With Cruel Intent

by Dennis Larsen

  “Men, and boys for that matter, walk around with their brains in their penis with no thought for anyone but themselves,” Beverly suggested, polishing off her third donut, this one covered in white frosting drizzled with maple. “Believe me, I’ve known my share and most are idiots through and through. Even the ones that you think are semi-normal turn into some sort of sex crazed alien the minute they get a hard on. Take my deceased husband, the one I was telling you about with the spoiled rotten son, he was a genius when it came to money and real estate. I learned so much from him about the markets, when to buy, when to sell, that sort of stuff, but the minute I’d show him these.” Taking her covered breasts in both hands, making sure not to get any icing on either one, she bounced them slightly; drawing stares from some of the locals seated a few tables over. “He’d turn into a babbling fool, unable to make a coherent sentence until he’d gotten his rocks off, pardon my French.”

  Bev was enjoying having someone she could spout off too. Her favorite subject as of late was the abuse she’d received at the hands of men in general but more specifically from the son of her dearly departed.

  “Did I tell you the latest? Did I?” she asked, not waiting for a reply she pressed on. “Well, I’ll tell you what darlin’, that little son of a bitch is still screwing with me even after the courts awarded me my fair share. My stepson, some kind of aid to a high falootin’ congressmen up there in Washington, has got it in his head that I’m just gonna roll over and let him push me around and give up my millions,” she continued in her over the top Southern accent. “That pompous piece of shit really gets me going. First it was momma this and momma that, now that some money is involved he treats me like a two bit whore that was screwing his daddy just for his money. I’ll show that little pipsqueak what this mommas got in store for him,” she said rather loudly, drawing more looks and quiet whispers from customers throughout the shop.

  Blanche nodded when she felt it was appropriate and tried to act understanding, but wasn’t it her that was the victim this morning and not Bev? It was sweet that she was trying to take her mind off the skaters but she was kind of ranting and Blanche was not enjoying the additional attention.

  “So tell me about the job the oldest one has, he really works for a congressman, a US Congressman?” Blanche politely asked.

  “Yeah, little kiss ass that he is, worked his way into this job with the help of his daddy. From what I gather he does all the congressman’s dirty work. Does all the hiring and firing and finds little trollops for the congressman to screw when his wife ain’t around. I ‘spect Jeremy gets his fill of that office poontang as well, takes after his daddy in that respect,” the agitated real estate woman fumed.

  “That’s his name, Jeremy?” Blanche asked.

  “Yeah, Jeremy ‘Kiss My Ass’ Marshall and the worse thing is he keeps sticking his nose in my business here in Valdosta. Don’t know why he can’t just leave well enough alone and worry about his father’s estate and getting this behind us. Some of my friends in the business tell me he’s prodding around about some land that is soon to be developed just north of here. Probably needs my millions to secure some financing for something he’s got in the works, most likely very underhanded if I know Jeremy and the way he operates.” She paused long enough to fill her mouth with another bite of donut.

  “You must be sick of hearing about my troubles, honey. What’s up with you other than fighting off a pack of boys after your goods?” she said, pointing the half eaten donut at Blanche’s front, leaving powdered sugar on her friend.

  Blanche didn’t want to get into much with Bev after hearing the realtor go on and on about her woes so she tried to bring the subject back around to her housing needs. After approximately thirty minutes of condo talk and another cup of cocoa, the women left the donut shop, all eyes on them as they hurried through the doors and into the BMW. Beverly was good enough to swing by the library for Blanche then sped off, anxious to meet with her lawyer and cuss for another couple of hours about her stepson. In her mind she’d worked hard for those millions and he was not about to take that away from her. No frickin’ way she was going to let her stepson screw her, that was for sure.

  Blanche’s workday began like most once she got to the library. She was relieved to see that there were only a few items in her assorted boxes and no skulking teenage boys prowling among the shelves. She’d had her fill of testosterone driven madness for one day. Mr. Marcus was busy tinkering with some shelving units on the upper floor when she arrived and she had not yet had an opportunity to speak with him, but he was making some incredible ‘worker man’ noises that echoed throughout the library. Thankfully, it wasn’t busy and no one seemed to care that the occasional clang or bang could be heard, followed by a random cuss spoken harshly by the maintenance man. Two hours into the racket and just before Blanche was to take a break to get some lunch the little custodian ambled down the steps from the second floor. Sweat ran down his cheeks and a white, stretchy headband ran around his forehead in an effort to keep the salty solution out of his eyes.

  “Sorry about all the commotion up there this afternoon,” he offered. “Those new shelving units they sent for the magazines didn’t quite go together with the ease that the instructions indicated. Never do for some reason, anyway, got them together and they look nice. You’ll have to mosey up there when you get time and take a look.”

  She always looked forward to the random interactions she got to have with the personable, little man throughout her day. Kind of reminded her of her dad and brought back some fond memories of her childhood. He was always quick with a compliment and a smile and today was no different.

  “That’s quite the outfit you’ve got on there today, really highlights your figure, you’ll have the boys in the back fighting over who gets to help you with the coding this afternoon.”

  Blanche knew the remark was intended just as it was given, a sincere observation meant to compliment with no creepy overtones or insinuations.

  “Why thank you Marcus, just a little something I haven’t worn since I started here and thought I’d give it a go.” Blanche blushed slightly, making her face glow with appreciation.

  “Well, you did good, anybody in particular you ah, um, how do I put this tactfully? You got your sites on a particular target with this?” He gestured with his hands, indicating her figure in the tight, thin sweater stretching a little lower than her usual attire and the slacks a bit tighter in the seat than anything she’d worn to date.

  “Now, now Marcus, you know you’re the only man around here that I’ve got an eye for,” she said, with a wink of her striking blue eyes and a pat on his shoulder.

  They both laughed but Marcus had his suspicions. Blanche was like the daughter he never had and he enjoyed her personality and the fun banter they exchanged on a regular basis, but he strangely felt a certain obligation to watch out for her best interests as well.

  “Marcus, Mr. Marcus, you got that shelving unit up yet? My heavens with all the noise going on up there one would have thought you were putting together a tank or something,” the words arrived almost before the director as she scurried up to the front desk.

  “Yes ma'am, was just telling Blanche here how nice they look. You should get up there yourself and have a gander,” Marcus replied.

  “Well I shall, once I get the new items for the museum cataloged and put into place. I just can’t seem to keep up with it all. Thank goodness we’ve got Blanche to look after the library for us. Heavens dear, you trying to attract every man within a ten mile radius?” Ester inquired sarcastically, eyeing the curvaceous, young librarian.

  “I hope it’s not too much,” Blanche squeaked out, crossing her arms over her bosom.

  “Perhaps we should endeavor to keep your assets a bit more under wraps in the future or we’ll never get these high school students to stop talking about you,” the director smiled politely, turned on her heels to walk away but said over her shoulder. “On second thought maybe we need to pu
t the donation sign on the desk right in front of you today, dear, might be the best day we’ve had in years. See what you can do with that, will you?” And with that she was gone, calling for Mr. Marcus to follow her without turning to address him directly.

  * * *

  Blanche sat on the bench immediately in front of the library under a large magnolia tree, its glossy leaves providing a haven of shade from the afternoon sun. It had rained for about 30 minutes an hour prior but now the sun was shining and the rainfall had given everything around her a brilliant, clean luster that accentuated the shrubbery and flowers. She did love it here, the city itself was beautiful, the people in general so genuine and caring, her job was a breeze and she loved the people she worked with but most of all she was content.

  The poor night's sleep seemed less significant as she sat and looked around at the pretty little square and the laid back atmosphere that seemed to encompass the town and the South in general. The worry of finding a place to live, for whatever reason, seemed less important at this very moment. She was feeling something she hadn’t felt for quite some time, happiness.

  “Yes, that was it!” she thought, reflecting on the past few weeks. She had not been able to quite put her finger on it this afternoon but she was sure that this is what true happiness must feel like. Being able to look beyond the events of the day it was interesting to her that such an epiphany was possible, but there it was right in the middle of her chest, that burning sensation that speaks to one’s soul that all is well and life is good.

  As she was basking in her new found realization Blanche noted a gentleman approaching the steps of the library, cane in his right hand and a bit slumped over, but she thought he seemed awfully young to be walking with a cane and hunched over in that manner. She watched as he reached the steps, straightened up slightly, and looked around as if expecting to meet someone. Blanche noted that rather than looking through his glasses, he tended to tip his head so he could see over them.

  It was what happened on the steps that struck her as odd. He seemed to be having a hard time judging the distance to each step. He would take a step, pull his glasses down his nose, look over them then take the next step. On the final step he failed to perform the same operation and tripped sending him falling. Rather than hitting the concrete as expected, he reacted with cat like reflexes, regained his balance without the use of the cane. Once secure that he was steady, he put his weight back on the cane, bent over and proceeded through the main doors.

  The incident hung in her thoughts for only a minute or two chalking it up to her father’s favorite saying, ‘It takes all kinds’, before her thoughts returned to the beauty of the day and the happiness she was feeling. She wanted to remember the way she felt right at that moment, capture it, bottle it up along with the sunshine’s comforting rays before she had to return to her duties inside.

  * * *

  Earlier in the day the burglar had tossed numerous ideas around. Perhaps he should just use the Internet to help him hone his ideas and provide new ones, after all he’d been told to be creative, however, ‘creative’ was not on his resume. Breaking into a home without detection, yes it was on there, not getting caught was on there, but breaking into a home, not getting caught and making a statement for all to see, that was definitely not included in his skill set. He’d had second thoughts about using the Internet; it would be traceable. All they’d need was his list of searches in conjunction with his IP address and they’d be knocking on his door. He’d seen it happen before and didn’t want to be a part of that.

  Most of the morning he wrote list after list of what he thought were good ideas only to come full circle with the understanding that most of the schemes sucked. After the press and the police had turned his first outing into a bit of a laughing matter, giving some phantom college student the credit for his well orchestrated crime, he needed something with some pizzazz. Something that says ‘Holy Shit’ to the unsuspecting public, something that will really get their attention without drawing undue attention to himself or the ultimate goal. He obviously needed some help and he knew the trip he’d planned for the library must take place, however, he didn’t want to go as himself just in case they had security cams scattered about. It had been years since he’d visited a public library and he had no idea what to expect, except for an old maid behind the counter and dusty books on the shelf.

  Several options for a makeshift disguise presented themselves but he settled on a Gulf War vet with a back injury. His father’s old cane would suffice as a prop and an old baggy, green army issue jacket would complete the ruse. To enhance the look he filled his hands with hair gel and smoothed it through his straight black hair, pulling it back, exposing his forehead and uncovering his ears in the process. Perfect, he had thought, looking in the mirror, and to top it off he pulled a pinch of chewing tobacco from a tin his father had left behind and put it between his cheek and gum.

  “Not so bad,” he thought, as the juices filled his mouth and he swallowed.

  Big mistake! He couldn’t get to the toilet fast enough and he’d spewed tobacco and his breakfast all over the bathroom floor. It had taken him until almost noon to get things cleaned up and his disguise completed again minus the tobacco. Instead he settled on an old pair of glasses, also left behind by his father, who used them for reading in his later years. They made his eyes look funny in the mirror, kind of magnified and larger than life but he could manage to see through them well enough to get around. The distance vision was poor so he wouldn’t be able to drive with them on but the near acuity was acceptable so he shouldn’t draw any undue attention to himself, especially in a place where everyone would be reading. Before leaving on the appointed mission he stood in front of the mirror admiring the work he’d done.

  “Me own mum wouldn’t recognize me,” he uttered under his breath in a funny little accent, and with cane in hand he had headed for the Valdosta Public Library.

  * * *

  Blanche returned to the main lobby of the library to find a donation sign positioned squarely in the middle of the desk with a canister nearby to accept cash and coins. She chuckled lightly before addressing the items filling her ‘to do’ boxes. Seated at the desk she could see a fair portion of the library but failed to see where the green clad fellow had gone.

  “Must be upstairs. Hope he didn’t hurt himself,” she thought, returning her attention to the damaged books she was mending with strapping tape on the counter with the assistance of one of the young men from the school program.

  She noted that he was having a very difficult time focusing on the project at hand and made a mental note not to wear this sweater again. Too distracting at work but would possibly work wonders under the right circumstances. Once the few mending jobs were completed she excused the young man with the wandering eyes and made her way around the library, checking on the facility and making sure that all was well. The later afternoon patrons tended to be younger and that was the case today. In the far, back corner of the lower level a group of college students were huddled together working on term papers.

  Must have been a group project as each appeared to be throwing his or her own ideas into the ring and a cute young redhead was moderating. Blanche approached the group surrounding one of the longer tables, stood at the shorter end and tried to get their attention to no avail. Placing both hands on the flat surface she leaned forward extending her torso closer to the cluster of youth and drummed her nails on the tabletop until they all looked in her direction and stopped talking.

  She quietly whispered in a hushed tone, “I know you’re working on something as a group but we’ll need you to keep it down just a bit more than you are now, okay.”

  The students responded with a flurry of responses indicating that they understood and would be quieter. A good looking guy sitting next to the redhead must have paid too much attention to the shapely librarian and as Blanche turned to walk away, the redhead gave him a swift elbow in the ribs and a look of scorn for good mea
sure.

  Working her way up to the second floor it appeared to be deserted except for a lone patron wearing a green army jacket seated in front of a computer monitor and a stack of books scattered on the table beside him. Blanche's curiosity was peaked so she wandered through the upper level appearing to be busy with adjusting books on shelves, straightening things up as she went, gradually working her way closer to the unusual stranger.

  He seemed intent on what he was reading, both on the screen and the books, as he thumbed through them. The curious librarian eventually found herself directly behind him only separated by a bookshelf with his back to her. She quietly slid a handful of books aside and removed a few others to clear a path so that she could see what he was doing. He wouldn’t be the first that they’d had to reprimand for viewing illicit content with a library computer but that was not the case here. She could see the books stacked near him and each appeared to be crime related, Helter Skelter, The Stranger Beside Me, and other popular true crime novels, each with torn pieces of paper holding place throughout the titles.

  The individual was also working with a notepad he held on his lap, periodically making notes then returning the pad, out of the view of others that may be passing by. It did not appear he had any idea that Blanche was behind him as he googled ‘bizarre crime stories’ and ‘shocking crime stories’.

  “Must be a lover of non-fiction crime genre,” Blanche thought. “I wonder if he could use some direction.”

  She left her hiding place and stepped around the end of the shelving unit to stand directly at the side of the stranger. In her most professional librarian whispered voice she said, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  It became readily apparent that he’d had no idea that the librarian was even on the same floor as himself, let alone right next to him. He bounced in the chair as if it had been electrified, sending his notepad skidding across the floor and the mouse cord being yanked from the back of the computer tower. Blanche reacted with a slight giggle but maintained her librarian demeanor in the process.