19

19

As promised, we drive into Phoenix around mid-afternoon. Jason navigates us into an impressively affluent neighborhood; the kind that I’m pretty sure would cause most people to start having convulsions if they were to simply look at the price of a house here. At the end of the street is an estate that makes all the other houses on the block look like slums. Gated entrance, video security cameras, twenty-foot brick wall with ornate barbed metal spikes bordering the entire property. The house itself is hidden behind the wall and a small grove of trees just beyond the gated entrance but you can just make out some turrets poking up beyond the canopy of the trees.

It comes as absolutely no surprise to me when Jason confirms that Overkill Mansion is, indeed, our destination.

“Like I said,” Jason says with a shrug, “Frank has done well for himself by going straight.”

Almost makes me think about going straight, myself. Almost. If I thought there was any chance that there was