With Cruel Intent

by Dennis Larsen

  “Blanche, did you have a good time last night?”

  “Oh, hey Mrs. Muir. Yeah, had a great time, ate Indian food for the first time, it was awesome. What are you up to?” she said, continuing to bend and warm up her muscles.

  “Just catching up on some reading, the paper this morning has some interesting things on that stalker out by the base. Have you been following that?” Mrs. Muir leaned over a bit to get a better view of the runner.

  “Somewhat, mostly what you’ve been telling me, along with Seymour.”

  “He’s sure having an impact on our local economy.”

  “How so? Thought he was just stealing a few things and frightening people,” she said, moving closer to the older woman so she could hear well.

  “I guess the gun stores have completely sold out of handguns and most are to women, and the housing, especially in that area, is in a mess. There are all those new condos across from Moody and they can’t give them away, number of people even looking at them is down 70%.”

  “Crazy how the actions of one person can have so much impact on so many others, just not very fair is it?” she offered.

  “No, it’s sure not. The boy you were with last night, he seems very nice, such a polite, well-mannered, young man. We certainly don’t see that very often any more. I hope I’m not prying, but will you be seeing him again?” Mrs. Muir said, enjoying the pressure she was applying to the librarian.

  “Oh, I expect so, but tonight I’ve got kind of a date with the big bodybuilder that helped me out a couple of times. I don’t really see that going anywhere but I just can’t help but like him and his dad, he’s quite a character, old Rufus.”

  “I see,” she said, in a somewhat disapproving tone. “You be sure to be careful out there today, keep an eye on where you are and who’s around. You just can’t be too careful, especially considering the problem you had with those young punks.”

  She offered a goodbye to Mrs. Muir, pledging that she would look over her shoulder often, stay close to crowds, and avoid running in unfamiliar areas. She certainly didn’t want another run-in with Mikey and crew. She generally tried to keep her run to about 30 minutes, especially on workdays, but today she wanted to take her time and enjoy the warm weather and the sun beating down on her.

  * * *

  Lester finally got what he was waiting for. Blanche bounded down the few steps of the home and stood near the sidewalk, retrieving something from the small pack she had tightly run around her waist. He reached for the camera and looked to either side of the van before bringing it up and snapping off a few pictures of the beauty across the street. Man, she was striking, even in track gear, her hair pulled back and no makeup. He loved the look of the tight stretchy material covering and caressing her smooth skin, and he yearned to run his hand over the fabric, reminding himself that patience was a virtue. Lester watched the jogger applying something, probably sunscreen, to her nose, leaving it white and reflective in the sunlight.

  Blanche considered her options before she crossed the street and began moving the sidewalk underneath her at a slow, steady pace, her strides putting one foot in each cement slab. Children were already out playing in the yards and a soccer game was underway in a field not far from the corner where she’d make her first turn. A grayish, almost silver van hugged the curb ahead and the warning from Mrs. Muir rang in her ears when she noted a man sitting behind the wheel, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, and a magazine held much too close to his face to actually be reading it. She laughed to herself, shaking her head, reading so much into little things. Really, what were the odds that The Stalker would be sitting on her street, and for what reason, nothing here that would interest him and it’s the wrong area of the county.

  “Relax girl,” she told herself, offering a cheerful hello to the fellow in the van as she breezed by.

  “That was close!” Lester said to himself, throwing the magazine into the passenger seat, watching Blanche’s behind shake its way down the sidewalk in his driver’s side mirror.

  He was sure she hadn’t gotten a good look at him, but still he needed to be more careful. Easing the van into gear he quickly made a U-turn and tracked the jogging woman, being careful to keep his distance and his cool. He deliberately stalked his prey, periodically taking pictures. Looking at her sweat-covered neck he longed to know what she would taste like. The cat and unsuspecting mouse game carried on for close to an hour before Blanche made her way back around to the soccer field and took a seat in the stands.

  Before long she found herself rooting for the underdogs, the team with the smallest players, and the most girls. Parents encouraged and cheered the players on from the stands, occasionally criticizing the skill of others, bringing some parents to their feet in defense of their children running about on the field. Blanche enjoyed this type of event, the feel of the sun’s rays restored her energy and the laughter and applause from the players, and spectators alike, reinvigorated her spirit.

  As Blanche sat enjoying the game before her, a different type of spectator had finally found a spot where he could get some frontal pictures of his target, without anything obstructing his view. Lester had parked his van at the nearby farmer’s market, and with the bulky camera in hand, walked across the street and sat on a hill overlooking the youth’s game. He sat with his left knee raised, and the large lens resting on it, the viewfinder encapsulated the strawberry blonde in the bleachers across the field. He watched as she laughed and applauded the players, taking special notice of her mopping the sweat from between her breasts with a small towel she’d pulled from the pack around her waist. Those close ups would enhance his collection nicely. Watching the expression on Blanche’s face, her long distance photographer didn’t know who was enjoying the day more, the subject, or the professional.

  By the time Lester had shot a few hundred pictures, the sun had climbed to its zenith, pushing the crowds into their air-conditioned homes or off to the many lakes and rivers that dotted the landscape. Sitting on the hillside, in the shade of a white-blossomed magnolia tree, the photographer watched Blanche leave the stands and walk the few blocks to her home. He considered staying and watching for her the rest of the day, but knew there were a few plans to conclude before his work was done. He was anxious to get his competitors out of the way and hoped that tonight would present itself to do just that. What he needed, whether tonight, or in the near future, was a viable location, a distraction, a gun, an opportunity, and the will to act. Lester knew he had three of the five, Jasper would provide one more, and God would do the rest.

  Blanche spent the balance of the afternoon taking a leisurely long bath, with no one else in the house, except Mrs. Muir. She’d been fortunate enough not to run into Felix and by the time she dragged herself out of the tub and back to her room it was past lunchtime. The thought of leaving the comfort of the home didn’t sit well with her, however, a Hawaiian pizza with Canadian bacon sounded wonderful to the starving woman. She pushed the guilt aside, slipped on some loose fitting sweats and headed downstairs, where Mrs. Muir was lounging in the parlor just starting, ‘The Birds’, on the large screen television.

  “Mrs. Muir, how would you like to indulge a guilty pleasure this afternoon and split a large cheesy pizza with me? I’m buying but I can’t eat one by myself.”

  “That does sound rather tempting and I was wondering what I might have to eat while I watched this movie. Tell you what, you order the pizza and I’ll make up some homemade lemonade and we’ll have an afternoon at the movies right here.”

  “I’m in. Is ham and pineapple okay with you?” Blanche confirmed.

  Their lunch arrived and the two women ate pizza, sipped their homemade concoction and enjoyed the macabre from the mind of Alfred Hitchcock.

  “They certainly don’t make movies like that anymore,” Mrs. Muir offered, polishing off the last piece of cold pizza.

  “It’s a shame really.” Having never seen the movie, Blanche offered her own critique, “I loved the s
toryline and he did it with a sense of sexuality but no blatant sex scenes. The language was mild but still got the message across with terrifying results. Anymore all they want to show is sex and shock. Books and these old movies are what really do it for me,” Blanche explained.

  “I couldn’t agree more, my dear. Thanks for spending the afternoon with a lonely old woman, you’ve made my day.”

  “It was my pleasure, we’ll do it again real soon.”

  Jasper picked Blanche up at 6:30, with no Rufus to be seen. The Datsun sat idling at the curb as the bodybuilder approached the doorway and knocked on the screen door, being able to see into the interior of the home. Blanche had been sitting visiting with Caroline, when she heard the knock, and greeted Jasper with a wave, saying goodbye to Caroline, who busied herself about, making sure to get a look at the extremely large fellow picking the librarian up.

  “She’s suddenly very popular,” Ms. Carmichael said to the accountant sitting at the dinner table punching some numbers through his calculator. He looked up momentarily, ignored the comment and went back to his work.

  “Jasper, how’s it going? Saw your picture in the paper this week. You’re a celebrity of sorts,” Blanche said, moving through the screen door and out onto the porch with her date.

  “I don’t know about that Ms. Delaney, the guys at work been giving me a hard time since I won. They’s just jealous,” he said, flexing a bicep, expanding the fabric beyond its limits.

  “So where are we off to? I’ve shot my healthy diet for the day so I’m thinking maybe I need a banana split.”

  “Whoa, a little thing like you, where you gonna put it?”

  “Oh, I’ll manage, just show me the way,” she said, taking his arm as they walked to the waiting miniature truck.

  Jasper knew of a great, old-fashioned ice cream joint on the other side of the tracks that was only known to the locals. It wasn’t fancy but the portions were huge, the music loud and ice cream delicious. They drove and talked about their week, Blanche hoping that she’d get a chance to explain to Jasper where she’d like their friendship to stand. For now, she put it off, hoping for an opportunity as the evening wore on. Jasper drove quickly, zipping in and out of traffic, using the clutch and gearshift like a professional racecar driver, causing Blanche to believe that the forthcoming ice cream must really be good.

  “What the hell is he doing driving like Mario Andretti up there?” Lester cussed, keeping pace with the yellow Datsun, trying desperately not to lose them. “Damn it, I’ve waited all day for this chance, slow down!” he said, through clenched teeth.

  The last thing Lester needed tonight was to draw attention to himself or his van. The black man had to go, but it had to be slick, without witnesses, and Blanche couldn’t get hurt. Lester had spent the few hours prior to Blanche's date shooting pop cans off of fence posts near the river. He wanted to get a feel for the .38, it handled a bit differently than his own 9mm, but after knocking down can after can, with only the occasional miss, he was satisfied that given the chance he’d hit his target.

  The small truck finally slowed to a crawl and pulled into a parking lot where a strip mall housed a Laundromat, a health food store, and The Dixie Diner. The couple exited the truck and walked into the diner, the big black guy leading the way, and holding the door for Blanche.

  “This is going to work better than I could have ever imagined,” he whispered, looking for a place to park the van.

  He looped the neighborhood, knowing exactly what he was looking for, and found it a block away from the diner, in a poorly lit location, with a dozen cars parked on the street. He left the van, being sure to lock it, pulled a dark hoodie over his head and placed the pistol in the right front pocket of the jacket, a string of firecrackers, and a lighter went into the left. A baseball cap was tucked under the hoodie, the brim protruding, shadowing his face. Sunglasses hid his shifting eyes and he walked, looking down at the ground, with both hands holding the concealed items. The walk to the diner took only a minute and he tried to estimate how long it would take to get back to the van after the hammer dropped.

  He walked past the outside of the diner, looking in, to gauge the crowd and the location of the couple. A dozen tables were scattered about, with half surrounded by youth, young families and his obsession. The parking lot offered a fairly good vantage point to see into the brightly lit eatery, as he stood behind a cement barrier, which surrounded the fire hydrant on three sides. From his newly found perch he could see the events of the next 5 minutes unfold before him. He ran it through his mind, the entry, the firecrackers, the panic, and finally the shot.

  Jasper carried two banana splits across the space from the counter, to the table, where his lovely date was anxiously awaiting her treat. She gave him two thumbs up as he approached and he laughed a deep, growling laugh that made heads turn to see where it was coming from. They sat at a small, round table with metal chairs, padded with red leather seats. A jukebox thumped out a rap tune that Blanche was not familiar with, but the kids in the diner were singing along, and shaking their behinds as they downed their ice cream sundaes. No one paid much attention to the stranger, hiding his face with a hoodie and sunglasses, that walked in the front door, moved through the small crowd, away from the counter, to the bathroom on the opposite side of the diner from the couple with the splits.

  A moment later, the same cloaked character stepped from the bathroom, sliding a round, metallic garbage can out of the door with his foot, leaving it sitting in the short hallway against the wall. A wad of paper towel lay across the top of the can making it difficult to see into its contents. He moved quickly across the diner floor, between a couple of tables, and out the front door without making eye contact with anyone. As far as he could tell, no one had really noticed or cared that he had gone in, used the bathroom, and left.

  Crouched behind the concrete in the parking lot he waited for the fireworks to begin. He didn’t have to wait long. When the first ‘Black Cat’ exploded, he had the attention of everyone in the diner and then the panic set in as 49 more went off in rapid succession. Bang, bang, bang! The sound echoing in the can, shooting shredded paper into the air. Parents scrambled to protect their children, people dove under chairs, and the huge Jasper pulled Blanche by the hand, half dragging - half carrying her from the diner. Lester knelt along the side of the concrete, hidden from the lighting that flooded the other half of the lot. He brought the .38 Special up in his right hand, supporting his arm with the left, pressing his left elbow into his bent left leg, his right knee ground into the pavement.

  Jasper pushed the door open with his back, his hands wrapped around Blanche in an effort to shield her with his massive arms. Once free of the door, he pushed Blanche ahead in the direction of the Datsun, and then looked back into the diner to see if there was anyone else he could assist.

  In that instant, the gunman had a stationary target, his back turned to him, the light of the diner illuminating Jasper. “Thank you God. Here you go, hero.”

  He pulled the trigger only once, one final bang to complete the evening. The smoke from the barrel wafted into the air, recoil from the revolver brought the gun back a few inches before he rammed it back into his right front pocket. He didn’t need to stick around to see the aftermath; he knew the bullet had reached its target. The large man staggered, and then dropped, a split second after the slug left the barrel. Lester imagined him writhing about, swimming in his own blood, as he walked quickly, but with control back to the waiting van.

  A smile crossed his lips, which led to a laugh, the sound of Blanche’s screams filling the stagnant night air.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  In his office, 'The Wolf' sat behind the expansive oak desk, cowboy boots crossed at the ankles under the seat, his chin rested snugly in his hands, elbows firmly against the desktop for support. A stack of files before him, the top one opened to his scrutinizing view. Four break-ins within the span of a couple of weeks, each with a degree of escalation that
was without question, the work of one man. His office had been working around the clock, deputies forgoing their days off, conducting interviews, even going door to door in the rural areas trying to drum up any possible leads. Forensics, led by Ricky Dean, were doing their best with the crime scenes and firing information as they assimilated it back to the Sheriff.

  The latest incident troubled Lupo. His witness, although pepper sprayed, was sure she had seen a gun in the assailant’s hand.

  “You don’t take a gun to a break-in unless you’re willing to use it”, he thought, reading through the final report one more time.

  Arlene stuck her head in the door of his office, “Sheriff, did you even go home last night? You’re going to kill yourself if you don’t start eating and getting some sleep. This office can’t run the way it needs to it you’re in the hospital.”

  “You’re sounding more like my wife than my secretary. I caught a few hours on the couch, I’ll be okay,” the stubborn man responded.

  “Well, you look a mess, if you ask me, you should at least grab a shower and a clean shirt. Did you see anything on that shooting over at The Dixie Diner? Not our jurisdiction but thought you might want to hear about it.”

  “Yeah, I caught that over the scanner, some big black guy shot, no apparent motive and no suspects. I’ve got enough to worry about, I’ll let the police department take care of that one,” the Sheriff grumbled, returning his concentration to the papers before him.

  “Any possibility it’s connected to our case?” Arlene asked.

  “Not likely. Wrong part of town, probably a drug deal gone wrong or a payback shooting,” he responded, again trying to get his focus back to his own case and dismissing his secretary without saying a word. She turned to walk away, but he called after her, “Hey Arlene, do me a favor and send Deputy Guest in here when she shows up will ya?”

  “Sure Sheriff, no problem.”

  Officer Guest arrived twenty minutes later, with Otis in tow, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth and his tail curled up over his rear end, swinging happily side-to-side. The big shepherd tugged at the leash when he saw the Sheriff.