With Cruel Intent

by Dennis Larsen

  “What’s this all about anyway? What are you doing here and ….,” Lester asked, trying to think of a way to get out of this with his life.

  “You poor guy, I really do feel bad about this, you’ve been so willing to put yourself out there for us and this is the way we repay you. Must really piss you off!” Felix prodded.

  “What do you think, smart ass?”

  “Let me just say that you’ve opened the way for me and my friends to be very rich....I like the way that sounds verrryyyy rrrriiicchhh,” he said again, very slowly.

  “Asshole, shoot me and get it over with.”

  “Not so quick. Aren’t you anxious to meet the lady of the house?” the killer asked.

  “She still here? Thought she would be out for the night.”

  “You really are clueless aren’t you Lester. Wish I had time to explain it all to you but some other time. Oh wait a minute, you won’t have another time, will you?” and he laughed, mocking him. “Let’s go talk to Bev.”

  The two walked up the stairs, Lester leading the way, the 32 pointed at his back. Once in the bedroom Felix turned on the main light, illuminating Beverly sitting up in the bed, a red rubber ball in her mouth attached to a black strap pulled around her head. She was silent, saliva dripped from her chin, a look of wild panic in her eyes. Her hands and feet were bound with plastic, pull-tight strips with a towel between the skin and plastic as not to leave any marks. She grunted ever so softly, trying to get enough air without choking.

  “See how I’ve got her all wrapped up for you tonight. Saved you the trouble of doing it yourself. We really did consider bringing you in at one point and letting you ‘off’ the fatty on your own but you were just one more loose end we had to take care of. You know, give us peace of mind so we could sleep better at night. You’ll go to your grave knowing you served a higher purpose.”

  “You really are a cold, heartless son of a bitch aren’t you?” Lester asked.

  “Yes, I’d have to agree with you there but you left out rich; a rich, cold, heartless son of a bitch. Kind of has a ring to it. What do you think?” He did like to remain upbeat even in the face of crisis.

  “Well, Bev dear, I’m going to need your help with this next part. If you’ll cooperate I promise I’ll make it quick for you. Believe me you’ll thank me rather than enduring the opposite.” He looked into her eyes and had a fleeting bit of compassion for the woman that was quickly replaced with dollar signs. No mercy tonight, cold hard cash would rule the day.

  “Lester if you would be so kind as to stand just there at the end of the bed. Perfect, I’d hate to have you move around too much. Could get messy if Bev here has to pump the entire clip into you.” He looked back at Bev briefly. “Oh, don’t worry my dear, I’ll help you aim but don’t piss me off or I’ll put the first slug through your scheming little brain. Do you understand?” He looked back at her, she did not move.

  Again he said with more authority, “Do you understand Beverly?”

  She immediately shook her head in agreement, tears spilling down her face and on the sheets covering her body.

  “Fine. Lester, don’t get any stupid ideas, trust me this is not my first ‘outing,’” he said, drawing Lester’s Beretta from his waist with his left hand and leveling it at The Stalker’s head. This could get very messy, very fast, so do as you’re told!”

  Lester stood motionless at the end of the bed, the edge of the mattress just above the height of his knee. With all the concentration he could muster he brought his right foot up, bringing his leg to a 90-degree angle, allowing him to almost reach his calf. He stood motionless like that for the time being, confirming that Felix could not see what he was doing. For all visual purposes he was still standing with both feet on the floor, his balance perfect and his concentration precise.

  “Okay Bev, this is the tricky part, I’m going to undo your hands but you have to promise me that you will not fight or I’ll drill you with this baby,” he said, still holding the 9mm in his left hand and placing the muzzle against her head.

  Laying the 32 cal. aside momentarily, he cut the strap that held her wrists, allowing her hands to spring free and rest in her lap. Felix sat on the bed next to her, wrapped his left arm around her shoulder and aimed Lester’s gun directly at her left temple. With the right, he retrieved the longer, silenced 32, forcing her to bring her hand up to hold the grip on her own pistol. He carefully watched Lester with his peripheral vision while instructing Bev on what he wanted her to do.

  “I’m going to hold this for you so you don’t miss and just squeeze off a couple rounds. He’s just a few feet away.” He quickly looked back at Lester to make sure he was not moving. He was not. “Okay, let’s give this a try, shall we gang.”

  In that very moment Lester saw it in Bev’s eyes and knew it was now or never. She pushed with all the energy she had, forcing Felix off the mattress, accidentally firing the 32 at Lester standing at the end of the bed. The round found its mark, ripping through his lower right abdomen but blasting cleanly through the flesh, not hitting any bones or vital organs. Felix ripped the pistol away from Bev and in that brief struggle gave Lester the second he needed to respond. Reaching his right calf he slid the pant leg up enough to pull the 7-inch blade from the sheath, which was taped to his calf, handle end down. Felix looked up as Lester released the blade, could see it tumbling toward him but there was no time. He fired a wild shot into the side of the bed then fell back, the hunting knife buried in his skull. It had entered through his right eye, crushed the orbit, and lodged the tip deeply within Felix’s visual cortex at the back of his head. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  Bev was still unable to scream but she desperately was trying to. Her hands flailed in an attempt to protect herself from Lester who walked over to Felix, put his foot on his forehead for leverage and pulled his knife from the skull. He casually wiped the blood and brain matter from the blade on Felix’s Armani suit. He replaced the blade, and then took the towel that had been around Bev’s hands and held it to his bleeding side.

  “Now what the hell am I’m going to do with you?” he asked, looking at the pleading woman. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you.” She breathed a noticeable sigh of relief.

  “But I can’t have you calling the police in the next ten minutes either, can I?”

  With that he took his Beretta from Felix’s hand and struck Bev about as hard as he dared to the side of her head. Her eyes rolled back and she slumped forward and fell to her side on the bloodied sheets. Lester felt for a pulse, and finding one, bound her hands once again and left her on the bed.

  He looked through her bathroom and found the items he needed to slow the flow of blood from his ‘through and through’ wound. Checked her again to make sure she had not stopped breathing and left the house. Time was against him now and he knew it. He would have to fly if he was to take care of business at the library before it closed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The dashed white lines danced before him, undulated, then snapped back to their original linear shape. The pain, though initially localized in his lower right abdomen, was now radiating throughout his entire torso, overloading his nervous system and affecting his sight and motor skills. He was glad that he had taken the few minutes at Bev’s to staunch the flow of blood with some rolled up gauze stuffed in both the entrance and exit wounds. The holes were smaller than he expected, good thing the wayward bullet was fired from a small caliber pistol. As he drove he periodically looked down to the spot of the injury, a slowly expanding red circle appeared on the bandage that he had wrapped around his waist, covering the gauze filled holes both front and back. The painkillers he’d taken should start to have some beneficial effect at any minute but he was struggling to stay focused on the task before him.

  Arriving at the library he parked at the rear, near the end of the open chute that originated on the second floor. By the time he crawled into the back of the van, put on the hat, camouflaged jacket and slipped h
is father’s spectacle case into his pocket, the pills had started to numb the throbbing in his side. Into the other pocket of the military issue jacket he put the bottle of ether and wool cloth. Lester inspected himself in the passenger side mirror, taking note to walk a bit hunched over, using the cane in his right hand and limping with the left leg. Each step sent a bolt of pain shooting through his central nervous system. He gritted his teeth and moved on, no time to waste, had to get to Blanche and then home. Before he walked around to the front entrance of the library he stopped in the shadows at the corner of the building, pulled his father’s old prescription glasses from their case and put them on. The Stalker allowed his eyes to adjust for a moment, returned the case to the jacket pocket and proceeded toward the front steps. It annoyed him that he had to look over the lenses to see very well far away but knew that Blanche would recognize him for sure without them on.

  The first time around with the Gulf War Vet disguise he had trouble negotiating the steps, so he took his time, looked over the glasses as he needed and managed the steps, with cane in hand, without the same acrobatics as before. Alone on the concrete outside the main doors Lester took a few deep breaths, checked the wound again to see how much blood had soaked into the bandages and touched the Beretta tucked in at the small of his back. It was time and he was ready, willing, but was unsure of just how able he was. A patron stepped from the main entrance and down the steps next to him without giving him a second look. He put his weight on the cane, bent over slightly and moved through the same door the gentleman had just used to exit the library.

  The foyer was brightly lit, a number of people gathered around the main desk speaking with Blanche. He was pleased that she was distracted and would not pay much attention to him as he moved to the stairs. With the injury to his side it was much easier to use the cane, almost came natural this time around as he hobbled and ambled up the stairs, concentrating not to look at the librarian for fear she might recognize him. Half way up the stairs the sight of Seymour coming down startled him. He momentarily lost his balance and almost tumbled to the floor below, but the agile Seymour caught the crippled vet, helped him regain his balance and made sure he got to the second floor. Lester hoped his nemesis had not felt the gun hugging his spine.

  “Looks like your friend is back,” Seymour said, as he passed Blanche at the front desk.

  “Rob!” she said, looking up, a bit of panic on her face.

  “No, the vet with the cane that you told me about a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Oh, him, thought you meant the guy I told Deputy Guest about this morning,” a relieved Blanche commented.

  Seymour continued looking after the books and magazines left scattered on the tables and chairs throughout the library and didn’t give the gentleman on the second floor much more thought.

  From the upper floor balcony Lester watched the exchange between the two at the front desk. He had not factored Seymour into his plans for the evening but it may work out to his advantage to have Seymour help him lure Blanche to the second floor when ready. He knew the library would close at 10:00 and they would start ushering people out prior to that, 9:25 as he looked at his watch. A lone reader, her hair in a tightly wound bun and sunglasses on her head, sat in a comfortable chair near the new magazine section thumbing through a copy of People. Lester tried to think of how he might hurry the woman on her way but didn’t want to chance drawing attention to himself. He decided to take a seat close to her and strike up a conversation, maybe he could persuade her to vacate the second floor all together.

  “Evenin’, do you mind if I join you?” he asked, taking a chair and sliding it close to hers, before she was able to answer.

  She looked at the obviously unusual character and nodded but did not speak, but right away he noted that she shifted her behind in the chair, moving away from him.

  “Good,” he thought, “it’s working already.”

  He picked up another gossip magazine from the table in front of them, flipped to a page of starlets dressed in slinky gowns.

  “What do you think about that big busted blonde that married that old man for his money? You think she really loved him or was she just banging the old guy for the cash? Personally, I think the old guy couldn’t even get it up. I mean he was 85 when they married, can’t tell me he’s scoring any points with his virility at that age. You got an opinion on it?”

  The woman was annoyed but not dislodged. “I’ve really not given it any thought so I couldn’t say.” She continued to be polite and tried to ignore the rude stranger.

  “Well, if it came down to it, I’d sure as hell take up with some shriveled up old granny for a few million dollars. My old lady would probably give me permission, long as I cut her in, if you know what I mean,” he pushed, trying to think what it would take to make her leave.

  “I’m just trying to get through this article. Do you mind?” she said, showing the open magazine to him.

  “Oh no, no problem, what you reading there?” he said, sliding even closer and looking over her shoulder.

  She turned the magazine away so he couldn’t see the text and slumped as far from him as she could without actually getting up and moving the chair.

  “So would you marry some old dude with a limp dick for a couple million dollars, or what?” he asked, grabbing his crotch to emphasize his point.

  She had had enough, she tossed the magazine back on the table, stood and gave him a look of absolute disdain and turned for the stairs.

  He called after her, “I was just asking.”

  “Finally, didn’t think the bag was every going to leave,” he said to himself.

  Now clear, he thought of what he might do to distract Seymour and get a jump on him. With no one to see him he removed the glasses, put them back in the case and into the jacket pocket and laid the cane on a large table that was visible from the area immediately at the top of the stairs. He then randomly removed two-dozen books from the nearby shelving units and scattered them on the table for Seymour to see and have to put away. That would give him all the advantage that he would need. He took up the cane, pulled a chair within striking distance of the table and waited.

  At 9:45 p.m. Seymour stopped at the front desk and told Blanche that he was making the rounds and would inform people that the library would be closing in fifteen minutes. They were both surprised at the number of people still utilizing the library's facilities. He would start on the upper floor, check the bathrooms and make sure that everyone was notified and things straightened up, before he did the same on the main level. Blanche watched Seymour move up the stairs, so thankful that she had helped with the money and he was here with her tonight and not still in the county jail.

  Lester saw him coming and pretended to be looking at a book but all the time paying attention to where Seymour went and waited patiently for him to move around to the table covered with books. The young assistant moved in and out of both bathrooms, put a few magazines back in their place and straightened the chairs Lester had previously moved, before he approached the table near the assailant.

  “How you doing tonight?” Seymour asked, in a cheerful tone.

  “Good thanks, looks like you’re getting ready to close up shop.”

  “Yeah, but you still got another ten or fifteen minutes if you need it.”

  Seymour surveyed the array of books on the table and frowned. “You looked at all these books? I would have sworn I cleaned this table just a short time ago.”

  “Nah, some woman up here was pulling them off the shelf and tossing ‘em on the table. Don’t know what she was looking for but she sure left a mess for you.”

  “Yes, she did,” Seymour said, starting to pick up the books and return them to the shelves.

  The Stalker watched and waited; gripping the cane tightly in his right hand, ready to pounce. The young man continued to move between the table and the shelves working his way down the table toward Lester. With only a few books left, Seymour walked between the seated
Gulf War Vet and the table, leaned over to reach the last three books and stood with them in his right hand when the disguised Lester struck.

  He quietly moved to a standing position behind the unaware Seymour, lifted the cane with both hands well above his head and brought the object down with incredible force, striking Seymour fully on the crown of his head. Seymour did not go down but rather spun around, dazed and confused, his hand now pressed to the back of his head, blood spilling over his fingers.

  “Ouch, what the ….,” he said, unable to finish his sentence before Lester brought the cane down again, cracking Seymour a second time across his head, sending him to the floor in a state of unconsciousness.

  The sound of him bouncing off the chair on his way down made more noise than Lester would have liked but he was prepared if the commotion brought Blanche up the stairs. It did not. With Seymour on the ground but not in the location he wanted him, the wounded villain dragged his prize across the room leaving him in a heap near the emergency door. He noted that the alarm was still removed from the exit as he’d seen Marcus do earlier but he pushed the door open with his foot just to make sure it was disabled. Lester then doused the cloth with the ether he’d brought with him and returned the bottle to his left front pocket and the cloth to his right, along with the spectacle case.

  Before summoning Blanche he checked for any sign that Seymour was about to come to. He was snoring lightly and bleeding minimally from the two wounds on his head, but breathing in a slow and steady fashion. Lester continued the veteran ruse long enough to call Blanche up from the lower level. He moved to the top of the stairs, cane in hand and called down to Blanche at the desk.

  “Excuse me young lady, your assistant up here has fallen and could use some help. I think you better come and take a look!” he said excitedly.

  Lester quickly moved back to Seymour dispensing with the limp and stood looking over him, the cane in his left hand now. A second or two later Blanche could be heard running up the steps. When she saw the two on the upper floor her first impulse was for Seymour's well-being and she neglected her own safety.