KEVIN STEPPED UP to the garish billboard at Walker Cinema. Hmm, the action flick looked good. Too bad he didn’t have time to catch it. When the cashier asked for seven-fifty, he blinked hard. Shit, how long had movies cost that much?
At seven sharp he stepped from the lighted lobby into the darkened theater. After his eyes adjusted, he made out two couples in the last row groping each other. Remembering the debacle with Constance, he frowned.
The place was huge. Would he have to check each row for Brad?
Someone poked him in the ribs and whispered, “John.”
Kevin slipped into a nearby seat, waited a few minutes, then sauntered into the lobby, then the bathroom. At the sink, he easily spotted his buddy. Though Brad had put on a few pounds, he still wore the same crew cut as in prison.
Guys were getting last-minute leaks in before the show got started, so Kevin washed his hands to kill time. His fingernails were always greasy anyway. Finally the coast was clear. Brad made the first move.
“It’s been a long time, my friend,” he said, patting Kevin on the back.
Kevin nodded. “Yeah, man, and it could’ve been longer if they hadn’t found that DNA stuff.”
“I wasn’t sure you wanted to get in on the action…you know, now your slate’s officially clean.”
“Hey, I’ve got eyes. I read the newspaper each day. I deserve a piece of the action. It’s not like I’ll get myself caught or anything.”
Brad smiled. “You’re damn right. There’s always room for the genius who cooked up the action. You’ll be a freelance electrician, right?”
Kevin nodded.
“Anyway, as we’d planned, we now have personnel managers occupying key positions at major security firms. Along with hiring civilians who are not in the know, they dip into our special list of freelancers. Of course, you’ll be at the top of the list and can pick and choose your targets.” Brad reached into his wallet. “You’ll be needing this, Ed Anderson.”
The license’s fuzzy picture showed a blue eyed man with carrot colored, shoulder-length hair.
Kevin squinted, then grinned. “Okay, I can do it.”
A wig and contacts were easy. It’d be a hoot posing as this guy Anderson, scouting out mansions and rummaging through the jewelry boxes of unsuspecting owners. Along with drawing up blueprints which led to the goodies, he’d perform some legitimate chores as installing security systems.
Also, there was that other matter, the one he wouldn’t mention to Brad. At thought of it, his lips pursed. The word forgiveness was not in his vocabulary. He had a score to settle.
Two Wrongs Page 19