With Cruel Intent

by Dennis Larsen

  Jasper motioned, pointing to the tubes and bottles that were running liquids into his veins, “They said they have ta watch fer infections fer a couple of days, but if I don’t run a fever I can go home if I’m up to it. Just feelin’ really tired and the painkiller is starting to wear off a little bit. Feels like somebody took a bite out of my butt. Hope the scar won’t affect my posing, been told my ass is my second best muscle,” he said, winking at Blanche, causing her to blush.

  “Well Jasper, I can see that you need some rest, as do I. I think I’ll be able to go home and get some sleep, now that I know you’re going to be okay. I’ll stop by in a day or two and check on you.”

  “I’d like that. Bring a book from the library and read to me,” he said, half joking but quite serious.

  “Okay, bye you two.” She departed, but not without kissing each on the cheek before finding her way to the front of the hospital, and into the backseat of a cab for the ride home.

  * * *

  Beverly Davis sat in the waiting area of her realty office waiting for her newest client to show up. The prospect of showing the large parcel had energized the depressed realtor and given her hope that perhaps she’d still close on some kind of deal soon. The bottom had certainly dropped out of the market the past week and nothing was moving. People had been cancelling opportunities to explore what was available, but the number of new listings was up dramatically, and people willing to take a fairly large hit on the price, if it could just be sold quickly. These were more the units and homes near the base. Beverly had a hard time understanding the whole stalker phenomena. She had a loaded 32 caliber semi-automatic pistol that she kept with her at all times, had a permit to carry it as a concealed weapon and felt pretty comfortable loading and firing it. At close range she was deadly, killing multiple silhouette targets on more than one occasion from twenty to thirty feet. Helped her sleep at night knowing it was by her side.

  A large black sedan pulled up out front and a good-looking guy with dark hair and stylish sunglasses got out. He was tall, tanned, and wearing a nice silk shirt and slacks.

  “Oh baby, come to Mama,” she said, licking her lips and checking her hair in a pocket mirror she kept in her purse.

  She greeted him just outside the office and introduced herself, not hiding the fact that she found him very attractive. The attention was not lost on Felix. He produced an authentic business card and presented it to the woman, and she reciprocated with one of her own. He noted, when she opened her purse to retrieve the card, that she was packing. Felix hadn’t been sure if she carried the 32 with her all the time but was glad to see that she did. The mobster breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he wouldn’t have to search her home for the weapon. Iggy had previously found a gun registered in her name, and the carry license, so they knew she had it, but were unsure how she treated it. The ride through the streets of Valdosta and into the country was pleasant enough. He found himself actually enjoying her company. She was funny, knew how to turn a phrase and in her day was probably quite pretty. He even envisioned himself being attracted to her if she dropped forty pounds. Felix did not hold back when it came to the flattery and moves, he put on the unsuspecting widow, working even more quickly than he normally did to worm his way into her bed.

  Beverly could not believe her good fortune. This guy was for real. The development firm he was representing was a limited corporation that had a listing on the Internet, she’d never heard of them before, but she didn’t pretend to know everybody working the market. She had phoned a couple of numbers that afternoon, before they met, to confirm that she wasn’t being conned, and was pleased to finally reach the CEO. He confirmed that Mr. Unger, was indeed, hired by them on a temporary basis to look into this specific property. She enjoyed the drive and was taken by the easy charm of her client. He seemed interested in her as well, been a long time since she’d felt a man alongside her in her bed, maybe she’d get lucky.

  “Mr. Unger, do you like what you see?” she said, pointing to the flat stretch of land that lay before them.

  “Indeed I do,” he said, ignoring the land and eyeing Bev up and down.

  “Felix, you’re making me blush like a schoolgirl,” she said, in an exaggerated Southern accent.

  “I’ll tell you what Bev, I think I can talk my guys into having a good HARD look at you...’re property here. I need some time to do a proper analysis, and could you get those statistics to me that we talked about on the drive out here. Once I get all that in hand, I’ll put together a package for the corp., and then I know we’ll have to get together for some more questions. How’s that sound?” he said, making sure to invade her personal space every chance he got.

  “I think that sounds great. When do you think I’ll hear from you?” she asked.

  “About the property or ….what?” he coyly asked, testing the waters.

  “You are a naughty one, aren't you,” she said, tapping him on the shoulder.

  “That’s why I’m in the business I’m in Bev, I have an eye for a good thing, and I go after it till I’ve got it. That’s why they pay me the big money.”

  “I have no doubts about that, Mr. Unger,” she replied, wishing that he’d just take her right then and there on the hood of her car.

  “Okay, well let’s see where tomorrow finds us and I’ll be in touch.”

  The drive back was just as much fun as the drive there. The two talked and served sexually suggestive lines back and forth like a couple of tennis pros for the twenty-minute drive back to her office.

  “Bev, let me ask you a rather direct question,” he said, leaning in close to her over the console of the BMW.

  “Shoot.”

  Her phrasing could not have been more appropriate. “Do you ever do business out of your home, or just here at the office?”

  Boy, he was a fast mover. “Well, I’ll tell you Felix, it’s been awhile since I’ve conducted any ‘business’ at home but would certainly entertain your offer at my place if and when, you have all the hard data together.” She flicked her fingers in the air like quotation marks when she said the word business.

  Even a boy scout would have gotten her message. Felix knew he was good to go whenever Iggy could make it happen.

  “That sounds more than promising Bev, I’m sure I’ll be speaking with you real soon. You’ve got my number if you need to reach me and I’ve already got yours programmed into my cell. Pleasure was all mine this afternoon, good day.” He exited the car and tipped his head down for one last wave and goodbye.

  Damn, it was just too easy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Lester rolled out of bed early, fixed himself some pancakes and eggs, while thinking about the day ahead of him. Monday mornings were no different for him than any other day of the week, but for most, it meant the beginning of a long workweek and the grind of day-to-day living. He suspected it might prove to be a bad day for some, a very bad day indeed. He sat before his television set and watched the morning news while he ate his breakfast. His thoughts wandered back to yesterday and his encounter with the officer and her mutt. After this morning he hoped to no longer be a blip on their radar. The newscaster talked of a few national items before she turned her attention to the unfortunate shooting at The Dixie Diner. The police had not released any information, other than a brief statement, indicating the shooting was most likely drug related, and the department had assigned a couple of senior detectives to the case.

  “Maybe I’ll be able to give them a hand,” he mused to himself.

  He looked outside to see what the weather had in store, overcast and a thick layer of misty fog hung low to the ground. The weather would certainly create problems for him if it didn’t clear up before he started shooting pictures. The camera, with large lens, still went into the backpack, as well as two old, textbooks and lastly, the stolen .38 caliber pistol that he’d used to shoot Jasper, the spent shell casing still held within the cylinder of the gun.

  The perpetrator tried to remember wh
at students were wearing on campus these days. He settled on a logo emblazoned t-shirt, blue jeans, with an appropriate number of holes in them, sandals, and a windbreaker, in case some rain blew in off the ocean. Lester stood in front of the mirror, assuring himself that he looked the part, pulled a ball cap from his bedpost to complete the ensemble, and left his home for Valdosta University.

  “First things first,” he thought, after arriving at the campus.

  The university was already quite busy with students hurriedly moving from one building to the next. By the time he’d arrived, the fog had all but lifted, burning off with the arrival of the sun. He removed his light jacket and stuffed it into the backpack, trying to blend in as much as possible. Over the years, he had spent some time on the old campus, great place to look at girls, but times had certainly changed, most young women wore sheer blouses or tight T’s, and in some cases a swimsuit top instead of a shirt.

  “I think I’m going to enjoy today,” he said to himself, as he studied the layout of the central grassy area outside the library.

  Some students, near the library, were congregating on blankets spread out on the dew-covered grass, eating donuts and drinking coffee. Lester located a pay phone just outside the library doors, looked at his watch and the number he had written across the palm of his left hand. He dialed.

  A familiar voice answered the phone at the other end. “Good morning, Valdosta Public Library, how can I help you?” Blanche said.

  “Hi, yeah, I was in there last week and a really nice guy helped me find a couple of books, and he said to call if I thought of anything else I needed. Anyway, I was wondering if I could speak to him.”

  “Do you remember his name? We have a number of students that help us out.”

  “No I don’t, but it was in the evening and he’s about six feet tall, kind of thin, brown hair,” he described him, trying not to be too specific.

  “Okay, that would be Seymour.”

  “Right, right, ah Seymour ah......,” he waited for her to fill in the blank.

  “Wood, Seymour Wood. He’s not working this morning, only works a couple of nights a week. Can I take a message for him?” she said, trying to be helpful.

  “No, I’ll just drop by the library later and talk to him. When does he work next?”

  “I don’t think he works again until tomorrow night, but I’d be happy to help you if you wanted to come in today, I’ll be here until 6:00 p.m. and my name is Miss Delaney.”

  “Thanks for the offer, you wouldn’t happen to have a phone number for Seymour would you?” he pressed for that last bit of information he needed.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have his permission to provide those specifics over the phone, but like I said he’ll be here tomorrow night.”

  “Okay, well thanks anyway. Have a good day, bye.”

  Lester pulled the phone book from underneath the payphone and looked through it until he came to the W’s, 132 listings for Wood. That would take all morning and he didn’t have enough change to make that many calls. He thought a moment before picking up his bag and heading to the administration building.

  The line to the reception desk was short. As he waited, he could see a half dozen women tapping away on keyboards situated behind the main reception desk, each with a name placard displayed prominently on their desk. A large clock hung on the wall over a bank of windows that were open, allowing a slight breeze to drift through the office. The woodwork and building itself were turn of the century but the remainder of the office was state of the art, with computers, servers, and monitors galore.

  He finally made his way to the front of the line where a young woman, most likely a college student, greeted him. “Good mornin’, what can I do for you'?” she said, with a delicate Southern drawl.

  “I’m looking for a friend of mine, we were supposed to meet by the library this morning, but I’ve missed him. I was wondering if you could tell me what class he might be in right now,” he said persuasively, leaving his hat and sunglasses on.

  “The name please?”

  “Oh, right, Seymour Wood.”

  “Thanks.” She went through a number of keystrokes, waited only momentarily before looking at her watch, then back to the screen. “Okay, let’s see here, looks to me like Mr. Wood should just about be finishing up his racquetball class over at the gym. If you hurry you might be able to catch him there.”

  “Thanks so much. How would I get there from here?” he asked.

  She handed him a map and used a well-manicured nail to trace out the path to the gymnasium.

  Lester sprinted across the campus, dodging coed’s as he went. He couldn’t miss his opportunity this morning; the last thing he wanted was for that deputy to show up with a warrant. He had to make it happen this morning, without fail. The gym was a large, prominent structure in the northern part of the campus. It took him almost five minutes to get there, moving as quickly as he dared, without sending up too many alarms. He was glad to see that he was not the only one running, looked like being late was not uncommon.

  Once at the gym he looked around but with no obvious signage he finally asked a student where the racquetball courts were. He had little trouble finding them once he was pointed in the right direction. The time on his watch showed just before 10:00 a.m., he knew his chances were slipping away with every tick of the clock. The courts were laid out, side-by-side, with glass enclosures and seating at the end for spectators. He could hear footsteps and the squeaking of gym shoes on wooden floors, racquetballs being slammed against walls, and the occasional grunt from tired participants. Lester walked along the back of each unit, peering inside to see if he could recognize Seymour, he appeared to be gone. As he contemplated his next option a glass door opened and two young women stepped out from the closest racquetball court.

  “Hey, you don’t happen to know a Seymour Wood do you? He’s a friend of mine, thought I might catch up with him here.” He was sure he was playing the role successfully.

  “For sure, he just finished up, probably in the locker room over there.” The plain one pointed.

  Lester moved quickly to the locker area and scanned the rows of grey lockers, looking for his target. On the fourth aisle in, he finally saw him standing, talking with another student, his racquet dangling from his wrist, t-shirt pulled off, and draped over his shoulder. Sweat glistened from his upper body. Lester watched the young man take the shirt from his shoulder and wipe the sweat from his face. The assailant sat his backpack on a bench that extended along the front of each bank of lockers. A central walkway provided a gap of five feet, in between the lockers themselves, each extending from the floor to about the top of Seymour’s head. Other students moved between the lockers and showers before getting dressed.

  Wanting to observe Seymour more closely he walked down the row of lockers until he stood directly behind the chatting friends. He opened a locker without a paddle lock and slid the backpack inside, took off his shoes, and laid them on the floor in front of the locker. He could hear the two behind him winding up their conversation and exchanging goodbyes, it had to be now. Lester reached for the outside of the backpack, looked down the row of lockers, in both directions, before he unzipped a pocket and reached inside, felt what he needed, pulled it from the pack and slowly turned around.

  Seymour stood before him, only a few feet separating the two. Lester took the pencil and paper in his hands and waited while he looked over Seymour’s shoulder, noting the locker number, and writing it down. Again he checked to see that he was not being watched. Seymour reached for the lock that secured the locker, quickly dropped it, letting it clang against the metal locker door before wiping the sweat from his eyes again, with the stained shirt. He took the paddle lock in hand and spun the dial, right 16, left 9, right 27, the mechanism released the small bolt and access was granted. Lester immediately turned around, repeating the three numbers in his head, sat on the bench looking into his own locker, and wrote the combination down before slipping the paper i
nto his pants pocket. Normally he would not have needed the written copy as a back up, but today there could be no mistakes. He desperately wanted to look over his shoulder to see what Wood’s was up to, but he dared not, instead he tried to make himself look busy by pulling the books from his backpack, and thumbing through one of them. Once Seymour was off to the showers, he stuffed the items back into the bag, put his shoes back on, and walked from the locker area, but he didn’t go far.

  A couple of benches were conveniently located just outside the main doors of the gym, offering a perfect place for Lester to wait for Seymour to exit the building. Fifteen minutes passed before the lanky student emerged, books in hand, backpack over a shoulder, and in a hurry to get to his next class. Lester watched him move across the campus until he was sure he would not be coming back.

  Now standing in front of locker number 1137, his bag on the floor next to him after removing and putting on his gloves, he spun the dial on the lock, 16-9-27, it opened. The cautious plotter again looked for any sign of trouble before opening the locker and checking out the contents. A white towel hung from one of three metal hooks on the sidewall. From the other two, hung his jockstrap, shorts and smelly t-shirt. Seymour’s wet socks lay in the bottom of the locker on top of a pair of Nike sport shoes. Toward the top, a small shelf separated the locker into two compartments, the top being quite small, but room enough for personal items and toiletries. A clean t-shirt, socks, and trunks were situated behind the deodorant on the shelf.

  Lester reached into a secure pocket on the inside of his bag and felt for the .38 he’d put there earlier. The feel of the cold steel sent a thrill through him as he considered the results of his next move. Again, he looked side-to-side, content that no one was around; he removed the revolver from its hiding place and held it inside the locker. He wrapped the towel that hung there around the gun, being sure to wipe every surface, before he moved the gun to the top shelf, and carefully slid it under the clothing that was there. Confident that he had not overlooked anything, he closed the locker, replaced the lock, spun the dial to secure it, and left the building.