Kuzzar could hear the moaning and shuffling from the other side of the wall. They could smell the contents of his bag. The contents of his skull, for that matter.

The mark was a cheapskate. Imagine using zombie guards, in this day and age! Sure they look intimidating but they smell bad and are dumb as a, mildly retarded, chicken. If they had been golems it might have been a problem. An overhanging tree branch provided the perfect place for him to tie the bait. A quick levitation spell later, Kuzzar was watching with satisfaction as the, half dozen, zombie guards milled around under the dangling, severed head, reciting the traditional mantra of “Brains... Brains...”. If they ever get proper security in that graveyard he might have to start buying these but for now, fresh heads were there for the taking.

The main gate came next. It was a standard automatic one, with no alarm, electronic or mystical. A simple “Open Portal” command unlocked it, allowing him to wedge it open with a wooden block. “Always make sure of your exits,” his tutor had advised him, all those centuries ago and it still held true. Getting in was the easy part in Kuzzars business. It's getting out with the goods could be a challenge.

Flitting silently from bush to tree, kuzzar did a survey of the outside of the house. It was a nice piece of property. A large house, in it's own grounds, secreted behind high walls, mature landscaped garden, the works. In this location, it had to be worth four million, easy. He hated the owner already.

The main house had some kind of large dog inside. Patiently, Kuzzar rummaged through the shrubbery until he found a dog turd. The smell of sulphur assaulted his nose, as he broke up the semi-dried turd with a stick. That could mean only one thing. Hell hound. There was a bloody hell hound in the house.

He hated using the expensive mix of herbs he drew from one of his belt pouches but it really was the only way. Hell hounds could smell a human soul at a distance of five yards. A soul as old as Kuzzar's would be detectable even further away.

Cold crept into his chest as the bitter, unwholesome, juices of the herbs slid down his throat. He spat the chewed up herbs into a plastic baggie and put it back into his belt pouch, before proceeding. No sense in giving them any spell ingredients to target curses or sympathetic magic on him.

The garage door was a tricky one. He spotted the electronic alarm pretty quickly and was about to invoke his bound gremlin, to take care of it, when he noticed a small blue flash. His witch goggles had picked up no spirits but upon closer inspection, Kuzzar could make out the jagged shape of an electricity elemental, hiding in the redundant power supply. He had nearly fallen for it. That thing would have killed his gremlin and raised the alarm.

Kuzzar mumbled the ancient Etruscan words required, as he sprinkled the dust over the door and was rewarded with a creaking groan and a fizzing sound, as the earth elemental grounded sparky before he knew what hit him. His gremlin did the rest and the garage door slid up to reveal a jet black BMW 760Li. There is an excellent security system on this puppy. Not much good if you have all the codes though.

Kuzzar dropped the business card, with his usual note on the back, as he closed the car door. The protective ward he put on the car would only be good for one or two hits, so he would have to be quick.

Kuzzar smiled as he gunned the engine and put the accelerator to the floor, streaking down the driveway, past the startled and confused zombies. He felt a spell smash into the car, some kind of curse, he thought, but the ward held and he was out through the open gate and away.

“This is a very nice car”, he thought, as he relaxed into the drive, grinning to himself as he imagined the mark picking up the business card he had left.

The card read: “Arcanum Repossession Services. Supernatural deadbeats a speciality.”

And on the back: “Next time make your car payments, you cheapskate.”