“What delightful cup of caffeination can I create for you today?” the overly stimulated young woman behind the counter asked.
“Decaf latte, skim milk, add chocolate,” he said, knowing good and well he was going to chuck it.
“Anything else we can get for you this glorious afternoon?” the girl asked as she rung up his order.
“A double order of your optimism would be great,” he replied, arching an eyebrow.
“Any day I wake up above ground is glorious,” the young woman said. “Who knows, instead of being here ordering a specialized cup of coffee, you could be dead on the shitter like Elvis. All that fame. All that money. Dead. Taking a shit. That’s life for you.”
“I think I preferred the optimism,” Raphael replied.
“Seriously dude, it’s all about perspective. I have a job where I stand here for damn near eight hours getting people hyped up on legal stimulants. Most people don’t even bother to make eye contact with me, but I do my job. One person,” she said, passing his order down and wrapping a chocolate chip cookie in a sleeve, then passing it to him. “That’s all I need to impact in a day. Do a good thing for one person and it adds a coin to the karma can. Here’s a cookie on me.”
He handed the girl a 10. “Keep the change for your karma can,” he said, taking a seat to wait for his order.
In the corner sat Wallace Grummitt. This time tomorrow, he would be dead. At 3:05 pm, the round-faced man stood up from the corner booth, calling out to the barista that he was going to sit a spell. He left his computer on the table along with his cup of coffee and waddled his way to men’s room.
“Irony is never wasted on me,” Raphael said, thinking that tomorrow, Wallace Grummitt would die on the shitter. For good measure, he went to the restroom to look about. Two stalls, one currently being defiled by the wide ass of Mr. Grummitt. The man definitely needed to eat less meat and more vegetables. “Courtesy flush, please.”
“Sorry. Sorry, had tacos last night,” Wallace called back.
Mr. Exit had already left the room. He accepted his coffee which was now ready, along with his cookie and slipped out the side door. There were never any bells or chimes on the side entrances.
“Good to know,” he said, making his way around the front of the building, being pulled toward the sewing shop, with a five-dollar cup of coffee in hand. He took a sip, surprised at how good it tasted and entered the sewing shop. Again, another cheerful face greeted him.
“How can I help you?” the woman asked. Her eyes were weary as if all the energy she could muster to come in each day had taken its toll. This was the last stand to sell off as much as she could to recoup her losses and possibly save her home.
“Yeah, I want to get a new machine for my wife. The current one she’s using is more than likely as old as she is,” he said, looking about at the projects adorning the walls. “This is an embroidery machine, right? Do you have any patterns that possibly have unicorns?’
“Sure do, but that’s Kimberbell, so those are sold separately,” she said.
Raphael understood the sadness. “This shop was everything to you, huh?”
“Yes, I sunk my life savings into it, and right now, I’ll be lucky to sell half of this stuff in this market. I’m going to lose my shirt,” she said, “but I tried. I wasn’t afraid to get out there and take my shot. Too many people stop short, afraid they’re going to fail and won’t try.”
“But you tried and have failed,” he said, looking about the store.
“Yeah, but what if I had never taken the chance? What if I spent my life sitting at home in a sewing room making products to sell on Etsy? I tried and I failed, but I can still teach, I have better equipment, and we go from there,” she said. “Enough about me. What are you hoping to purchase for your wife?”
“I want top of the line, all the bells and whistles, with the embroidery hoop as well,” he said. “I also need fabric, in yellow and purple. I will take any fabric you have with unicorns on it, patterns with unicorns, embroidery templates with unicorns. Also, I need a basic, but not too basic second machine for my teen daughter.”
“Our top of the line, or what I have left, is going to run you about five grand with the going out of business price, and that would be the Janome Horizon MC 15000 Sewing, Embroidery and Quilting Machine,” she said, pointing at the machine.
The original sticker price was nearly seven grand, which made him stare at the machine, expecting it to transform into a Decepticon. The sale price was a portion of the original cost, which was still pricey as hell, but Willow would like it.
“Okay, I’m still on the road and in meetings for the rest of the day, but can I pay for half now, and the other half when I come back to pick it up tomorrow?”
“Ah, sure,” the lady said.
“Great, have everything lined up by the door for me when I come back, probably around this time. I want to load up and head out,” Raphael told her, taking out his credit card. Half of it was still a shit load, but in the end, it would be well worth it. “Thanks, see you tomorrow, around this time.”
He was pleased. He had added a few coins to his karma can and helped out the lady with the failing business. Dropping nearly four grand today and another four tomorrow would go a long way to helping the lady stay afloat.
His stomach growled and he’d missed lunch. The coffee he tossed in the trash, but he saved the cookie. A full-service restaurant was in the lobby of the hotel where he would order an early dinner and prepare for the job tomorrow. Plus, he needed to call home.
Raphael had barely taken a seat and been handed a menu when his phone rang. It was his bank. Concerned, he took the call while simultaneously ordering a sweet tea with lemon in a to-go cup, along with the giant steak he was going to order.
“Hello,” he said into the line.
“Mr. Hoyt, this is Jamie with Fraud Protection at Chape Bank. There have been some unusual charges to your accounts that we need to review,” the man said.
“Go ahead,” Raphael answered, pointing at the menu for the ribeye with the hot pink center and the creamed spinach.
“There is a charge for $4,200 at Sew, Sew Good in Charlotte, North Carolina today,” Jamie said.
“Yes, that was me. I am going back tomorrow to pay the balance which is equal to what I spent so please make a note on the account,” he told the customer service representative. “What else?”
“Also, at the same time, while you’re in Charlotte, there are charges to an online retailer in various amounts. What is raising the red flag are the items being ordered,” Jamie said.
“Items being ordered?”
“Feminine items, undergarments, lingerie, personal pleasure devices, kids clothing, socks and various items,” Jamie said.
“Personal pleasure devices?” Raphael said, leaning forward in the seat, curious as to what the hell Willow had ordered. “What is it called.”
Jamie cleared his throat, “Mr. Hoyt, it is a pink clitoris stimulation sucking tongue rechargeable sexy toy for women with a wand and bullet vibrator egg that is waterproof.”
“That’s a mouthful,” Raphael said, then had an image of Willow on the bed with the thing which immediately drew a reaction from him. A very physical reaction that he would more than likely need a tongue sucking rechargeable sex toy to help him make it through the night.
“Jamie, my wife is using the card. When I get home, I’ll bring her by the bank to sign onto the account,” he said.
“There are other charges here as well for girl’s shoes.”
“It’s fine, Jamie. She’s buying items for our daughters,” he said.
“Would you like to put a cap on the limit for the card?”
“Sure, cap it at 10 grand,” Raphael said.
“Yes Sir, Mr. Hoyt. Thank you for using Chape Bank,” Jamie said.
“Thank you for having my back,” Raphael said, disconnecting the call.
His food arrived, but his appetite had waned. Six years was a very lo
ng time to not be touched by a man. Now she was home alone, the girls were sleeping, and the poor woman had to resort to a pink clitoral sucking something or other with a vibrating egg. Under the table, he was harder than Don Lemon on a Friday night sitting behind his anchor desk at CNN commenting on President Number 45.
“Good grief,” he said, focusing on the woman’s ankles at the table next to him. The poor matronly lady had taken time to ensure everything else on her person was perfect with the exception of her ankles. It looked as if she was wearing a pair of mottled gray hose. The longer he stared the calmer he became. He had a perfectly juicy steak waiting for him.
“I’ll call and check on them when I get to the room,” he said, slicing into the steak.
AN HOUR LATER, IN HIS room, ready to go over the plan for tomorrow one more time, he dialed the phone he’d given to Willow. He punched in the number and waited for her to pick up.
“Hello Raphael,” she said into the line. The sound of her voice, coupled with the image of her on the bed with a pink clitoral vibrating tongue sucking egg shot energy spikes straight to his crotch.
“You’ve been doing some shopping today, I see,” he said.
The line grew quiet. “What? You can see what I’ve been buying?”
“No, I got a call from Jamie at the bank who went down the list of items,” he replied chuckling. “I don’t think Jamie is okay.”
“Oh my God, I am so embarrassed,” she said, biting on her bottom lip.
“Don’t be, the imagery, is well, there’s that,” he told her. “How is everything and how are the girls?”
“They are really not used to being locked up inside, so we went for a walk today down to the beach. We wanted to give Marla some room,” she said. “I don’t think she likes us.”
“She’s Russian, so she doesn’t like anybody. Plus, she’s been with my family for over 20 years,” he added, “and she took care of my father when his health began to decline. She also served as a personal caregiver to my mother when the cancer took hold. Marla is family.”
“Received,” Willow said. “How are you? Were there any problems on the drive?”
“No, everything has gone smoothly thus far. The job is going to be an easy in and out, then I’m heading on to the next meeting,” he said.
“The meeting with the $400 bottle wine.”
“Yes, one and the same, but if I may be truthful, at this point, we can probably make it happen with a video chat,” he said, not wanting to make the drive.
“No, your first instinct was a face to face. Your second instinct was to grab that bottle of wine. Going with your gut can be the right answer when there are too many questions,” Willow said softly.
“Willow, is that what you’re doing with me, going with your gut?”
“It’s all I have, but like you said we’ll talk about that when you get home,” she said, responding to ruckus in the background. “Yes, yes it’s your Daddy. Karli, please allow me to finish my conversation with him first.”
“But Mommy, I have so much to tell him. And I miss him, and he needs to get my butterfly kisses through the phone,” Karli demanded.
Willow handed the phone to her “Hey Daddy! Are you missing me yet?”
“Each second of each day that I am away from your smile Pooh Bear. Are you behaving and minding your Mom?”
“Yes, yes I am, but I have to tell you something and you’re not going to like it,” she said, whispering in a lowered tone, “Dusty got a boyfriend today. You weren’t even gone an hour, and here he come slinking over to our house through the hedges. I don’t like him, Daddy. She wants to play kissy kissy with him.”
“I did not. Give me the phone,” Dusty Rose said, snatching it from her sister’s hand. “Daddy, I do not have a boyfriend. Stan Jr. from next door brought me a lemonade today, and we sat on the porch and talked.”
Karli grabbed the phone. “Daddy he was looking at her like I see you looking at Mommy when she’s not looking, like he wants to kiss her real hard on the mouth.”
“Good gracious child, please hand me the phone,” Willow said.
“Mom, I need to talk to Daddy about something important,” Dusty Rose said. “Can I have a moment?”
Willow’s face denoted surprise, but she raised her hand and stepped away to give her daughter a bit of privacy.
“Dusty, are you alright?”
“Yes Daddy, but Stan Jr. asked me to go riding with him. There’s a bicycle in the garage, but I don’t know how to ride,” she said. “Mom said she would teach me, but I don’t want to fall and have scratches all over me. When you get home, will you teach me to ride a bike?”
Physically, Raphael hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he exhaled a loud sigh of relief. “Sure thing, Punkin’ Puss. Anything else?”
“No, just that and I miss you,” Dusty Rose said.
“I miss you as well. Please put your Mom back on the phone,” he said, waiting for Willow to come back on the line. “Tomorrow is hectic, but I’ll call again in the evening. I have a big meeting between two and four. If you need me, call before or after, or just wait until I call you, which is probably the safest bet.”
“Raphael, we miss you,” she said, afraid to release the words but wanting him to know.
“I’m missing you all as well,” he said. “Gotta go.”
He ended the call before she could say anything else. He ended the call before he could say anything else. He inhaled a bellyful of air, and he released it, wondering for the life of him, why he didn’t just go home tomorrow after the job, but the lady had a point. The wine was his gut instinct. He needed to talk to the Mann.
Dusty Rose also needed a bike of her own. The transcript of the conversation replayed in his head like a carbon copy of mental notes taken by a busy body 10-year-old with keen powers of observation. At that moment, he was thoroughly convinced Karli was a 40-year-old member of the Lollipop Guild hiding in a little girl’s body.
“Wait, what did she mean, Stan Jr. looks at Dusty like I look at her Mom?” He looked in the mirror at himself, realizing too late that the woman was under his skin.
RAMI SLANECKI WAS ITCHING as if little beetles had crawled under his skin eating away at the dermis and digging into the hypodermis sucking in all the fat in the layers. He made it to the wood line where Proderick claimed to have witnessed the women running away. He walked up the small incline of the slope, checking for entrances into the woods via an additional path large enough to hold a vehicle. Several paths were located, but none had fresh tire marks, except for one.
“This is interesting,” he said, bending down to look at the tire marks. The tire marks were wider than the vehicle they were underneath. “Custom vehicle.”
Shrugging, he walked the path for almost a mile, noticing broken branches, limbs, and other overgrowth on the trailhead broken by what he assumed to be a truck. Rami spotted a hard top road and turned back to go to his own vehicle.
“Finding them kids ain’t going to be easy,” he said, turning his sites toward the second portion of the payday, Kindred Seoul, who was easy to find and a pleasure to kill. Then he would get the payment and maybe find the kids or just tell Proderick he had and take the money. “So many plans, so little time.”
Chapter Nine – Dummy
IT WAS A DIFFICULT task to wake up in the morning to find oneself in full blown idiot mode, but Raphael was having a time of getting himself together. He was missing the girls, a gourmand breakfast from Willow, and the chatter of the day getting started. Although it had only been a few days, the new normal he faced didn’t feel so normal. He wanted to be home.
“Karli will be finishing her book and starting a new one,” he said, laying out his suit then reached for his shoes. The black wing tips had a nice shine to them, and he slipped into a button down light blue shirt, added the red and grey striped tie, and slid on the matching leather belt which tied the whole suit together. The jacket would remain on the bed while he went down for br
eakfast, growling as he opted to have his breakfast served versus eating off the $29.95 breakfast buffet. Seldom did he get his money’s worth on those things.
A slender, black leather traveler’s journal sat at his right, along with his favorite Waterford pen. He made notes about his day and items he wished to discuss with The Mann, especially since the one connecting thread of the Technicians had been taken out of play. Wrong Way was the glue in the center of the team. Concerns flooded his mind while he waited for his vegetable omelet and side of bacon to arrive. He sipped at the decaf coffee wondering what The Glitter Man’s next move would be since Wrong Way had been taken off their interstate traffic lanes. It was not like Beauty to have a second vehicle or second cleaner on hand, as far as he knew.
The breakfast was bland, but filling, and when the omelet arrived, he ate it without experiencing the savory light and fluffiness of the eggs that Willow had prepared for him. In a few, he would go back to his room and prepare for his day.
He went down his list.
Pay the balance on the sewing machines.
Go get coffee.
Use the bathroom.
Go back to the sewing center.
Load up.
Hit the road.
Four-hour drive to Blairsville.
Should arrive around dinner time.
I have the wine.
Back in his room, he sat quietly in the corner chair, meditating for his own soul and the one he was about to remove from the world. In silence he waited until his watch chimed 15 past the hour of two. Very seldom on the days he worked did he eat lunch. If the job went wrong, he didn’t want to leave behind any DNA in the way of a noon meal covering the victim. Personally, it had never happened to him, but in his SEAL days, Raphael witnessed it a time or two.
The late checkout complete, he made it to his vehicle, slipped on the Gould & Goodrich shoulder holster, sliding his favorite weapon with the silencer pre-attached inside and ensuring the safety was on, and climbed inside his shop. It took less than 15 minutes to reach the complex, and he parked mid-way between the coffee shop and the sewing shop. He entered the sewing shop first.
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