Maybe checks her watch. “It’s after five. They’re in the condo, having a fuck fest. Probably celebrating some shady deal. The women are taking showers now, getting ready to go out to dinner. The men are sitting around, drinking a beer. The front and back doors will be unlocked.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Six people in the house? Three separate couples? They won’t lock the doors till they leave for dinner.”
“If they leave.”
“Right. If they’re cooking tonight, it’ll be the men grilling. Either way, the women are showering. We can take them out last.”
“Should we go in together?”
“We’ll check the doors first. If they’re both unlocked, I’ll go in the front, which is the second floor, and you can go in the back, the walkout. I’ll kill whoever’s on the main floor. By then you’ll be up the stairs. I’ll go to the third floor, and you can cover me.” Maybe sees Hailey staring at her.
“What?”
“You sound like you’ve been doing this all your life.”
“Feels like it, too. Ready?”
They don’t need to test the back door. One of the women is standing next to it, sneaking a cigarette.
“Change of plans,” Maybe says. “We’ll go in together.”
They make a wide arc to the front door. Maybe turns the handle and whispers, “Go left, I’ll go right. When we finish this level, go downstairs, shoot the woman. I’ll go upstairs and take out the rest, if that’s where they are.”
Hailey takes a deep breath and nods. She puts her right hand in her tote bag.
“After you,” she says.
Maybe opens the door slowly, peeks inside, then enters. Hailey comes in close behind, closes the door, and locks it. Both women remove their guns from their totes, and set the bags down.
32.
Maybe and Hailey are standing in the front hallway. There’s a spiral staircase to the right of the front door. From her vantage point, Maybe can see up the staircase, and, leaning over the railing now, can see the stairs below.
In the lower level there’s a rumbling noise that sounds like a clothes dryer working overtime. Straight ahead is the empty living room. To the right is the empty kitchen. There appears to be a bedroom off the living room on this floor, and now that Maybe has entered the kitchen, she sees there’s a dining room on the other side of it that faces the ocean. The dining room has a sliding glass door that leads to a deck. The door is open, but there’s a screen door to keep the bugs out. On the deck is a table with four chairs. Two men are sitting at the table, facing the ocean. They’re smoking cigars. Maybe slowly walks to the screen door and shoots them both in the back of the head.
Neither of them falls down. The table appears to be holding them up, though they’re slouching against it. Maybe turns to Hailey and motions her to go downstairs. She does. When Maybe turns back, one of the men starts sliding sideways, and falls to the floor. His chair overturns and makes a loud, crashing noise.
The woman sneaking a cigarette directly below the deck, out of view, calls up to ask if everything’s okay. Getting no response, she takes several steps toward the beach, turns and looks back onto the deck. At that moment, one of the men raises his hand. The woman comes running inside, yelling, and Maybe can only hope Hailey is standing ready to shoot her. She opens the screen and carefully places another bullet into each man’s head. Back in the condo now, the house is quiet, which means Hailey did her part.
Maybe heads toward the master bedroom, turns the door handle, hears a shower running. She enters the bathroom, pulls the glass shower door open, and shoots a heavily tattooed woman-shit!-in the arm. She turned just as Maybe shot. Now she’s screaming bloody murder. Maybe fires a second shot right into the center of her mouth. The force of the shot slams her against the back of the shower, and she crashes to the floor, moaning loudly. Maybe puts one more in her temple, then heads back to the staircase. She hears someone coming up the steps.
Hailey.
Maybe motions her to stand guard, and quickly makes her way up the steps. When she gets to the top, there’s a landing with yet another deck. Horrified, Maybe realizes this deck overlooks the one below it. If someone had been on it, they would’ve seen the men get shot. Maybe and Hailey checked the back of the condo earlier, but from their angle, this deck hadn’t been visible. It’s a lesson learned, and lucky for Maybe, no one was there. She makes a mental note to circle the entire house the next time she finds herself in this situation.
Off the landing there’s a door that almost certainly leads to a second master bedroom. Maybe tests the door. It’s locked.
On TV and in the movies, this is the part where the hero kicks the door open. Maybe knows you’re supposed to aim just left of the door knob. She lifts her foot, then pauses. If she kicks and it doesn’t open, whoever’s inside will hear.
She lowers her foot, and knocks on the door.
A man’s voice says, “Yes?”
Maybe assumes the most adult voice she can, and says, “I’m the owner of this condo. Can I ask what you’re doing here?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not supposed to be here this week.”
“Just a minute,” the man says. “I’m not dressed.
“I’ll wait.”
When he opens the door Maybe blows him away before realizing how young he is.
Was.
Twenty-two? Something like that. Obviously one of the aides.
Her eyes dart around the room, seeking the last hooker. She glances once more at the corpse and smiles, remembering how the bullet’s impact lifted him off his feet a few seconds ago. One minute he’s full of life. The next, he’s on the floor, a crimson stain spreading across his chest.
Maybe enters the bedroom, sees clothes strewn all over the place. She enters the bathroom.
No one in the tub.
Separate shower. Opens the door.
No one in the shower.
Toilet door closed. She knocks.
“I’m still in here,” a woman’s voice says. “Be right out!”
Maybe walks over to the shower and gets the water running, so the woman will think her friend is taking a shower.
Maybe exits the bathroom, walks through the bedroom, steps over the dead guy’s body, walks half-way down the stairs and whispers to Hailey, “Did you lock the lower level door?”
Hailey whispers, “Yes. What’s going on?”
“Last woman’s using the toilet.”
“What should we do?”
“Search the men for wallets so we can make a positive ID. I’ll go back upstairs and wait.”
She goes back into the bathroom and removes the extra clip from her back pocket, sits on the floor, her gun aimed just above the door knob…
Wondering how many bullets she’s fired.
She does a mental count.
Eight.
Her weapon holds nine.
Should she replace the clip?
