The First Day

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Pistol in hand, Nate Davenport eased through the bushes, then paused.

His eyes scanned over the backyard, an ocean of tall grass and weeds occasionally marred by an island of garbage. A child’s swing set sat along one side by the fence, rusted from years of disuse.

Nate looked at the house. The windows of the two story derelict were boarded over, its back porch covered in leaves and dirt.

For several long moments, he waited. He’d learned from past mistakes not to rush headlong into a place he was unfamiliar. You can get into all sorts of trouble that way, especially when on a job.

Use your head, or I’ll shoot it off!

He heard Unger’s voice in the back of his mind. The boss loved to berate the men in his crew, even if they did a good job. A warped way of keeping people on their toes.

And it worked.

Nate checked his temper before it grew too hot. Focus, he thought. Get in, get it done, get out.

Satisfied no one was around, he slipped a nylon mask over his head and stepped out of the bushes at the back of the property line, then crossed the yard.

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