“So you say. Looks like a camera to me. Maybe I should call your manager.” The man’s chin lifted slightly. “Or even the police.”

For fuck’s sake. Really? It appeared he might have to kill the man after all.

“Whoa, whoa.” DJ took a step closer. “No need for that. I’ll give you my number and you can call my boss.” Of course the number was a fake and the man would probably end up talking to a contractor in L.A. who’d tell him he had the wrong number. But by then, DJ would be gone.

“No. I’m going to call the police.” The man took out his cell phone and stared into the screen, unlocking it.

Sighing, DJ took out his gun. Of course it wouldn’t be simple.

The man took a step back, wide-eyed. “What the hell?”

DJ approached the man slowly. “Drop the phone.”

“I knew it,” he hissed. “I called the cops already. They’re on their way.”

But he was clearly lying. The color had drained from his face and he was twitchy.

“Drop the phone,” DJ repeated.

The man dropped the phone. Slipping his left arm from the sling, DJ managed to grab the phone while holding his gun on the trembling man. The phone was still unlocked and he confirmed that no outgoing calls had been made.

“I wish you’d just accepted that I was from PG&E. Give me your wallet.”

Shaking, the man tossed his wallet to the ground. DJ fumbled with it, dropping his gaze only long enough to see the man’s name and address. Sure enough, the man lived in the house behind the fence.

“Let’s go home, Mr. Smythe,” he said, gesturing with his gun. “Don’t make a scene and you’ll live to see another day. This gun has a silencer and I will drop you where you stand.”

Nelson Smythe obeyed. “What are you going to do to me?”

“I’ll tie you up until I can get away—if you cooperate. Make a fuss and you’re dead. Got it?” They entered Smythe’s backyard through a door in the fence. “Are you home alone?”

Smythe nodded again. “My wife is out of town until next week,” he stammered. “I won’t report you, I swear. Take my phone, my car, my money. Just don’t tie me up. Nobody will find me. I’ll die.”

“Fine. Show me your car.”

Body sagging in relief, Smythe led him into the garage, where a Lexus was parked. More importantly, there was a chest freezer up against the far wall.

“Stand next to the freezer,” DJ commanded, and Smythe obeyed. “Now open it. I want to see what you have stored inside.”

Frown deepening, Smythe lifted the freezer lid. “It’s just frozen meat and—”

DJ fired, hitting Smythe right between the eyes. He used the backward momentum to push with his right shoulder, toppling the man into the freezer, where there was just enough room for him. DJ fired again, just to make sure.

Kowalski had taught him that, too. He’d learned more from Kowalski than he’d thought.