Shark's Tooth

“I can see why they call it the Nautilus House,” said Terry as they sat outside the gate and tried to figure out their next move.  The house looked like a giant seashell left on the beach.  Blackbeard knew that the house next door was close to ten thousand square feet.  This one dwarfed it.

“The family that owns it, the family that owns that big bank and has that daughter that did the reality show about how she doesn’t need money because she’s rich, they want people to call it by their name.  Ain’t going to happen,” said Blackbeard.  “You build a house that looks like a football, it’s always going to be the Football House.  I bet no one can even tell you what brand of car the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile is.”

“How you want to do this?  I sure as hell don’t want to buzz the intercom and wait five minutes for some flunky to tell us that no one’s home and no one ever will be home.”

Blackbeard pointed.  “Then let’s go through that gap, there.”  They walked through the fence and up the driveway to the front door.  Blackbeard rang the doorbell and waited while Terry looked through the blue-tinted glass.

“Looks like a damned museum in there. This main room’s the size of a church. People actually live here?”  Blackbeard shrugged.  His cell buzzed and he stepped off to the side to take it.   Terry heard him grunt a few times before he dropped the phone back in his pocket.

“C of C?”  asked Terry.





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