inside Cut by Tom Fowler

Author:Tom Fowler [Fowler, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Fowler Writes
Published: 2019-11-19T16:00:00+00:00

I met Rich at his house in Hamilton. He owned a large Victorian with a driveway fit to host a flag football game. We left the S4 there and took his Camaro. The jaunt to Baker's house was quick.

Edgar Terrace is an L-shaped street. Shortly after the 90-degree curve at the bottom, it dead-ends onto Crosswood Avenue. This road, taken right or left, would enable a hasty retreat should we need to make one. Baker lived immediately around the curve in the second house from the Crosswood intersection. Rich parked across the street, where the houses were more spaced out. Baker's was dark, and no cars sat in front of it or in the driveway. "You're sure this is how you want to do it?"

"What's the alternative?" I said. "You flash your badge and get us in?"

"He does live in the city."

"But he doesn't have to let you in. It's not like I have a lot on him. I'd rather surprise him."

"All right," Rich said, his voice tinged with disapproval. He frequently sounded like one of my high school teachers whenever we worked together. Apparently, my exemplary success rate did not factor into Rich's calculus.

I got out, scanned for nosy neighbors, and closed the Camaro door quietly. A large tree in Baker's front yard gave me excellent cover as I checked again for anyone taking an interest in me. The coast looked clear. I hugged the house as I padded down the driveway, across Baker's back yard, and onto the rear porch. The storm door wasn't even locked. The one behind it was, so I took out my special keyring and got to work.

In Hong Kong, a couple of my hacker friends also specialized in breaking and entering. I learned how to do it from them just for the knowledge. It's served me well since coming home and stumbling into this job. A minute later, I bypassed the lock and slipped inside.

The interior was dark, and the drawn blinds prevented any moonlight from creeping in. I took my phone out of my pocket, using only the luminescence from the screen to cast my surroundings in a dim blue. It was enough, and it wouldn't alert anyone who happened to be looking at the house. What I could see appeared as messy as Baker's office. His dining room was cluttered with boxes, and papers lay on the table in loose piles I couldn't bring myself to think of as stacks. The living room featured a couch, loveseat, and coffee table, plus a shabby recliner near the eating area. It was a lot of seats for a man who lived alone and was too much of an asshole to have many friends.

I sat in the recliner and waited. If Baker drove home after leaving campus, he should be pulling up soon. I waited. No Baker. While I passed the time, I got up and poked through the mail on the coffee table. I found junk mail, a couple bills, and the latest issue of Playboy.

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