Closure (Jack Randall) (25 page)

“Anything else, sir?” he asked.

“Do you know where the Renaissance Golf Club is, by chance?” Sam inquired.

“Yeah, actually I do. Just take this road here past the mall and out to 75. Take 75 north to Daniels Parkway and get off going west. It’s on the right I think.” He pointed as he spoke.

“75 north to Daniels, west on Daniels. I got it. Thanks.” Sam nodded.

“No problem.”

Sam exited the store repeating the instructions. Good kid, he thought, must get asked for directions a hundred times a day, lucky for me.

Sam fought traffic for a few blocks to the freeway entrance. As he merged with the 80 mph traffic he found himself boxed in by dump trucks, cement trucks, heating and air, lawn care and every other kind of truck. The construction boom was in full swing in southwest Florida. Sam wisely stayed in his lane as he was unsure how far it was to Daniels Road. He didn’t have to wait long. It was the same exit as the airport, more good luck. He made the exit and soon fought more traffic as he moved west on Daniels, but he saw the sign too late to make the turn. Fighting his way across three lanes he made it to the turn lane and, finding a gap in traffic, pulled a U-turn and backtracked until he saw it again. The entrance was behind a Denny’s. Odd, Sam thought as he pulled in. The gated entrance stopped his forward progress and he rolled down the window as the guard approached.

“Good morning,” the guard offered. “Who are you visiting today, sir?”

“No one in particular. I was hoping to look at some real estate?” Sam answered.

“I’m afraid we require that you be accompanied by a realtor, sir. We just get too many sightseers, and it slows down the construction traffic. Still lots of homes available though.” The guard handed him a small booklet with the layout of the development. “There’s a list of realtors in the back.”

Sam thumbed the brochure quickly before smiling back at the guard. “Thanks, I’ll be back.”

“Good day to you.”

The guard quickly returned to his air-conditioned kiosk and shut the door. Sam took in the heavy gate, its hydraulics system, the high wall, and the keypad entry station, before slipping the rental car in gear and pulling through the turn around.

He pulled into the Denny’s parking lot out of view of the gate. Taking all the fruit of his morning travels with him, he entered the restaurant and found a table in sight of the gate. He ordered a light breakfast and went over the materials. Before his food arrived, he had the beginnings of a plan.

The state of Missouri holds 30,303 inmates in its prisons.
Approximately 20,303 are repeat offenders.

—TWENTY-FIVE—

T
wo hours later Sam stood in the lobby of a realtor’s office. He had returned the original rental car to the lender and upgraded to a Cadillac from a different company. He had also returned to the hotel and changed into his most expensive set of clothes. He was now wearing a pricey golf shirt and shorts, $200 loafers, and his Rolex watch. He capped it off with a pair of Revo sunglasses he had bought for the original trip to Florida. Satisfied he looked the part, he called a few realtors until he found one willing to see him today. He now stood in the office with a gourmet cup of coffee in his hands.

Despite the fact that it was a weekend, the office was buzzing. There was a killing to be made in the current market and competition was high. The receptionist fielded phone calls via a headset while sorting and filing documents with her free hands. Sam admired her proficiency while he waited. It wasn’t long.

An attractive middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway with an armful of documents and a couple of cell phones. She stuck out a free hand in his direction.

“Mr. Gudobba? Did I pronounce that right? I’m Kristy Barrett, we spoke on the phone.”

Sam shook the offered hand. “Yes and yes, about the Renaissance development.”

The woman smiled. Sam couldn’t blame her. The brochure had listed the cheapest condo in the eight-hundred thousand dollar range. Homes were in the millions. The membership fee to the golf club was eighty-five thousand alone. He smiled as she took in the Rolex and the shoes. She could smell the commission already.

“What type of home are you looking for?” she asked.

How much money am I worth? Sam decided to make her day. “I’m looking for two actually, one for myself and one for my parents. They’re getting up there and well, I’d like to have them closer.”

“How nice.” The grin got bigger and she scanned his left hand. No ring she saw. Was this her lucky day?

“Would you like to go over the information?” she asked.

“I’d rather just see them first, if that’s all right,” Sam replied.

“No problem at all. Right this way.”

As he was led out the door and across the parking lot, Sam made a big show of aiming the remote at the Cadillac and thumbing the lock button. The chirp of the horn ensured that she didn’t miss it. More help for his cover.

They got into her Jeep Cherokee, the backseat full of maps, brochures and files for which she apologized profusely. Sam let it go with a smile and was soon watching her navigate the horrendous traffic in the direction of Daniels Parkway. She gave a running description of the property, but Sam had read most of it from the literature. He half listened as she dodged cars and yellow lights until he heard a questioning tone.

“Where are you from, Mr. Gudobba?”

“Michigan,” he replied. “Grand Rapids.”

“We have a lot of people here from that part of the country.”

“I’m sure,” he answered and left it at that. He had learned not to claim another part of the country as home. You never knew where the person you were talking to was from, and it was easy to be caught in a lie. Best to always pick a place you knew well. Grand Rapids was just north of Kalamazoo and Sam knew the town well.

He scanned the guard shack as they pulled up. As expected, the realtor pulled into the lane with the keypad. Sam adjusted himself forward in the seat as she rolled the window down and had an unobstructed view as she carefully punched in the access code with a manicured fingernail. He quickly repeated the code in his head three times, committing it to memory. That was one item off the list. As they pulled through, he spotted the security guard from that morning talking to a lawn care crew in a pickup truck. He wasn’t even looking his way. Sam returned his gaze out the front windshield as they pulled through and into the complex. He now compared the layout of the streets before him to the bird’s-eye view offered in the brochure. He noted that several homes were still in the construction phase, from cement slabs to the finishing touches. He tried to get a count, but there were too many.

“Would you like to see the clubhouse first? It’s lovely,” she asked.

“No, my time is rather limited. Let’s see some homes first.”

“All right, do you prefer lakefront or golf course view?”

“Golf course.”

•      •      •

An hour later and Sam was ready to leave. He gazed out the second-story windows of a three million dollar home and had his pick of three tees and two greens. All within rifle range. From the other two homes already viewed, he had seen similar views. All would serve his purpose well. He had obtained item two even more easily than the first. The realtor had fumbled with the small lockbox hanging from the door handle until Sam had offered to help. She dictated the code as Sam punched it in and obtained the door key. The code had been the same as the gate key code and had worked on every house so far. So much for the illusion of security, Sam thought. He was pleased to see that all the homes contained fireplaces. Something he didn’t quite understand, as the temperature in Florida never got low enough to need one. But he was a northerner, what did he know?

The realtor had excused herself and was in the kitchen talking on the cell phone again, so Sam took the opportunity to snap a few pictures of the view with his digital camera. He had already taken several shots. For “Mom and Dad,” he had explained. He wandered to the garage door and stepped out into the three-car space. He quickly glanced around and was rewarded with a garage door opener taped to the wall. He palmed it and shoved it in the pocket of his shorts. He quickly returned to the house just as the realtor was finishing up.

“Well, what do you think of this one?” she asked. “It’s my favorite one in the development.”

“It’s very nice. I’m not sure I need this much space, but it’s very nice.”

“Is it just you?” she asked, taking advantage of the opportunity.

“Just me.”

He got a big smile in return.

“Would you mind if we cut this short?” he asked. “I’m afraid I have a meeting to make.”

“Not at all. I insist we at least drive by the clubhouse on the way out. It would be a shame to not see it.”

“All right.” Sam let her win.

Sam nodded politely as she drove past the massive structure, pointing out its amenities. His thoughts were already elsewhere.

•      •      •

Sam had found himself cursing his brother-in-law as he drove through the traffic getting to the storage unit Paul had chosen in Cape Coral. Sam had been forced to drive over a half hour through traffic to get to it. After consulting a map at a stop light, he found two alternate routes by which to return. It required a toll at the bridge, but he could deal with that. The traffic was the worst problem. He was starting to wonder about his exit strategy. His original intent was to simply drive out of town and catch a flight in another city. The traffic and lack of exits from the city made him uncomfortable with that. He now sat in the storage unit, which was thankfully air conditioned, and contemplated his map. From the development he had easy access to I-75, which ran north to Tampa and south to Naples. From Naples it turned due east and became ‘Alligator Alley,’ which cut straight across the Everglades to Miami. The problem with that was there were very few exits that didn’t dead end. That meant he was subject to a roadblock should someone get a description. To the north, he had a choice of I-75 or 41, both of which ended in Tampa before providing alternatives. To the east were several small two-lane back roads. None of which provided a major airport until he hit Orlando or the east coast. Staying low in the area was not an option. It went against his training. From sniper to submariner, you never stayed in the area where you had just fired a shot. He was also due for more chemotherapy. Something he was not looking forward to doing. He would have to spend some more time on this later. Right now he had work to do.

Sam put down the map and pulled the crate closer. He had already removed the rifle and found it to be adequate for his purposes, but he was unsure about the scope. From the range he would be shooting he could use iron sights. A spotting scope was also in the crate and Sam packed it in the car as well. A box of ammunition and a new set of clothes topped off the items he needed. Sam closed the cardboard boxes and re-stacked them so the dummies were again on top. In the event that the unit was burglarized, he hoped the thieves would stop after not finding anything valuable in the first couple of boxes. He didn’t want dynamite loose on the streets. Sam stood and went over his mental list. He was done here. The rest of what he needed could be had at the Home Depot he had passed on the way here.

He soon had the car out of the unit and pulled out onto Pine Island Road heading back toward the river. He passed a Lowes at the next intersection, but he was a Home Depot man. A mile later he was in the parking lot and walking toward the big orange building. Inside, he became lost in the sea of humanity all working on the current weekend project. He quickly found the few items he needed: a gas can, set of coveralls, gloves, three dowel rods, a roll of electrical tape and a lighter. Back in the parking lot, he consulted the map again before deciding to backtrack to Del Prado and go south through Cape Coral before crossing the river closer to Daniels Parkway. The traffic should be lighter by now.

An hour later found Sam in his hotel room on Daniels Parkway, not far from the Renaissance. A car had been ordered and dropped off from Enterprise. He was pleased to see it was a very ordinary mid-size as hoped. He left his items in their plastic bags and donned his running shoes. Dressed casually and for the heat, he left the Cadillac and drove the new car to Denny’s for a late dinner. After a quick drive around the shared parking lot, he chose a parking spot in back of a neighboring building on the border of the lot. It was out of sight of both the business entrances, and due to its make and model, he felt it wouldn’t cause undue attention if left for the night. He had a quiet meal in a half-filled room before leaving and walking back to his hotel. Sam was surprised to find himself so tired. He had been running nonstop since his arrival, and did not have his usual strength due to the chemo. Some downtime was in order. Without bothering to take a shower, he collapsed onto the bed. The three escape options were on his mind, but he was soon asleep.

•      •      •

The Gulfstream cruised at forty-two thousand feet, and other than some snoring, the cabin was silent. Everyone was asleep but one. Some people just have a hard time sleeping on planes, and this person was one of them. The fatigue had hit them all and keeping the eyes open was a challenge. At least there was data to read, plenty of it. Everyone had a pile next to them. The GPS map on the wall showed them over Kansas, a few more hours to DC. Then the jet lag would really hit. Flying east was always worse than flying west. Trying to remember why just started a headache.