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Michael pulled the timeworn Toyota Corolla up to the curb a few houses down from his own. He parked on the opposite side of the street. John read a text message on his cell phone. He looked at the screen with a blank expression, and put it away. Both men cautiously stepped out of the car, noticing that Michael’s home was dark and looked empty. They opened Matt’s trunk, grabbed their rifles, and made their way to the corner at the end of the street. Their partners were gathering there.
After giving them directions, John walked to the house while everyone else converged on it. The other criminals had determined that as far as they could tell, the house was unnocupied. Once they reached it, a few of them moved to cover the back door while the rest remained at the front. The leader nodded at one of the killers on the opposite side of the doorway. He tried the door, but it was locked. So he used his small metal battering ram, like the kind that S.W.A.T. teams use in movies. It smashed the frame, making it splinter and crack. Wood and plastic fragments exploded outward wildly as the door shot open. Everyone rushed inside, scanning for signs of life. No one seemed to be there. John gave hand signals to his partners, who split up. They searched with precision and speed.
“All right,” John said, lowering his gun after all the assassins confirmed that the home was deserted. His partners copied his motion. “So, -“