The Perfect-Perfect Plan

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  When we get to that horribly loud restaurant crammed full of rowdy tikes, I let my brats eat greasy pizza and ride every one of those kiddie rides and we play dozens of games. I make Angela play with us and when we are all playing skee-ball, I swear I see her smile. Even more amazing … I am smiling. Jesus Christ. I am having fun with my kids.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Hannah

  Phillip returns sometime later in the day, just as my parents are leaving.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you,” my mother offers for the umpteenth time.

  “No, really, I think I’ll be fine,” I assure her. “Even right now I’m able to get up and around on these crutches.” I nod at the sticks propped between my bed and nightstand. “Surely by the time I get out of here I’ll be able to take care of myself.”

  “I’ll be checking in on her from time to time,” Phillip assures my parents.

  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” my mother gushes. She winks at me and gestures at her ring finger. I roll my eyes.

  “Well, you let us know, Hannah,” my father says as he stands to leave. “If we need to come back up and help you, we’ll be glad too.”

  “I will. Thank you so much and be careful driving home.”

  “It was nice to have met you,” Phillip tells them, shaking my dad’s hand and giving my mom a goodbye hug. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of your daughter.”

  They have barely left when Detective Andrews and Detective Sutton arrive. Holy cow. Phillip wasn’t lying about Detective Sutton. I didn’t know God made men that handsome. He’s one of those tall, broad-shouldered, broad-chested hunks with a chiseled jaw and a strong presence. He’s the Brawny paper towel guy and then some.

  “Stop looking,” Phillip whispers. “Keep your eyes closed if you have too,” he urges.

  I giggle. “I’ll try to stay focused on you.”

  Phillip is very, very handsome, and equally tall and well-built. He can stand his own against Detective Sutton. And Phillip is a doctor. He may be a rung up in my book. He really has nothing to worry about. But I like that he is bothered by my looking at another guy.

  “You do that,” he growls. “I’m not normally jealous, but now you can see my concern.”

  I giggle again.

  “What’s going on?” Det. Andrews asks with a raised brow. Phillip’s uncle is nothing like Phillip … or Detective Sutton. He is much shorter, slightly balding and chunky around the mid-section, and quite a bit older.

  “This is Hannah,” Phillip introduces, followed by the detectives identifying themselves.

  We apprise them of the accident and Det. Andrews makes notes as we go along. I wrap it up by saying, “It felt like he was after me. But he could have just been watching me and lost his concentration. It’s possible that it might have truly been an accident.”

  “Are you pressing charges?” Det. Sutton questions.

  “I don’t know. I was waiting to see what the investigation turned up. If he purposely ran me over, then yes, I would. But if it was truly an accident, then I’m not looking to ruin someone.”

  “But tell them what you said earlier,” Phillip urges.

  “I was just saying that it felt like someone has been watching me. I can’t be certain though.”

  “For how long?” Det. Andrews poses.

  I try to think back to the first time it felt that way. “I’d say it was a couple of weeks ago. I had just left the bank and was on my way home when I thought someone was following me. They turned off a street before mine though. And there was another time when I was in the grocery store and it felt like someone was tracking me. When I looked down the aisle, no one was there. Overall, it was just the constant feeling that someone was there.” I shake my head. “It was all probably nothing.”

  “When you get out of here, you need to watch your back,” Det. Sutton warns. “I know you said earlier that you lock up the bank. That’s a perfect time for you to be ambushed. If possible, you need to have someone stay with you until you get to your car.”

  I nod agreeably, thinking Chelsea will do it once she gets back. I just need Melinda to walk with me until then. “There’s another thing I’ve been thinking about. Right after the accident, I thought this guy mumbled something to the effect of, ‘Oh God, I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ My split-second thought was that it was an accident. But then in his next breath, I thought he said, ‘Han … Miss, can you hear me?’ It was like he almost said my name and then caught himself. Again, that’s not something I can be sure of.”

  “Now that bothers me,” Det. Sutton agreed. “If this guy knows your name, he may have become fixated on you. If he’s stalking you, it would explain why you feel like you’re being followed. We’ll look into this guy’s background and see if there are any previous reports on him.” He paused for a moment and then his face grew serious. “Hannah, I don’t mean to alarm you, but if he thinks you and Phillip have struck up a romance and he perceives himself as no longer having a chance with you, he could very well become extremely dangerous. Even to the point of killing Phillip to get him out of the way … or you for destroying his fantasy world.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Douglas

  That night I surprise myself even further by reading my kids a bedtime story. Angela gives me a look like I might be running a fever. I think she might be right because there is something warming my insides when I tuck Sophia into her princess sheets and give her a kiss on her forehead. Then I take Henry to his room and slide him under his dino kids’ bedding.

  “Good night son,” I tell him.

  “Dad,” he calls as I reach the door. “Good night.”

  Honestly, today was a complete out-of-body experience. Perhaps something in my head knocked loose when I hit Hannah.

  But whatever warm and fuzzy feelings I had are all destroyed when I go into the bedroom and see dozens and dozens of packages strewn about the room. Carol has had a field day with her friends.

  “Did you fix it?” she asks, dumping out a Chanel dress. I try to ignore the price tag, but know it was in the thousand-dollar range.

  “No, I’m going tonight. It’ll be late.”

  “Well try not to wake me,” she says.

  Carol is very cold-hearted. I’d like to think I care about the other guy. Truthfully, I do. I don’t like what I’m doing. I wish I’d never gone down this road. Unfortunately, it just seems too hard to change courses now that I’m mid-stream.

  My preference would be to set an alarm and get some rest. But since I don’t want to wake Carol, I lay awake until two in the morning. Then I crawl out of bed and get dressed. Then I drive myself over to the hospital.

  Everything is eerily quiet through the lobby. I ride the lift alone. And when the elevator dings my arrival on the third floor, it sounds like a sonic boom. I peek out the doors looking for any nurses that are out and about. When the coast is clear, I practically slither toward Hannah’s room.

  When I am almost there, a beeping noise sounds and one of the nurses rises to her feet and heads for the end of a counter, presumably going to a patient’s room. I absolutely must avoid being seen. It was long past visiting hours and at this hour of the night, there is not a single plausible explanation for my being here.

  You may be wondering why I’m here too. I’m hoping Hannah is sound asleep so that I can sneak in and get her fanny pack. While I doubt it holds the bank key, I know it will contain her apartment key. If I can get my hands on it, I can enter her apartment and find the bank key. This is a huge risk. The staff cannot see me. Hannah cannot see me. No one can see me.

  As the nurse rounds the counter my heart thumps wildly against my chest. In my panic, I step into the nearest patient’s room and hope this isn’t the room she’s coming to.

  “What are you doin’ in here?” a male voice from behind startles me.

  I almost pee my pants. When I turn around, there is some frail-looking man eyeballing me. He is barely visible. The only light co
mes from streetlights streaming in through the window, but it is enough to see that his thin, gray hair is standing straight up on top of his head and he looks to be nothing but wrinkled skin and brittle bones.

  “I’m sorry sir. I must’ve stepped into the wrong room,” I say in a nervous voice.

  “What are you doin’ looking for anyone’s room at this hour of the night?” the old fart pushes.

  “Uh, yes, I know it’s a bit late. When I came by earlier in the day, my friend had been taken down for x-rays. She broke her leg in a car accident. Poor thing.” Shit, I wish I hadn’t been that specific. I’m too rattled to be thinking straight right now.

  “Then come back to see her tomorrow,” the old codger grumps. “This ain’t no time to be seein’ your friend.”

  “Yes, yes. It’s just I … uh …” I cough. “I’m … I travel in my business and was on my way to the airport for a late-night flight. Since I won’t be back for several days, I was just … just going to check on her before leaving town.”

  “And you couldn’t just text her? Or call her? Ain’t your generation glued to your phones? Young man, you’re not makin’ sense to me. I’m callin’ for the nurse.”

  “NO! You do NOT want to do that.” I know that I have been far too abrupt the second I bellow like that.

  His eyes fill with terror, and he immediately searches for the call button. Before he can get to it, I have crossed the room and yanked the pillow from under his straggly, white-haired head, and pressed it against his face.

  As I push like bloody hell down on him, he fights against me with all his might. It is amazing how strong he is, considering he’s in a hospital and appears so frail. But he is kicking at me and his arms are flailing about. I feel his fingernails gouge into the side of my face.

  “You fucker,” I say in a low, harsh breath.

  We continue sparring with one another to the point I am getting tired. “Die. Just let go,” I urge him.

  I know you don’t believe this, but I truly feel bad for the old man right now. It wasn’t my intention to come here and kill anyone. I wish he would’ve minded his own business.

  Glancing at the monitors he is hooked up to, I see he is nearing the orange level. The alarms will go off any minute. The nurses will appear before he gets into the red zone, at a time before he is dead. I am at a quandary as to how to handle this situation.

  Finally, I come up with an idea. While I keep an elbow on the pillow and continue wrangling with him, I use my other hand to unplug the whole conglomeration of medical apparatuses. The screen goes black, and I wonder if a signal has been sent to the nursing station, warning them that they have lost contact with this patient. I fear it is a great possibility and so I concentrate with all my might on taking his last breaths away.

  Finally, the meddling old man stops resisting and when I pull the pillow away his eyes have glazed over. First, I plug the equipment back in. It looks like it is going through some sort of reboot and I fear what is happening at the nurses’ station. Quickly I spend the next few seconds placing the pillow back under his head, positioning his body into a natural position and smoothing out his bedcovers. Then I run for the door and peer out.

  The coast is clear and so I hurry toward the elevator. I am not quite there when I hear, “Code blue.” And you will not believe the activity ensued by those words.

  I do the only thing I can. I hide in the next patient’s room and hope I don’t have to go through a repeat. I quickly glance over my shoulder to see a shriveled old woman fast asleep. Thank goodness.

  “Emergency, room 311,” I hear someone yelling.

  The door is cracked the tiniest bit and I see a defibrillator making its way down the hallway. I wish I would’ve had the time to have checked for a pulse. What if the old fart has only passed out? A worry knot grows in my stomach. If he lives, he’ll tell them about me being here … to see the girl with the broken leg. How stupid of me. Dammit, my perfect-perfect plan is once again off the track.

  Hannah’s door flings open, and I cannot believe my eyes when Dr. Jag steps out.

  “Is there anything I can help with?” he asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  He is staying with my Hannah! She is mine. My mistress-to-be. How dare he! He is doing exactly what I had planned, being the knight in shining armor. Instead of me ending up staying with her after taking her to the care center, here this asshole is staying with her in the hospital. God, I want to kill him. And you know what? I just might.

  “Clear,” I hear and assume they are trying to shock the old man’s heart back into a rhythm.

  “Again,” I hear a moment later.

  “Once more,” I hear.

  After a few more moments, I hear, “We’re too late. Call it.”

  So, the old galoot didn’t make it. I guess that’s a least some small amount of good news. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. But I didn’t mean to kill him.

  In the shadow of the old lady’s room, I wait until all is quiet and Dr. Jag has gone back to my Hannah. Then I creep down the hall and into the stairwell to avoid the elevator dinging an alert when it arrives.

  After making my way to my car, I lean my head against the steering wheel. A sad numbness has taken over my emotions, thinking only about Dr. Jag being with my Hannah. A sense of loss has gripped my heart and a tear falls from the corner of my eye and slides down my cheek. I know you don’t care that I’m hurting right now. But I am. And I find it necessary to take a moment to collect myself.

  Overcome by exhaustion, I finally make my way home and upstairs. Once again, I take a piss, undress and slip into bed next to Carol.

  She stirs next to me. “Did you fix it?”

  “Not yet. But I will.”

  “Well, you had better. Goodnight.” She rolls over and that is it.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Douglas

  Once again Carol has managed to tick me off. It is all I can do to keep from grabbing the pillow from under her head and smothering her. It’s not like it would be my first time … now would it?

  As a matter of fact, that old man tonight wasn’t my first time either. I’m referring to my second bank robbery. A few years back, Judd Harlan showed up at my office without so much as an appointment, telling me he wanted to set up an investment account. During the whole meeting he flapped his mouth about inheriting several sections of rich oil land out in west Texas. His empire, as he had put it, was producing obscene bonus checks, leasing payments and mineral dividends each month, not to mention he was capitalizing off the water rights.

  “It’s a freak’n buttload of money,” he’d bragged repeatedly. “Hell, I don’t even look at any of my financial statements anymore. Right now, it’s too many deposits to keep up with anyway. I went from being a poor pig farmer to being one rich son of a bitch.” He’d smiled and bobbed his head up and down, his big old Texas hat going along for the ride. “Right now, it’s all being direct deposited into my checking account. As it hits, I’d like for it to automatically transfer into an investment account that you set up for me. Automatic, you understand? I don’t want to mess with anything. And ain’t everything electronic these days? Yes sir, it sure has changed from back when I grew up.” He chuckled, leaned back in my exquisite leather chair, and put his nasty, worn cowboy boots on my imported mahogany desk. When he left, he’d spit chewing tobacco into my wire mesh trash bin. Asshole.

  Once the investment account was set up and running, I began receiving automatic transfers. It was a buttload of money. His oil interests were producing staggering amounts. I began wondering if there was a way to syphon off money from his initial deposits. I’m talking from his checking account, mind you. There will never be a time when I dip into the investment account that I’ve set up for him, or any of my clients for that matter. Man, I do not want to be under the microscope with the FBI and SEC looking into my business practices.

  While I reasoned he might know how much his bonuses and leases were, I doubted he scrutinized his mo
nthly dividend checks. Generally, mineral interest checks show a gross amount, less any production costs and tax deductions, with the net amount being either mailed to the owner or direct deposited into a specified account. In Mr. Harlan’s case, I just couldn’t picture him inspecting his deposits. It would be even less likely he’d compare a 1099 at the end of the year.

  With that in mind, I spent the next year taking several computer programming courses. During this time, I met some geek who was a wealth of information when it came to computers. It went without saying, he became my best friend and it helped that he was a little on the shady side.

  By the time I was through with him, he’d perfected a computer program for me that intercepted deposits and peeled off a few dollars here and a few dollars there. He didn’t realize my true intent because I told him my wife was getting trust funds checks each month and I wanted to deflect a little into my hidden account that she didn’t know about.

  “How am I going to get into her computer if I don’t know her passcode?” I had posed.

  He pushed his thick, black-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You’ll have to go in through a backdoor.”

  “What’s a backdoor?” I asked stupidly.

  “Dude, let me show you how to get into someone’s computer.”

  Bingo. Now you know where this is going.

  First, I tested my abilities at getting into Carol’s computer. Of course, her little laptop is nothing compared to a bank’s mainframe. While my geek friend could get into most any personal computer, he wasn’t advanced enough to teach me how to get into high-tech systems like an institution’s mainframe. Unfortunately, this meant I needed the bank keys, the security code, and the login code from an employee’s computer. But if I could physically access any of the bank’s computers, I could install my program, and then it would automatically sync with the banking system, attaching to a designated depositor.