Stepp’s plan felt easy enough, if only he knew what kind of car Smith drove. He realized the elderly man might not even be here yet, and, if he was, Stepp wouldn’t know it. He was basing this entire stakeout on Vicki’s description—and that’s assuming she remembered what Smith looked like.
“Dumb broad,” Stepp whispered and chuckled.
Stepp leaned his back against the gazebo and reached for a cigarette. When he removed an empty package of Smolens from his back pocket, he crumpled it in his hand with one flex of his fist and searched his interior suit jacket pocket for his backup pack—the disgusting and only-use-for-emergencies pack of Brandts.
He balanced one between his lips, letting the chapped skin hold the cigarette in place, and used a match to light it. After taking three short puffs
