Kaamil hated the town he was driving through, but he loved the thought of smashing its smug sense of security. He’d grown up in an all-black neighborhood in the virtually all-white city of Portland. Ten miles away from his neighborhood was the suburb of Lake Oswego and its ostentatious displays of wealth. People spent more money here each month taking care of their lawns than his mother had made in a month. Thirty-five thousand people living in a fantasy world, letting their children dress like little whores and drive BMWs to school.
The house he’d chosen as a base of operation was a seven-thousand-square-foot French Country mansion, with a boat dock on the lake. It belonged to a client with an ISIS home security system. Owned by a used-car dealer who had twenty-seven used-car lots spread across the city, it was also just around the point from Senator Hazelton’s home, less than five minutes by boat. It was just what he needed for the night.
At precisely six o’clock, Kaamil drove the borrowed catering van up the driveway and stopped in front of the elaborately carved double doors of the Peterson’s house. He parked the van so their front door was hidden from view, and jumped out wearing the catering company’s uniform. He carried an invoice on a clipboard, and held a silenced HK Mark 23 pistol underneath it. When Mrs. Peterson opened the front door, Kaamil jammed the pistol in her stomach and invited himself inside.
When the door closed behind him, Kaamil dropped the clipboard, grabbing the blond woman’s hair at the back of her head and pulling her close. Her frightened eyes made him smile.
“I don’t want you to say a word, or you’ll die where you stand. And then I’ll kill the rest of your family. Nod your head if you understand me.”
Casey Peterson was beautiful but not dumb. She saw the hate-filled eyes and powerful build of the tall black man holding her hair. She nodded quickly to show she understood.
“Signal with your fingers how many others are in the house right now.”
Casey raised her right hand and signaled with three fingers.
“Does that include your husband and your two children?” Kaamil asked softly.
Casey nodded yes.
“Are you expecting anyone else tonight?”
Casey shook her head no.
“I hope you’re telling me the truth, Mrs. Peterson. Take me to your husband.”
Casey led the way down the main hall to the den. Her husband was watching the news and enjoying his first martini of the evening. Thirty years old and thirty pounds overweight, Ron Peterson didn’t look as handsome as the billboards around the city made him look. When he looked up and saw a man holding his wife and pointing a gun at his head, he didn’t smile as brightly either.
“Stay seated. I asked your wife three questions, and I’m not sure she told me the truth. Too bad for you.” Kaamil shot Ron Peterson execution style. When Casey screamed, he grabbed her hair, yanked her head back, put the.45 beneath her chin and said, “If you lied to me, tell me now or I’ll kill your children. Nod your head if you told me the truth.”
Casey nodded. Kaamil let go of her hair. Then he slapped her with his left hand and gave her his last set of instructions.
“Show me where your children are. I need to borrow your house for a while. If you can keep your children quiet until I leave, I promise they won’t be harmed. Will you do that for me?”
A stunned Casey Peterson nodded before she numbly accompanied Kaamil down the hall to the screening room. The two children were watching a Disney movie when she led Kaamil into the room. She stood frozen as she watched him quickly walk behind each of her children and shoot them in the back of their heads. She hadn’t moved when he turned, walked back, and raised his gun to her head.
The house was now his, Kaamil acknowledged with a smile, as he shot Casey Peterson.