With Cruel Intent (64 page)

“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

his 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,”