Suckers - J.A. Konrath

Thorpe pressed his lips together so tightly they lost color. His eyes got sticky.
“Please, Harry. Marcus is more than just a dog to me. He’s my best friend.”
I didn’t doubt it. You don’t milk a casual acquaintance.
“Maybe you could hire an attorney.”
“That takes too long. If I go through legal channels, it could be months before my case is
called. And even then, I’d need some kind of proof that she had him, so I’d have to hire a private
investigator anyway.”
I scraped away a coffee stain on my desk with my thumbnail.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Thorpe. But hiring me to bust into someone’s home and steal a
dog... I’m guessing that breaks all sorts of laws. I could have my license revoked, I could go to
jail—”
“I’ll triple your fee.”
“I take cash, checks, or major credit cards.”
* * *
Night Vision Goggles use a microprocessor to magnify ambient light and allow a user to see
in almost total blackness.
They’re also pricey as hell, so I had to make due with a flashlight and some old binoculars.
It was a little past eleven in the evening, and I was sitting in the bough of a tree, staring into
the backyard of Abigail Cummings. I’d been there for almost two hours. The night was typical
for July in Chicago; hot, sticky, and humid. The black ski mask I wore was so damp with sweat it
threatened to drown me.
Plus, I was bloaty.
I let the binocs hang around my neck and flashed the light at my notepad to review my
stake-out report.
9:14 PM—Climbed tree.
9:40 PM—Drank two sodas.
10:15 PM—Foot fell asleep.
Not too exciting so far. I took out my pencil and added, “11:04 PM—really regret drinking
those sodas.”
To keep my mind off of my bladder, I spent a few minutes trying to balance the pencil on
the tip of my finger. It worked, until I dropped the pencil.
11