With Cruel Intent (46 page)

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.

“Come here you knucklehead.

Come here Otis,” Sheriff Lupo called,

taking the big dog between his hands and

rubbing his neck and ears. Otis responded

by extending his long tongue in an attempt

to lick the Sheriff’s face. “You being a

good boy, huh, you gonna catch the bad

guy?”

“You wanted to see me?” Guest

inquired.

“Yeah, a friend of mine that

teaches over at the University wanted me

to speak to one of her classes, but with

this investigation ongoing, I just can’t free

up any time. I’d like you to take my spot

and address the class on my behalf.”

“Me. Why me? I’m no speaker.

What would I say? I wouldn’t even know

where to begin. Why don’t you send

Breland, he likes to talk.”

“I’ve already made up my mind

and you can take Otis with you. You’ll

need to be there tomorrow morning and

tell Mrs. Wild I said hello. Arlene will

give you the particulars and don’t screw

up. I don’t care if you talk about this

stalker investigation but you know what’s

classified and what’s not. Use your head.

You’re smart. That’s why you’re going

and Breland is not,” the Sheriff instructed

his youngest recruit.

“Just use your head,” she said,

under her breath, on the way to Arlene’s

desk. “Just wonderful. Just absolutely

wonderful!”

“What was that Deputy Guest?”

Arlene asked.

“Oh, the Sheriff wants me to cover

his butt tomorrow over at the University,

some speaking assignment. You got the

location and time?”

“Sure do,” handing a slip of paper

to the young officer. “It’ll be fine. Good

looks, a way with people, eager to

please,” she said petting Otis on the head.

“And of course you’ve got some good

qualities too Natalie, so don’t sweat it.”

“You’re too kind, thanks. I guess

Otis and I will hit that section out by the

river this morning, bunch of little farms

and country homes. Thought we’d do some

more interviews and see if the folks out

that way know anybody with a bike that

matches the description Deputy Breland

gave us.”

“You be careful out there and

report in regularly, okay?”

“I got Otis here, he’ll take care of

me,” Natalie said, feeling her K-9 friend

rubbing his side along her lower thigh.

Deputy Guest, with Otis, parked

their unit just off of Knight Academy Road

in the northeast section of the county. A

number of side roads led off of this main

blacktop that accessed small acreages,

farms and country homes. Her intent was

to walk as many of these rural

subsidiaries as she could fit into the day,

interviewing the locals, hoping for a lucky

break.

With only a short time under her

belt with the Sheriff’s office, she had

learned that the work was 95% blood,

sweat and tears and 5% luck. Today she

knew that the same would hold true. Otis’

excitement showed as they started their

walk to the first hidden driveway. Natalie

knew it was bad form to let him just run,

but on these long, hot walks, with only a

few homes in a one mile stretch, she let

him off the leash so he could explore and

work his talented snout.

The young officer clicked the mic

on her shoulder and checked in with

headquarters, giving her location and

intent, confirming that she’d report in at

the end of each dirt road. Her companion

zigzagged in and out of the burrow pit on

either side of the road, his nose locked to

the ground.

“Otis come!” she commanded. No

response from the dog, but she could see

him stopped in the ditch, tail wagging.

“Otis come!” she again commanded. Otis

pounced forward into the brush and a half

dozen grouse lifted into the air, wings

flapping wildly as their bodies wobbled

through the air, landing in the same ditch a

few hundred yards down the road.”

Satisfied with the job he was

doing, Otis ran back to Natalie expecting a

treat for a job well done, there was none.

The two walked down the road, taking in