Garrett parked the dark car in the shadows at the end of the block at exactly eleven p.m. He’d noticed the darkened corner his first night following Ewell. The streetlight was out and luckily, no one from the city or county had replaced the bulb. He was dressed in black from head to toe and his hair was tucked up into a black ski cap. Thankfully it was winter in Vegas; just in case he passed anyone, he wouldn’t look too out of place. He pulled a black duffel bag out of the back of the car and slung it over his shoulder before slamming the door closed. He hit the lock button on the fob when he was five feet away from the car without missing a step toward his destination. He could see the man coming from the opposite direction...right on time. Garrett had not only watched Ewell, he had kept an eye on his neighbors as well. The man coming toward him lived in the building across the street and at precisely eleven o’clock every night, he arrived home from work. He parked in a garage down the street and walked up to his building, which took him almost exactly three minutes every time. When he got there, he put his code into the security door and stepped inside, letting the door swing closed behind him as he went through the next door simultaneously. Tonight, Garrett passed the man with his head down and a hurried step, but the second the man pulled open the outside door, Garrett turned around. The man stepped inside and before the outside door clicked shut, he was pulling open the one inside. Garrett’s glove floated noiselessly to the floor just inside the outside door, catching the door before it latched. He counted off five seconds, long enough for the working man to hit the stairwell, and then he slipped inside. He wasn’t surprised when he pulled the inside door and it opened. This wasn’t his first time in the building. He never worked on assumptions and he never left anything to chance.

Once he was in the hallway, he kept his head down so that all the police would see when they pulled the security video was a big man all dressed in black. When he got to the stairwell he pulled open the door with his gloved hand and slipped inside. The building was twenty stories tall. Garrett would be going up twenty-one flights to the roof. He was sweating but not winded when he got to the top and pushed open the outside door. The cool air felt good and as he breathed it in, he also caught the scent of the ten cannabis plants that he’d found growing underneath a homemade tarp and bright lights around the far side of the heating vents. The marijuana farmer would soon be out of business; as soon as the police figured out the trajectory of the bullet, this roof would be the first place they’d look for clues. Garrett knew they wouldn’t find any...but at least with the cannabis plants, their trip up the twenty-one flights won’t be for naught.

Garrett went left and found the spot where he’d made an almost invisible white dot the night before. He dropped the duffel bag, unzipped it, and took out a plastic baggie. Inside the baggie was a small towel with solution already soaked into it. He used it to remove the dot from the cement and then he put it back into the baggie and dropped it down into the duffel. Once that was done, he took out the pieces of his rifle and began assembling it. He smiled as he put the gun together and thought about the conversation he’d had earlier with his daughter. Her preschool was doing a Thanksgiving luncheon in two weeks and the parents were invited. Lee Anne had to work, but Jessie wanted Garrett to be there. The idea of sitting around a table with all of those “normal” parents sent a shudder down his spine. But when his little girl had said to him, “I told all my friends that my daddy was a giant, but they don’t believe me. I can’t wait for them to see you. I’m going to tell Markie Stewart he was wrong, and I was right, straight to his stupid face.” Garrett almost told her not to say “stupid,” but then he decided who was he to judge her use of adjectives? Maybe Markie Stewart did have a stupid face. “Will you come, Daddy, please?” There was no way he could say no. The suicide could always wait...if he decided to go through with it after all.

Once he had the rifle assembled, he set it down on top of the bag and slipped on his night vision goggles. It took three seconds for his eyes to adjust and once they did, he focused them on the window with the open curtain on the eighth floor of the building opposite. People who lived in high places let themselves be lulled into a false sense of security. The other buildings were too far away and the people from the street couldn’t possibly see them...or so they thought. Garrett was thankful people who lived in nice buildings with big windows seemed to enjoy sleeping with the curtains open. It had made his job easier on more than one occasion.

Ewell had left work just after six p.m. He’d driven from Fremont Street to Las Vegas Boulevard and left his car with the valets behind Bally’s and gone inside. Garrett waited for almost two hours before he came back out, tipped the valet, and headed home. His evening routine when he got home consisted of checking emails on his laptop, making phone calls, and then showering before fixing himself a drink and reading for a while in the living room chair close to the window. He wore a blue silk robe and slippers and occasionally smoked a pipe. Garrett couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the man’s blatant pretentiousness. Oh well, he isn’t going to look so pretty when that silk robe is covered in blood.

Garrett took off the night vision goggles and mounted the scope on his rifle, and then he sat and waited. The air was cold, especially on the twenty-first floor, but it felt good. He leaned his head back into the brick wall behind him. He was tired, physically and mentally. He wished that his mind and his body could ever rest at the same time. But even when he lay down at night, the demons in his head came out to play.

For the next couple of hours he checked on Ewell every fifteen minutes. It looked like everything was going to work out. He was still in his robe and on his third glass of brandy. When Garrett looked at him through the scope, he was on the phone. The big man started to lower the rifle again, and he caught sight of the front of the building. Fuck! A young woman, probably twenty-five and gorgeous, had just stepped out of a cab. She was dressed to the nines like she was going to a party and her long blonde hair hung like silk down across her back. She had her own phone pressed into her ear and she was looking up at the building. Garrett looked back up at Ewell. He was standing up now, facing the window and looking down. He was expecting her. She was the person he had called, and friend or call girl, she’d gotten there quickly. Garrett didn’t care who she was; Ewell would either have to be dead before she made it up the elevator or this wasn’t going to happen tonight.

He rested the butt of the gun against his shoulder, looked through the scope, and lined up the sights. For a split second, he had Ewell in the crosshairs...but either the bell rang, or someone knocked. He disappeared for a few seconds off to the right and then reappeared on his way to the door. Garrett felt a trickle of sweat on his brow. He usually liked to be long gone before the body was discovered. If he dropped this guy now, he’d still be warm when the cops got there. But if he didn’t...who knew when he’d have another perfect opportunity? He took a deep breath, told himself he had plenty of time, and pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through the glass of the window and Ewell crumpled to the floor. Garrett trained the scope on him again. He had a perfect hole in his forehead where the bullet had exited. Garrett couldn’t see it now, but he knew the matching hole was on the other side. The man wasn’t breathing. The monster was dead.