I checked the rearview mirror obsessively until I made it to the 610 Loop. When I’d made it that far without a tail, I relaxed and began looking around the interior of the car. It was a nice ride. It had Sirius radio, so I switched to The Joint and was in luck. They were playing Marley. A plan began to take place as I drove. What if I sold the car to Jimar? It’d serve those punks right for abducting and threatening me. I’d had such an easy time losing them, I was pretty sure they weren’t really FBI agents. I never got a look at the badge Miu Miu flashed, and the goons were as inept as they come. I figured they were working for Jimar’s rival. It still bothered me that they knew about my movements.
I pulled off the road and into the middle of a WalMart parking lot that was full of cars. Then I went over the vehicle searching for anything like a tracer. Found a SpyTech GPS tracker on the undercarriage and smashed it with my shoe. Did the same thing with my phone, although it broke my heart to do it.
Inside, I found a cheap, no contract phone to use instead of my SmartPhone. I cursed the bitch that made it imperative that I lose it, but it had to go. I wasn’t sure crushing it was good enough, so I dumped it in the fish tank at an aquarium store after petting the pocket poodle in the window.
Breathing easier, I pulled back into traffic and headed toward the Heights. I had something to do before I told Jimar about the Escalade.
It was the middle of the morning. Murderer guy would be out of the picture. I wanted to see what else he had hidden and figured this would be the perfect time to break in. I hoped the camera on the burner phone would take decent pictures. Man, I was going to miss that Android. I’d really gotten used to it. Good thing I had memorized the important phone numbers I’d need. Traffic was a snarling beast. I gritted my teeth and inched along until I got through the downtown area. The Heights are north of downtown Houston, and I started on the south end. Getting from one side of town to the other is never fun, but the Reggae music softened the ache. I mean, who can help but sing along when Marley tells you to Get Up Stand Up?
I parked a block over and walked to my mark’s house. I was happy to see that the tool box with the dead guy was not sitting on the murderer’s lawn. The place looked deserted, but I wanted to be sure there were no cameras that would snap my picture. I didn’t see anything that appeared to be suspicious in front, but I went to the back of the house to be out of sight of any passers-by. The window over the sink in the kitchen had no shade, so I peeked inside. The place was a pig sty. Dirty dishes in the sink and on the counter, a pizza box, open with two slices rotting away on the table, beer cans everywhere. Your typical psycho&rsquo...