As soon as he left, I shimmied into black skinny jeans, changed into a black wig, cut short in the back and a sharp angle pointing to my chin, I layered on thick eyeliner, and popped in contacts that made my eyes gray. I smeared cherry red lipstick on and kissed the mirror.
“Time to work,” I said to my smiling self. I loved this part of my life. Slinking around after dark, staking out houses, watching the nefarious going-ons of others always gave me a thrill. I thought of myself as a female Bond, secret agent extraordinaire, minus the gratuitous girls in bikinis with suggestive names. I pocketed my tool kit for picking locks. It had come in handy more than once when I hadn’t planned to use it, so I carried it all the time. I checked the mirror one last time to make sure my teeth were lipstick free.
I snagged my keys on the way to the front door, threw them in the air and caught them three times for luck, and I was ready for the world. The landing of my apartment was people free and I didn’t see a soul in the parking lot. Good. I skipped down the stairs and pointed the remote and listened for the click. As I pulled the door open, someone stuck a gun in my back. Shit.
I shot my hands in the air.