Smiling Sam, Pole in hand, had first noticed the blue car coming into the parking lot very slowly after Stacy had begun walking south along the shore line next to the hard packed sand of the surf. Sam sat his pole down and rummaged through his pack for his thermos and cup as his pole face north and while he poured his coffee, he faced south seeing a small Stacy walking and the suspect just now hitting the sandy trail to the sea shore. Sam reported to Dan who in return reported to Chief Ray, who then reported to Ben and Rory. Rory sent Stacy a text telling her the perp was following her about two hundred fifty yards behind her right next to the surf. He was barefoot with a small pack on his back. He also wore a baseball hat. His clothes were all dark color.
Stacy was coming upon her big driftwood log. With a glance she saw it was a little after ten thirty. Another peek into her mirror showed him about two hundred yards behind her walking in the shallow surf. She wished he was suffering from the cold water and feeling some pain acting like he enjoyed beach combing.
Stacy had reached her location that held fond memories of the day before when they locked lips and explored mouths with their tongues. She smiled thinking about it knowing Rory was but a hundred feet away totally camouflaged with a high powered rifle to insure her protection. Stacy never looked up to see if Ben was in position, but without looking knew he was filming the scene as it unfolded.
Stacy jumped up on the log and sat Indian style as before. With her back partly to the sea and partly north to the jetty, because the log was at a 45 degree position to the sea or the shoreline, that location blocked the on-shore wind.
She unzipped her coat and made sure her hand gun was easily accessible. Next she took out her cell and pretended to do some texting, but actually she was looking to see how close Randy Warren was. He was about a hundred yards from her still walking the surf. She counted off five minutes and saw him move up to the soft sand above the tide line. He wandered around and found a walking stick. At that position he was almost in a direct line behind her back. It was a perfect position for him to be at.
Stacy prepared for action as he was closing in on her pretending to be beach combing. The walking stick was something she hadn't counted on. No doubt he intended it to knock her off the log and probably knock her out. Now the timing had to be perfect. When he took the swing, her new plan was to duck and rolls off the log to the far side from him. With the noise of the surf and wind, she'd never hear the 'swoosh' of the walking stick.
Her last look, with her head down, right hand on her hand gun, he was ten feet away with the walking stick now on his shoulder. A count of five seconds later she risked a peek and saw him raise the walking stick for a major league swing for the fences.
Stacy ducked and rolled off the log coming to her feet with her gun pointed at his chest as the stick made it both strike three to end the inning. A shocked look in his wild eyes looking a little sideways at her after the wild swing showed how taken aback he was.
He dropped the walking stick and lowered his eyes to her hand holding a gun that was pointed at him. With wild eyes, but now, slowly, a smirk came across his face almost without words asking: 'what's next bitch?'.
"You've two choices Red Eagle. One is to lay down face first in the sand with your hands behind your back, or you could tempt fate and try me on for size," said a grim Detective Foreham.
"I'll not come peacefully as they'll lock me up in a crazy house and never let me out. You're just a girl in a man's world Stacy. To us run of the mill nobodies, you and your prick teasing cheerleading friends would never give us the time of day. You don't have the balls to shoot me bitch. I'm coming across and when I'm finished with you, like the rest, a big knife will stick out of your chest," said Randy Warren.
Rory was looking back and forth between the scope and above the scope. It appeared Stacy had the situation under control. When the perp swung the walking stick, he almost squeezed the trigger, but thankfully he waited. The next thing he saw was the perp reaching into his pants and pulled out a large butcher knife. He saw the perp begin to climb the big log to reach Stacy on the other side. Just as he reached the top, she put a hole in his belly just below the heart. The force knocked him back off the log to where he stood just a few minutes before.
By then Rory was hot footing over to the scene. Stacy had climbed back onto the log with her gun still at the ready as he came up with his hand gun in hand. He leaned over the log seeing the perp lying on the sand breathing hard. In a flash, Rory leaped over the log and kicked the knife away. Randy Warren looked small and he still had acne on his chin. Usually a bullet just under the heart would not kill immediately, but he'd linger for an hour or more.
Regardless, Rory cuffed him and with quick hands, did a weapon search. The butcher knife was all he had. Stacy had walked towards the beach and then at the top end of the log, crossed over and made her way back.
After squatting down a few feet away from Randy, she said "I'm sure you're dying Randy. Its justice served for the victims you took the lives of. We'll not call for help. My partner and I will wait until your last breath. It baffles me to understand why crazy bastards like you just don't take your own life instead of others. God is the only one who can forgive you Randy. Personally and for all the victims you've destroyed, I hope you burn in hell."
With a small amount of blood trickling out the corner of his mouth, he said, "I'm not asking for anyone to forgive me. I'm not so crazy as to understand what the hell I'm doing. Women are placed her for us to use and abuse. Your time is coming PT. Do I feel any pain, not a bit? I love the pain. Watch me die bitch and my club will last a long time. I've a legacy left behind me."
"Sorry to tell you Red Eagle the club is no more. All of the members have confessed. The Cult-ery Club is disbanded and defunct like you are."
Stacy called Smiling Sam. Then she called her father who gave off a big sigh of relief. Ben waved from the cliff top. Dan got the high sign from Smiling Sam and came running down the beach. He arrived breathing hard, but then in a short time, had caught his wind. He looked down at a still breathing Randy Warren. He looked up at Stacy who shrugged her shoulders and then over to Rory who did the same. He grinned and while Stacy called Marsha, he kicked a bit of sand in Red Eagles face. "Yes, you're the ninety eight pound weakling and I'm the muscle man of this beach, asshole."
Back at the police station, all three detectives had reports to fill out. Ben would make a copy of the video for official records and a copy for the Bandon Police Department. By six pm, all the paperwork was completed. They went to dinner at the Golden Eagle Restaurant. Erin was their waiter. He told them that his girlfriend and he had set a date for getting married. Stacy smiled. Vicki smiled. Ben smiled. Both Rory and Chief Ray wore matching non-committal expressions.
-Twelve-
Thursday, November 28th was Thanksgiving Day throughout America. Stacy and Vicki, along with head chef Ray Foreham, enjoyed the holiday feeling good about life and feeling rather safe for a change. A Pacific Ocean storm was hammering the small town of Bandon, but inside the Foreham house, three adults were all pitching in to make a fine turkey dinner.
The mayor had stopped by with a fine bottle of wine and a big congratulation to Bandon's resident detective and their Chief of Police. He didn't stay long, but that was fine by them.
Rory Caltex was at his parent's house in Beaverton; near Portland. Although he truly enjoyed having T-day with his folks, they'd agreed, secretly knowing he was in love, to send him back to the Coos Bay area on Saturday morning.
Stacy and Rory had a date for Saturday night at an undisclosed location.
The End.
Any writer would never disagree they truly wished the readers of their stories would like or enjoy what the story had to offer. If any part made the reader feel good; or related a warm feeling that connected with a character in the story, a writer, especially this one, would lower his humble head being quietly proud.
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Waggoner, Robert C., Murder Mysteries # 2
Murder Mysteries # 2 Page 19
