Intimate Portraits

Cover Intimate Portraits
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Genres: Fiction
A jewelry store flanked the left of the studio, an embroidery place sat on the right.
When the nondescript beige van, now minus its magnetic side panels that had this morning trumpeted Betty and Lulu’s Flower Boutique, pulled up to the back of the shops, no one lurked in the alley to notice the black-clad man who got out.
No need for finesse. Sam Bogatti jimmied open the door to the studio, sliced the silent alarm wire, hopped back into the van, and drove around the block to park among rows of
...vehicles in another strip mall across the street.
Nice that the jewelry store was next to the studio. Someone would think he picked the wrong door. Leaning back in the seat, he stuffed a stick of gum into his mouth and waited.
Four minutes later, a police car arrived. Sam monitored from his vantage point as the officer checked the front and went around back. Then the man got back in his car and bent over the radio.
After a while, another man in sweat pants and top—the owner?—arrived. He spoke to the policeman working on a report or something in his patrol car.
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