Chapter 4
In a lavish high-rise apartment building, in an empty hallway, Ben slid a thin bit of metal out of a jacket-pocket and made friends with a lock. For such an expensive place, security had been depressingly lax; the doorman had trusted his lift maintenance explanation and battered outfit without even checking. Ben had even put decent effort into creating a carefully believably false appointment, and had been somewhat disappointed.
He was also at the moment being disappointed by the door locks, which were old-fashioned and worn and easy to manipulate. Hardly a test of skill, really.
He stepped inside—no alarm system, either; he’d checked—and glanced around. Lots of mirrors. Lots of glass. Lots of fuzzy hot pink and black and white, which was possibly fashionable but hurt his eyes
