Riverside's Perfect Murder

Three Months Later

The Gonzales estate was extensive. It is the largest privately-owned estate in Mexico City. The total area is roughly one hundred acres.

Inside the main house, Don Gonzales was sitting behind his massive desk when the man dressed in a light blue Oxford button-down shirt with neatly pressed white pants entered.

"Who the hell are you?" the Don said.

The man didn't say a word. He simply sat in the chair facing the great Don Gonzales.

"What do you want?" the Don asked.

The man only smiled.

Perspiration was showing on the Don's forehead.

"I said, what do you want. Do you know who I am?" Don Gonzales asked.

"Yes. You are a dead man talking."

"You will never make it out of here alive. Do you hear me?" the Don said, raising his voice.

"I believe I will. But you will not."

"Wait. I have a million dollars in cash in the safe. You can have it."

"Thank you. That would be nice."

The Don rose and looked at the man, whose eyes held only death.

"Who sent you?"

"I came on my own. When you open that safe, please understand if you try to use the gun in the safe, I can not protect you from what will happen."

The Don looked back over his left shoulder and nodded.

When the safe was open, the Don lifted both hands slowly and pointed to the large duffle bag on the floor.

The man sitting in the chair nodded.

Don Gonzales slowly picked up the duffle bag and began filling it. He could see the gun lying on the top shelf and debated his chances. Neither option looked good, but every moment he stayed alive was critical. It was only a matter of time before one of his fifteen guards showed up. He only needed to stay alive that long. Then the bastard would get his, and slowly, the Don hoped.

The Don put all the cash in the bag and slowly walked over to the desk.

"Thank you. You may sit."

The Don sat and smiled. Do we have a deal then?

"Yes."

The two bullets entered just over the bridge of the Don's nose between his eyes. He neither saw the slugs coming or felt the back of his head dissolve.

The man in the Oxford shirt and pressed pants stood, lifted the duffle bag, turned, and walked out. Past the large decorative staircase and across the polished marble floor. Past the black grand piano and white statue. The man walked past the bodies of the Don's former bodyguards with hardly a thought.

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One quiet Tuesday, morning, the doorbell of a small house, in the town of Leawood, Kansas, outside of Kansas City, rang.

The Fed Ex driver had a package to deliver.

The woman who opened the door was a friendly woman who had recently gotten out of the shower.

"Package here for a Ms. Rose Wilkes."

"That's me."

"Sign here, please."

"I don't remember ordering anything," Rose said.

"Happens all the time," the driver said.

"Thank you."