Evil in Paradise

by R. B. Conroy

  Dirk punched the remote command on his key chain and the rear hatch started to groan upward. Dirk walked to the back and lifted the bike out of the truck. Cycling was a big part of life in The Villages and many of the residents often carted their bikes to other parts of the huge community to try out new, more interesting trails.

  After exploring several alternatives, the decision to ride his bicycle into Bridgeport rather than drive his SUV seemed like the best choice to Dirk. The mailbox area in Bridgeport was located just inside the security gate. Cathy had offered to give him her electronic card that would activate the gate and let him drive into the neighborhood, but he nixed that idea. By riding a bike into Bridgeport, he could use the golf cart path and avoid passing by the electric eye on the security gate. He was also concerned that there could be hidden security cameras by the gate recording everyone who entered the upscale neighborhood.

  Dirk carefully climbed aboard his bike and started across the parking lot for his trip to Bridgeport. The transfer of the forty thousand dollars from Cathy to him had gone smoothly at the flea market the day before. As planned, they had met on the runway, laughed and carried on like old friends. When Dirk departed he had a check for forty thousand dollars in his shopping bag.

  Earlier that day, Dirk had volunteered to take the daily deposit to the bank much to the chagrin of Daisy, who complained that it was because “he didn’t trust her worth a shit.” But it didn’t matter that Daisy was upset. It was important that Dirk include the forty thousand in the normal daily deposit so as not to draw attention to it. On a good day, the Cycle Shop could take in over a hundred thousand dollars, so a large deposit was not out of the ordinary. After completing the deposit, he had immediately wired his sister Naomi the forty grand. She was thrilled and called him over and over again to tell him how much she loved him.

  The darkness was just beginning to turn into daylight as Dirk pedaled through the Palmer parking lot back toward Buena Vista Boulevard. The rising sun filtered through the bushes that bordered the Palmer area illuminating the magnificent brown cedar clubhouse. These rich bastards have it made, he thought. His dark piercing eyes surveyed the road ahead of him. The loaded .38 brushed against his thigh with each rotation of the pedal. There was no turning back now. He would soon be shooting the guts out of a man he had never even met.

  Headlights suddenly flashed on the stone entryway at the entrance to the parking lot. Dirk abruptly stopped pedaling and started to coast, watching the vehicle turn into entrance of Palmer. A few seconds later, the side of the vehicle came into sight. Dirk was stunned. It was a small white, pick-up truck, with “Community Watch” written on the side.

  “Damn! Just what I needed!” he mumbled. He had to think fast, he didn’t want to draw more attention to himself than necessary. He must act as normal as possible, like any Villager would act who was out for an early morning bike ride. The security vehicle slowed near the crossing path to let him by. Dirk made a split second decision to stick his arm out and turn left in front of the slowing vehicle instead of turning right which would take him out of his way. He kept his head low and rode casually across the pathway and bounced over the speed bump on the other side. A short time later he was gliding down the steep incline into the long tunnel that led under the road. He glanced over his shoulder as the small truck continued into the Palmer lot without hesitation. On the other side of the tunnel, Dirk veered right and rode slowly up the hill toward Bridgeport. He surveyed the round-a-bout and the entrance to Palmer and saw no signs of the security vehicle he had encountered earlier. He leaned left and pedaled hard into the Bridgeport neighborhood.

  28

  Vinnie eased off the accelerator and turned slowly into the entrance to the Palmer County Club. He noticed a bicycle rider coming toward him on the cart path to his left with his arm raised indicating that he was about to turn in front of him. Vinnie immediately braked to a stop to allow the resident to pass. With his face low and eyes straight ahead, the biker waved quickly at Vinnie as he hurried over the crosswalk.

  As was his habit, Vinnie smiled and nodded at the early morning bike rider, but when his headlamps reflected off of the man’s face and arms, Vinnie’s smile vanished. His heart went to his throat. He bolted up in his seat. It was him! It was the biker guy he had seen sitting across from Ed and Cathy Roberts at the Burger King last evening. He was clean shaven this morning, but he would never forget that dour, cruel face and the horrible tattoo on his right arm displaying a long dagger with a drop of blood dangling from the tip.

  Vinnie had gone to Ace Hardware that evening to exchange the washers he had bought the previous week. With Angel at Euchre Club for the evening and not much to eat at home, he had decided to stop at the Burger King and grab a bite. While standing in line, he saw the Roberts talking and eating dinner in one of the booths near the front window. Not wanting to interfere with their meal, he had avoided speaking to them. After Vinnie got his food and sat down, he noticed a biker guy sitting near the Roberts. The man he had just seen on that bicycle was that man. Always the investigator, Vinnie had concentrated on the biker guy because he felt he was watching the Roberts a little more closely than necessary. Also, he noticed that Cathy looked over at the man a couple of times as if she knew him. Ed, for his part, seemed impervious to the presence of the other man, even though the man was in close proximity to him and Cathy.

  As the man pedaled by, Vinnie noticed that his attire was much different than it had been last evening-he looked very much like any other Villager. Why would this man be in The Villages at this hour of the morning and only a short distance from the Roberts home?

  His senses on high alert, Vinnie fell back in his seat and waited for the biker to pass in front of him. He then drove into the Palmer parking lot at a normal pace so as not to draw undue attention from the biker. Once behind the protecting row of large bushes that bordered the complex, Vinnie gunned it and did a rapid U-turn next to the pro shop. He sped back toward the entrance and then braked hard, coming to a complete stop some hundred feet from the entrance to the country club. His eyes were frozen on the far side of Buena Vista Boulevard. With his engine running, he watched and waited to see if the biker came out of the underpass on the other side of Buena Vista. If he didn’t show up on the other side of the tunnel, this would be just be another example of an overzealous former NYPD detective trying to play cop again, but if he came out of the tunnel and headed for Bridgeport, Vinnie knew he could have a potential problem on his hands.

  Vinnie tapped nervously on the steering wheel as he waited for the biker to appear. Suddenly, the lone biker came out of the darkness of the tunnel, riding toward the nearby entrance to Bridgeport. Once inside the gate, he moved deeper into Bridgeport. “Bingo!” Vinnie exclaimed. He yanked on his lights, hit the accelerator and gunned it into the round-a-bout that led to Bridgeport.

  Arriving at the gate to Bridgeport, Vinnie paused briefly. He could see the dark silhouette of the biker moving further into the neighborhood. Vinnie eased past the gate. Suddenly, the shadowy image ahead began to circle about and come back toward the entrance. The alert Vinnie quickly killed his lights and gunned it left into the Bridgeport Recreation Center parking lot. He did a quick ninety degree right turn and pulled behind some thick bushes and came to a stop. From this vantage point his car would be hidden by the bushes from the approaching biker. He leaned up and looked past the bushes and saw the bike approaching. The rising sun cast an elongated, eerie shadow of the biker’s churning legs on the street in front of Vinnie’s car. The shadow grew larger and larger as he rode closer. Soon it was enormous, like some dark, sinister, monster perusing the street in front of Vinnie. Vinnie waited and watched, not knowing what might happen next.

  29

  Dirk pedaled steadily along Lake Miona Drive. He felt a renewed sense of enthusiasm after his brush with the Community Watch vehicle. His decisions to dress casually and act as normal as possible had paid off. He felt like he was in the clear now.

>   After a short ride, he arrived at the intersection with Sample Street. He glanced right and noticed a tall man walking toward him on Sample Street with something clutched in his hand. “It’s him,” he murmured. Dirk did a rapid 360 and pedaled rapidly back toward the mail station.

  Arriving at the station, he leaned left and coasted to a stop in front of the small building bordered on three sides with mail compartments. The area was deserted, except for a few mallards that scurried out of his way and disappeared into the bushes. He was confident that no one would hear the muffled shots of his thirty-eight revolver at this time of the morning.

  When he had met Cathy at the flea market, she had informed him that the slot for mailing letters faced the parking lot. With this in mind, Dirk hurried around the building and then ducked down into the bushes that bordered the mail station and crawled to a location that would give him a good view of the front of the building and a clear shot at Ed Roberts when he arrived. Dirk’s hand slid into the middle of his fanny pack and lifted out the heavy .38 with silencer attached. From this angle, he was well hidden from anyone approaching the mail area. He pointed the gun at the front of the station and took aim-it was perfect. He would have an easy shot at Ed Roberts from there.

  The plan, which he had rehearsed over and over again in his mind, was to hit Roberts with a couple of body shots from the bushes. Then, with his prey seriously wounded, he would hurry over and give him a round or two to the head to finish him off. It was a horrible thing to contemplate but Dirk felt no emotion. Killing some “rich bastard” would be like killing your worst enemy. Dirk felt no reservations about what he was about to do. His only concerns were about getting away without getting caught or being noticed by a passerby.

  “Ouch!” Dirk suddenly rolled on his left side and yanked a pointed thistle from his stomach and tossed it on the ground. He quickly rolled back to his stomach and fell on his elbows lifting the thirty-eight to eye level and taking dead aim at the front of the building. I can’t miss from here, he thought. Suddenly, a shadow fell across the end of the parking lot. Dirk’s heart began racing. He watched as the man he had seen the day before at Burger King appeared from around the corner of the tall bushes that surrounded the parking lot and walked casually toward the mail building, holding the letters to his grandchildren in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

  Dirk steadied his hand for the first shot. After years of practice on a pistol range near Ocala, he knew he wouldn’t miss. His hands felt steady. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, a set of headlights flashed across the parking lot. A small truck sped into the lot and jerked to a stop in front of the building just as Ed Roberts was arriving. It was the same Community Watch truck he had passed earlier in the Palmer parking lot. Waves of anxiety shot through Dirk’s body like volts of electricity. Beads of perspiration popped out on his forehead. He had to think fast. He had to find a way out of this, but how? He couldn’t run because there was really nowhere to run. He would be caught in minutes if he tried to escape on foot. He was in a state of shear panic; he had to figure something out and quickly. He jammed the revolver back into his fanny pack and began crawling on all fours toward the rear of the building.

  * * * * * *

  Vinnie hastily exited his vehicle. He scanned the area for any sign of the man on the bicycle and saw nothing. He reached forward to shake the hand of the approaching Ed Roberts. “Good morning, how are you?” he said.

  As the two men shook hands, Ed had a quizzical look on his face.

  “Remember me? I’m Vinnie, the cop from New York, Alphonzo’s friend.”

  “Oh yes, yes, I remember, we played golf together. Good to see you again.” Ed’s smile diminished slightly. “Is everything okay? You came in here in quite a hurry.”

  “Why…uh, yes, certainly. I kind of got a lead foot I guess. Just stopped to get a newspaper.”

  “I’m doing my weekly duty, mailing letters to my granddaughters.”

  “I know what you mean, I have two….”

  A voice from the right side of the hut interrupted the two men, “Good morning, gentlemen!”

  Ed glanced at the bike lying on the ground near the curb and then at the man coming around the building, “Good morning,” he said politely. “Out for a ride?”

  “Yeah, sure am.” Dirk walked directly toward the two men and extended his hand. “Dirk Harrison here.”

  “Ed Roberts, Dirk, glad to meet you.” The two men shook hands.

  Vinnie didn’t give his name or attempt to shake the man’s hand. He glared at the object bulging from center of the fanny pack. “Are you a resident here at The Villages?” Vinnie asked.

  A friendly smile spread across Dirk’s face, “Why… uh, no I’m not. I own a motorcycle shop in Lady Lake. I have several good customers here in The Villages. In fact, I have a couple right here in Bridgeport, a Mr. Jefferson and a Mr. Caldwell.”

  Ed interrupted, “Why yes, Dirk, I know them both well and they sure love those Harleys.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Ride your bike here often?” Vinnie asked pointedly, studying the man’s face. As a member of the Community Watch, Vinnie had very little authority. If he thought a crime was being committed he had to contact the authorities from a nearby county and wait for them to arrive. He wanted desperately to search the man’s fanny pack, but he had no authority to do so.

  “Occasionally I do. One of my customers, I believe it was Bob Jefferson, told me that Bridgeport would be a great place to ride my bike. So I’ve taken him up on it a couple of times. I hope I haven’t broken any rules, officer.”

  Vinnie was taken aback by the coolness of this customer. He was impressive. “Were you bird watching back there behind the building or what?” Vinnie asked.

  Dirk’s eyes went to the ground. “I’m kind of embarrassed. You caught me in the act, if you know what I mean?”

  Ed Roberts laughed out loud, “Don’t think a thing about it, Dirk. Me and my buddies do it all the time on the golf course.”

  “Well…uh, I didn’t see anybody around so I…uh, well you know.”

  Vinnie cracked a weak smile, “This is not the best place to relieve yourself, Mr. Harrison, but I guess this time of day you don’t have many options.”

  “Thank you, officer, for your understanding. Well, gentlemen, I best be going. The shop opens in less than an hour.” Dirk nodded and quickly walked to his bike, lifted it off the ground and hopped aboard, nodding and waving to the other men as he rode away.

  “Nice fella,” Ed said.

  “I guess so,” Vinnie replied.

  “I best be going, too, Vinnie, nice to see you again.”

  “Yea, same here. Be good to those grandkids, okay?”

  “Will do.”

  Vinnie opened the car door and slid into the seat. He felt conflicted. Initially he thought he was dealing with a potential killer, but when confronted, the guy seemed to have all of the right answers. He made no attempt to hide his identity and presented a very logical explanation as to how he ended up in The Villages on a bicycle early in the morning. Even if Vinnie had been a cop on the beat back in New York City, he would have had a hard time finding a ‘probable cause’ to arrest this man. He simply had not done anything wrong and his explanations for his behavior were completely plausible and understandable. In fact, after their impromptu discussion at the mail station, Vinnie almost liked the guy. “Looks like I did it again,” Vinnie mumbled as he pulled the shift arm into reverse and slowly back out of his parking spot. “I overreacted.”

  30

  Sweating profusely, Dirk squeezed the hand brake and came to stop behind his black SUV. He hopped off the bike, looked around and then he lifted the cargo hatch. The parking area at Palmer was a little more crowded than when he had left some thirty minutes earlier. Several of the restaurant employees had started to arrive for the day making the back part of the lot a pretty busy place. Dirk welcomed the added activity because it took the attention off
him. He grabbed the bike securely in both hands and placed it carefully in the back of the SUV. He shut the hatch, climbed aboard and started the engine. He backed slowly out of his parking spot, smiling at anyone who happened to pass by. He gently pressed the accelerator and drove steadily across the lot toward Buena Vista. He stopped at the entrance to Palmer and looked across the road at the entrance to Bridgeport. There was no sign of the Community Watch officer he had encountered earlier. He waited for a lone car to pass and then turned onto Buena Vista Boulevard for his trip home.

  Dirk was certain that his quick thinking earlier at the mail station had kept him from being detained by the security officer. If he had tried to run or acted suspiciously, he would have been detained and the County Sheriff would have been called in. Dirk would have been searched and they would have found the .38 with the damning silencer in his fanny pack. A full scale investigation would have ensued and the sordid plot to kill Ed Roberts would have been most certainly uncovered. He felt very good about escaping such an unbelievably difficult situation and coming out unscathed.