Nash
I pulled the Jeep up in front of my garage. I lived in the most unsuspecting neighborhood of older houses. Most of my neighbors were retired seniors, and the street itself dead-ended in the old Catholic cemetery. It was the kind of place where everyone minded their own business, and no one asked too many questions. Just the way I liked it. I knew my neighbors' names only because I had done a background check on each and every one of them. Otherwise, we only smiled and waved when we passed on the street.
No one wondered why I disappeared, sometimes for weeks or months at a time. No one asked where I worked or how I paid my mortgage. If they had dug deeply, they would have figured out I didn’t have a mortgage. I paid cash for the house, for the Jeep, and for everything I owned. I didn
