Rich finished the cigarette in the car. It was raining and this was the last place he wanted to be. But it was the last job to do, after this, he would disappear, get a fresh start, maybe stop smoking.

He opened the glove box, took out his gloves and balaclava and threw the butt there. He kissed the little angel that dangled from the mirror for good luck. Then he adjusted his raincoat and left the car towards the house.

He knew that he needed to use the back door. There was a window that wasn’t completely secure, or so he was told. Then he needed to locate the office. Striker was sure that the Parkins kept the photos in there. How come Parkins was able to blackmail Striker using physical photos in today’s world was beyond him. But it worked and here he was.

He opened the garden doors without any problems. He was sure it even had to look like he was just unlocking the lock. He made sure not to destroy the lock so he could lock it back when he left. He was always considerate of other people’s property.

He saw the window, of course, Striker forgot to mention it was on the second floor. But once he got onto the garage roof, it was pretty straightforward. He opened the window silently and then climbed in. He made sure he didn’t make noise. He was just about to close the window when he heard the voice.

“Don’t move.” He wanted to turn around and see who was talking but something tugging at his back stopped him.

“That’s right, I have got the gun and I am not afraid to use it.” The voice whispered again.

“OK, OK,” Rick didn’t dare to move. The job was not important enough to get killed.

“I will just…” Before he could finish, he felt the gun was digging into his back.

“Don’t move, just stay. I have a dog too…” Dog? He listened. There was no barking, just a noise of TV. What was it? A kid’s show?

“A dog?”

“Yes. Jennings, come here!” The person called the dog. Rick looked at Jennings who appeared at his foot, happily sniffing him. It was a French Bulldog. He still felt the gun in his back but he was crouching. Whoever held it couldn’t be that tall. In a sudden spur of moment, he turned around. A boy, no more than twelve and two feet shorter than him, was holding him at a point of a squirt gun.

“Don’t move, I will use it.” The boy warned him seriously.

Rick started to laugh. He petted Jennings. “Then shoot, boy.”

The boy started to cry. Rick wanted to do something to cheer him up when he realised Jennings stopped sniffing him. Instead, he ran towards the doors. Blue lights outside — that meant only one thing, the police.

That was one more thing Striker forgot to mention, the house was under surveillance. Of course, who would leave a boy unattended. And so Rick sat down, knowing there was no way to escape, he wasted way too much time avoiding being killed by the squirt gun. This was his last job indeed.