With Cruel Intent

by Dennis Larsen

  Seymour stood in the kitchen looking out toward the barn, the light was off and only a faint glow from the living room illuminated the items in the kitchen. From where he watched the open area an object suddenly caught his attention, slipping between some trees and shrubs, moving toward him. He slipped to the side so he could still observe the person walking through the brush but left himself unexposed. It was Lester, but where was Blanche. Lester walked past the back porch and the silver vehicle to open the rear dual doors on the van; he removed the few belongings there and walked around to the porch. Seymour crouched below the windows and behind the sink giving him an advantage should Lester enter the house through the back door. He angled the rifle at the ready, held his breath and listened as he heard Lester moving something from the back porch, but no action on the door.

  He waited a few seconds, and then lifted his head high enough to see back into the area behind the house. The backside of the man could be seen moving away from the house carrying something in his hands. Seymour tried to imagine what would be at the end of the dirt lane but he was sure he would find Blanche there. Surprise and the darkness would be his only allies in his quest to free the librarian from the fiend who held her captive. When the image moving down the trail vanished from his view Seymour opened the back door, prepared to venture into the unknown.

  The crackle of the radio brought Deputy Guest back from her deep thoughts as she turned down the rural road that lead to the Cummings’ home. Otis’ ears perked up when they heard the voice of the Sheriff over the system.

  “Deputy Guest, Lupo here, where are you?”

  “I’m a few blocks from the Cummings’ house. What’s your situation there?”

  “We’ve got one dead, a Felix Unger, and the owner, Beverly Davis says the killer was named Lester, no last name given.”

  “I’m rolling up on the house now, got a pickup parked on the main road, looks like Seymour’s. Doesn’t appear to be anybody in it.”

  “Guest, do not proceed without backup. Do you hear me?”

  “Yeah, I got you Sheriff but something is going to go down here pretty quick, I may be able to save a life if I get in there.”

  “Damn it! Where’s your backup? Natalie, I’m leaving it up to you. It’s your call but use your head. I don’t want you playing the hero there and check your service weapon before you leave your unit. Keep us appraised,” Angelo cautioned his youngest officer.

  Natalie stepped from her K-9 Unit just at the same time that Seymour started the treacherous walk to the shed. Standing at the back of the station wagon the Deputy pulled her service 9mm semi-automatic, slid back the action and put a high velocity round into the chamber, leaving sixteen shells in the magazine. She opened the door exposing, the cage where Otis stood, wagging his tail and whining quietly.

  “That’s a good boy. Be quiet now, Otis,” she said, as she released him, holding his collar long enough to put a leash on him.

  Canine and handler moved at the same pace as Seymour, the two separated by seventy-five yards but without any knowledge where the other was. At the mailbox, Otis sniffed and raised both front paws, coming to rest on the poorly maintained structure. He let out a low, deep howl; sounding like a wolf calling his mate.

  At the shed, Lester ignited the incriminating items in the fifty-gallon drum and was returning to Blanche when he heard the dog. He spun and looked down the trail but could see no one coming. He exited away from the flaming barrel and into the trees, protecting him from view.

  Seymour heard the dog as well, the opportunity for surprise gone, he pressed on, feeling that Blanche was in danger. He could see the flames through the trees and the smoke billowing up into the darkness. Pausing only briefly, he calculated his options, knowing that if he moved toward the fire he would surely find Blanche. She would be waiting there to pull him close and seal their reunion with a kiss. The rifle continued to weigh him down, the barrel forward and leading the way, he moved more swiftly now, afraid that Lester would do something foolish and harm Blanche.

  Down the driveway Deputy Guest pulled her service weapon from the holster and in doing so removed one of her hands from the leash that was holding Otis back. The powerful dog sensed the possibility of escape, being so excited to get his man; he bolted away from Natalie and raced down the drive toward the shed. She pursued her friend, gun drawn and at a dead run, her heart beating out of her chest, not knowing what she would encounter once she caught up to her partner.

  Seymour charged down the trail toward the fire and smoke, anticipating that a shelter of some sort must lie nearby. Just when the silhouette of the small shed came into view he saw the glint of a blade rushing toward him from his right. He turned to bring the muzzle of the antique weapon to bear on his target but Lester had been too quick. With the hunting knife in his right hand, he used his left to thrust the heavy barrel up, just as Seymour pulled the trigger and the rifle discharged, sending a flash of fire and smoke from the barrel but only into the night’s sky. The blast from the ancient gun was deafening and the recoil set Seymour back on his heels. Lester took the brief advantage and thrust the fine-edged blade under the defensive right arm of Seymour and began to impale the steel between his ribs; when the growl of a huge German Shepherd could be heard, fast approaching.

  Otis left the ground six feet in front of the assailant and carried his 105 pounds through the air, jaws open, front paws extended. Before Lester could pull the blade from Seymour’s side Otis had his left arm in his jaws and was shaking the man, driving him to the ground.

  Further down the trail Deputy Guest was covering the distance as quickly as she could. The gunshot had sent a shiver through her and she could not deny that she was, for the first time since this investigation began, scared beyond reason. The sound of Otis attacking someone could barely be made out through the crisp night air. She pushed on, anticipating the scene just a few yards ahead.

  Seymour lay sprawled out on the ground, his blood mingling with the dirt from the trail. The shepherd battled The Stalker and had the upper hand but Seymour could see the blade again being raised high above the fighting duo, then pitch downward quickly, driving the blade deeply into the left front shoulder of the brave dog. Otis yelped but continued his fight, thrashing at the man’s arm, not done with the job he was trained to do. Seymour grasped for the rifle and ejected the spent shell, reached for a live round from his front pocket, the pain causing the simple act to be monumental. He managed to extract the lead tipped shell and slide it into the chamber. Before him he saw the moonlight reflect off the blade again, as Lester raised it above the pair. Seymour rolled onto his back, the heavy rifle between his legs, with all the energy that he had left, he brought the barrel up and level with Lester’s chest.

  Natalie saw the blade bite into the body of Otis and she screamed, “No!” but no one heard her. She ran the last few feet to bring her within range of the assailant and her dog. The young officer struggled to get a line of sight on The Stalker and did not want to kill her best friend. The blade lifted into the air above them again and she knew that the next blow would be deadly.

  In the very moment when Otis' life should have been taken, the Deputy and Seymour fired simultaneously. Guest’s aim was true, her slug arriving milliseconds before Seymour, striking Lester in the hand and flipping the hunting blade through the air, landing in the dirt. The large caliber Sharps bucked and rocked Seymour onto his back, the bullet finding its mark in the center of The Stalker’s chest, picking him up and propelling him backward six feet, collapsing in a pile of lifeless tissue. Otis attempted to get to his feet but being unable, crawled, using his three good legs and dragging the other, to make his way to Seymour, laying himself down next to the injured man, still trying to serve and protect. Seymour wrapped his arm around the animal and pulled him close, an instant bond created between the two.

  Deputy Guest kept her gun trained on the assailant, moved to where he lay and holstered her weapon when she saw the size of the hole that the large
slug had ripped through his heart. It was over. She quickly moved to the shed where Blanche sat tied up, with eyes as big as silver dollars, a look of gratitude and relief crossed her face when she saw the young officer. Guest quickly removed the bindings and tape, freeing the woman, who embraced her, kissing her on the cheek.

  “Is Seymour okay?” Blanche asked.

  “I don’t know, you better see for yourself. I think we have a couple of casualties out there in the dirt.”

  “Seymour!” she called.

  “I’m here Blanche.”

  She ran to him, knelt by his side, taking his face in her hands and kissing his lips. “I knew you’d come! I knew you’d find a way to me!” She kissed him again and looked at the wound in his side.

  Otis would not move from his spot next to the fallen man. “Blanche, this dog saved my life. He took down Lester when I had no hope of stopping him from finishing me off.”

  “I see that he’s taken a liking to you,” Blanche said.

  “K-9 and civilian down with serious injuries at the Cummings’ location. Send backup and ambulance units a-sap!” They could hear Deputy Guest speaking into the radio, her voice cracking under the stress and emotion of firing her Glock for the first time in the line of duty, her concern for Otis and Seymour evident in her tone.

  “Already en route Natalie. Hold on, help is on the way!”

  EPILOGUE

  Following the events of Thursday night the citizens of Lowndes County were able to sleep much easier. Life returned to normal in the Southern town, people walked their dogs and cleaned up after them, young women jogged the paths at night and Blanche Delaney manned the desk at the Valdosta Public Library. In the days, and years that followed the events of that fateful month, the lives of several of the local residents were changed forever.

  Ms. Beverly Davis, did indeed, become a millionaire by Christmas, the courts allowed her to sell her half of the estate while Jeremy Marshall awaited trial on charges of conspiracy and attempted murder. It had been Felix’s grand idea of an additional alibi that put Jeremy behind bars and Bev in the driver’s seat. The days following the frightful night at Beverly’s and the death of Felix were filled with speculation and finger pointing. Jeremy laid low anticipating that most would suspect he was involved but with no proof he would escape unscathed. How wrong he would be.

  Marge, the curvy receptionist at the Land and Trust Office, had watched the news and noted that it was the good looking man that took her number, only the day before, that wound up shot on the bedroom floor of the local realtor. Her boss, Mr. Ignatius Savard, was to have been with Felix Unger at the time of his tragic death, she had checked her planner to confirm that her estimation was correct. Iggy missed work the few days following the shooting and she became increasingly uneasy with the information she alone knew. On the Monday morning after the revelation hit her she phoned an old friend at the Sheriff’s Department, Angelo Lupo. He had been more than interested in the information that Marge was able to provide, as well as the DA and other law enforcement agencies. It had taken almost no pressure to get Iggy to roll over on Jeremy. A deal was forged and Mr. Savard was offered a plea deal and freedom from prosecution if he could provide enough information to put Jeremy away for the conspiracy and attempted murder charges. The balding little man had been happy to do so. A miniature pocket recorder, just like Jeremy’s, was all he needed to set his ‘friend’ up and keep himself out of prison.

  Otis and Seymour survived their injuries, both staying for a week in the local hospitals. The fearless dog was awarded the K-9 Medal of Valor from the Sheriff’s Department and retired with honor. The injury was severe enough to hamper his ability to serve with the department but not enough to slow the shepherd down, at least not under the loving care of Seymour Wood, who adopted his savior and most trusted friend.

  Seymour went on in the following year to finish his associate degree from the University and started his own business, Seymour Clues Detective Agency, where he and his bride, Blanche Delaney spent countless hours assisting the people of Lowndes County, as they solved their most unique and baffling cases. In all reality, he took a lot of pictures of husbands with girlfriends and chased down petty criminals, but it was a life they loved. Blanche continued through those years to work at the library as well. It was her love and her passion away from the arms of her husband and the perfect place to work as the research branch of Seymour’s business.

  Jasper Jackson recovered fully from the gunshot wound to his butt. He went on to win the title of Mr. Georgia and competed in Mr. USA, coming in a disappointing second place, but Rufus could not have been more proud. Seymour had taken a liking to Jasper and brought him on as his first full time employee at the agency. Jasper was the muscle and intimidation side of the business with Rufus providing the eyes and ears into the black community.

  Deputy Natalie Guest was awarded The Sheriff’s Commendation Certificate and was promoted to Corporal, the youngest to attain such an honor on the Sheriff Department’s active roster of officers.

  Prior to pinning her Commendation on her chest and presenting the officer with the Corporal Chevrons, Sheriff Angelo Lupo, ‘The Wolf’, read the following statement, “Deputy Natalie Guest’s actions displayed courage, resolve and commitment to her job, community and partner. Although she was in grave danger she confronted an armed suspect, saving the life of her K-9 partner, Otis, and protecting the life of a Lowndes County Citizen. For her acts of heroism we honor her this day.”

  Corporal Guest missed her companion terribly but enjoyed Sunday dinners at the Wood home. She never failed to bring her new K-9 buddy, Hannah, with her to pester and torment the older Otis. A bond, beyond the understanding of most who knew them, had been formed that horrific night that would endure the months and years to come as they lived and served in the same community.

  Yes, for Blanche D. Delaney the move to Georgia had been a roller coaster of adventure and newfound love. The man she’d envisioned in her mind all those years, had swept into her heart, fulfilled all of her dreams, and saved her life in the process. No surprise to her, the charming young man that took her to the altar also had a dimple in his left cheek. Their wedding, on the sandy shores of the Georgia coast, was the culmination of years of hoping, wanting and wishing. It had all come true in a small town, hundreds of miles from family and friends, under the watchful eye of a power much greater than her own, and she knew it. Blanche’s parents had attended the ceremony, as well as, Holly. Mr. Marcus acted as the Best Man, hugging the bride closely when the "I do’s” were done. Their friendship, a unique father-daughter relationship, would stand the test of time. Blanche could not have been happier. Mrs. Wood was convinced that for her, life truly did start at 33.

  Holly had stayed a few days longer than Blanche’s parents and enjoyed the time with her oldest and dearest friend. The goodbye at the airport reminded Blanche of the goodbye from a few years before in Arizona, the hugs and kisses sincere and the knowledge that a phone call would see them through until the next time. As the new bride’s best friend departed and made her way to the gate, she handed Blanche a going away present, a token of their lifelong friendship and told her not to open it until she got home.

  That night, with Seymour at her side and Otis at their feet, the librarian opened the gift and was not the least bit surprised to see the phallus shaped ashtray she’d given her friend not so many years before. Yup, some things never change!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Special thanks to Holly Larsen, my loving wife, who provided insight, direction and countless hours of editing to this project. I could not have completed this undertaking without her help. Additional friends and family have been instrumental in reading, editing and refining the final product. To them, I express a heartfelt thank you.

  I would also like to acknowledge Sean Strong, the cover designer, who helped to fuel interest in our final manuscript with such an impressive design.

  Table of Contents

  COPYRIGHT<
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  QUOTATION

  PROLOGUE

  INTRODUCTION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS