With Cruel Intent

by Dennis Larsen

  “Here it comes!” The night crawler readied himself for the assault but the opportunity never came. A few minutes passed and he could hear a toilet flush and feet moving back to the bed.

  Quietly he waited, held his breath and listened, expecting the light to be turned off and the sound of intermittent snoring to begin again. Instead he could hear the box springs giving way to her weight, then again the metallic ‘CHKKK CHKKK’.

  “Does this woman go the bathroom with a shotgun?” he thought, not wanting his initial impression to be true.

  There was nothing he could do but wait. His back ached from having to stand so perfectly still for so long. His imagination was running wild, conjuring up all sorts of outlandish possibilities, each of which had a very negative impact on his health. He shuffled his feet, lowered the camera and spray to allow his muscles a quick break. They’d be useless in a fight if it came to that. Ambient sounds from the bedroom could again be heard coming through the door, the rustling of sheets and covers and bed springs reacting to her trying to get comfortable. The noises continued for a second or two before there was complete silence. He took a deep breath in and slowly blew it out continuing to be absolutely motionless and quiet, then as quickly as it had all started the light under the door vanished.

  He waited, huddled by the door, until he could make out the delicate sounds of her sleeping and then returned to the work at hand. Time was running short and he had to be out of there soon to make it back to the van and home before the sun came up. He anticipated all hell would break loose in the morning once Mrs. Criddle woke up and discovered his antics of the night.

  Methodically he packed up his things, matching everything that went back into the backpack with a list he had created earlier. Once he was sure that he had all his belongings he took the paint back to the living room and wrote in large bold letters above the couch, ‘We’re Back!’. Last but not least he needed a picture of the heart-stopping Katie. With the digital camera in hand he crept back to her entry, took a preparatory deep breath and put enough pressure on the door to swing it open.

  The gap was just big enough for him to get through but he didn’t slide in until he ducked his head around the edge, checking to make sure she wasn’t sitting up in bed with a shotgun aimed at the door. He was relieved to see her lying on her back with her right leg again under the covers and her left leg slipped out from the sheets and lying bent into a figure four with the other.

  Emboldened, he entered the room, lifted the camera and took a couple of pictures of his victim, as she lay so exposed to his penetrating eyes. Suddenly she shifted, pulled her left leg back under the covers and rolled over on her right side, her face now directed to the bathroom and the diffuse light coming from the partially open door. She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged herself in a fetal position before her steady, even breaths returned.

  The intruder waited for her to settle down before moving even closer to Katie. He moved slowly and deliberately to the side of the mattress, careful not to bring his feet down too heavily on the hardwood flooring. Rounding the end of the bed, he could see a book and a pair of spectacles on the night table along with an alarm clock that read 3:18. Keeping his eye on the Criddle woman he swung his right foot forward, and in the same motion brought the camera up to get a profile picture of his sleeping prize. Without warning his right foot slammed into something shadowed at the base of the bed. Pain shot through his stocking clad toes, radiating upward through his leg and sending signals to his brain to scream in agony. Rather than uttering a string of blasphemies, he dropped to his knees, grabbed his aching foot and rubbed the injured digits. Katie had not budged and her slumbering remained stable as he nursed his throbbing extremity.

  Once he regained his composure the prowler looked for the instrument of his discomfort, and there lying next to his swollen foot, was a prosthetic leg.

  “Now I’d say that was some vital, need-to-know information,” he thought.

  The attachment was skin-toned, designed for coupling at the knee with a metallic latching mechanism near the top. He considered taking it as a reward for his efforts, but excused the thought when he imagined himself walking down the road with a leg sticking out of his backpack. Finally rising to his feet, he took one last parting shot of Katherine and backed from her room.

  The long walk back to the van would be agonizing but at the least the ‘outing’ was a success, and with one last quick surprise for the woman of the house completed, he threw his backpack over his shoulder, put his altered shoes on, scaled the fence and was on his way. Mission accomplished with only a broken toe or two to show for his troubles.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sunlight filtered through the discolored drapes hanging over the windows that faced the almost deserted parking lot. It had taken him a couple of hours to find a location that would be appropriate for their meeting, one that would be quiet, out of the way and without security cameras. The last thing he wanted to see was his face or his colleague's mugs prominently displayed on the evening news. In his line of work it never hurt to be too careful, always sweat the small stuff, was his moniker and he was proud of it. He had already gone over the motel room once but while waiting for his two associates he again looked under the bed, adjusted the blinds over the windows and looked for any listening devices. Clean, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  Would have taken a mind reader to figure out this location, and he had even been so careful as to park a couple blocks away at a Denny’s, used their bathroom, then exited the establishment through the side door and made his way here. No one would ever be able to associate his car with this meeting or hotel room. He had turned his cell phone off a couple of hours ago and instructed his partners to do the same, didn’t want texts or calls on any cellular record that could pinpoint their locations at some later date.

  Fifteen minutes later there was a knock on the door, two quick raps, a pause followed by three more in rapid succession. Jeremy peered through the peephole, recognized the guest and opened the door, ushering the man inside with a sweep of his hand.

  “Did you have any trouble finding the place?” Jeremy whispered, as he closed the door.

  “No, your directions were perfect, drove right to it,” the newcomer indicated.

  Agitated Jeremy said, “I told you not to drive directly here, what were you thinking?”

  “Hold on, hold on, I didn’t mean it literally. I parked at the Dixie whatever, like you suggested and walked here. That’s why I’m sweating so much, hotter than hell out there today.”

  “Good,” said the congressional aide, “I don’t need to remind you how careful we have to be about these meetings.”

  “I get that, I really do but do you think there are people who even have an inkling what we’re up to?” the short, heavier man said.

  “No, at this point I’m sure no one has a clue, but we don’t want to give anybody any ammunition once things get heavy.”

  “Where’s Felix? I’m anxious to see what he learned while he was in Valdosta,” Jeremy inquired of his partner.

  “Should be here any minute. This morning I saw one of his coded messages posted on the network forum that we’re using and he confirmed he would be here.”

  “Excellent, we need to make sure we’re all on the same page moving forward.”

  The squatty little fellow was Ignatius Alvaro Savard, Iggy for short. His parents were students of religious history and couldn’t resist the name and were sorely disappointed when everyone called him Iggy and it stuck. Normally he was dressed in slacks, a men’s large shirt, casual fit rather than tailored, and slip on loafers. It was much too difficult to reach his own shoes these days. Today he looked like he’d just stepped off a cruise ship. His idea of inconspicuous was somewhat different than Jeremy’s. A straw hat covered his thinning silver hair, Ray-Ban Aviator shades now sat on the brim of the hat and beads of sweat ran down his neck and into the floral print shirt he’d purchased from Kmart. The khaki shorts fit snugly un
der his belly that hid the belt buckle also purchased at the discount store, completing the ensemble were white knee high socks slid comfortably into a pair of leather sandals. Stylish was not the word that came to mind when Jeremy opened the door but he said nothing.

  Iggy was director of operations at the Lowndes County Land Title Authority and had been for ten years, with no more upward mobility available to him, he was eager to advance his station in life, regardless of what it would take.

  “I’m gonna get a Coke from the vending machine outside, you want one?” Iggy asked.

  “No thanks but make it quick.”

  Ignatius returned a few minutes later with Felix in tow.

  “Look who I found wandering around outside,” the chubby fellow said pointing at the taller, good-looking gentleman.

  Felix Unger was the third member of their conspiracy group that Jeremy had brought on board just two years ago when it became evident that his problem would not be solved through legal means. It had taken weeks of searching for the perfect individual without himself getting caught up in an FBI operation or worse. A lobbyist had ultimately given Jeremy the help he needed without her even knowing. She had alluded to a man she’d met in Chicago that had seedy ties but was quite a mover and shaker. She’d described him as good looking, suave, in a cheap kind of way, but fun to be with and knew how to get things done. Jeremy had acted quite nonchalant about the information but was sure he’d found his man.

  A little background check revealed Felix to be a low level mobster with ties to the local city government in Chicago. He did lots of work behind the scenes, land deals, intimidation, anything to raise a buck. Jeremy could not believe his good fortune, and the promise of millions for a few years of part time work easily drew Mr. Unger into the fold.

  “Thought we were meeting in the parking lot, had no idea which room you were in,” Felix said, his black hair combed straight back and wavy. The tanned face was smiling that perpetual smile that made people feel at ease, an important asset in his line of work.

  “Did you not look at the last posting I put on the forum this morning? We agreed it would be safer if we all showed up at different times, remember? I guess you also drove directly here and parked in the parking lot?” Jeremy grunted, moving to the windows and pulling the shade aside to inspect the lot.

  “Well yeah, didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to.”

  “For heaven's sake, Felix, if you can’t follow simple directions you will jeopardize the entire operation. Right, Jeremy?” Iggy interjected, the other taller men looked at him, ignored his input and moved to the kitchen table.

  Felix had a black briefcase with him that he sat on the 1960’s style table, complete with chrome legs and red Formica top.

  “So, what did you learn in Valdosta?” Jeremy inquired.

  “I learned that your step mommy is a hot headed little bitch,” he replied, sarcastically.

  “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. You try to sway her with your good ol’ boy charm?” Jeremy asked.

  “Never had a chance or needed to, at least not yet (winking). I did hear through the grapevine that she’s sure sick of you screwing with her. Got her lawyer all revved up and chomping at the bit to take your head off.”

  “Course she does. Every time he makes so much as a phone call it comes out of her share of the estate. It doesn’t bother me any if she wants to piss her millions away on legal fees.”

  “Anything happened in that housing area we’re concentrating on?” the director asked.

  Felix didn’t have much use for the tubby member of their trio but still recognized his question as valid.

  “I spoke with him on the way over here,” he said, looking at his watch.

  “He didn’t elaborate but said to watch the news this morning, said something about that woman we profiled having a fake leg. Anyway, he said he was more creative this time around so we’ll have to watch and see what happens from here. I told him we wanted a couple more ‘outings’ within the week.”

  “Hold on there, I’m not going to have time to find a victim, a house and get keys and all that other stuff in just a day or two. These things take time and I have to be careful that nobody at the office sees me working on it,” Iggy said, mopping his brow with a hanky he’d pulled from his shorts.

  * * *

  Miles away, as the three collaborators were meeting outside of Washington D.C., a very groggy Katherine Criddle was awaking from her sleep. Stirring from a wonderful dream filled with friends from years past and dancing her heart out with both legs present was just too good to give up, but looking at the clock she realized she couldn’t waste the day laying in bed. Weighing which she needed more, a warm shower or breakfast, the need to use the bathroom helped her decide and she swung her legs to the side of the bed, reached down and picked up her prosthetic and with a ‘CHKKK CHKKK’ clicked the artificial leg into place.

  She staggered to the bathroom, splashed some cold water on her face in an effort to wake up, still half thinking about the ‘foxy’ guys vying for her attention. The pellets of hot water felt good, she stood with her head under the forceful stream using both hands against the wall of the shower to steady her, the water running down her back and into the waiting drain. Once she was awake enough to finish the job she quickly ran the bar of soap over her smooth skin and washed her hair, lingering under the flow for a few more minutes as the conditioner worked its magic, then she turned the faucet off and twisted the excess water from her hair and used her hands as squeegees to push the water from her body and into the tub.

  Toweling off, she could see her reflection in the mirror, not quite what she remembered from the dream but still happy with the way she looked at 50. Things were moving a little bit south on her but could be worse, a lot worse. Didn’t take much imagination to see what was happening to most of the people her age so she was thankful for the God-given looks and genetics that had come her way. She wrapped the cotton towel around her breasts, creating an enhanced cleavage and tipped her head to one side, as she looked at her reflection.

  “Yeah,” she thought, “I still got it!” and blew herself an exaggerated kiss into the mirror.

  Katie ran a brush quickly through her hair, enough to remove most of the snarls, before she browsed through her closet for the day’s attire. The forecast had called for another warm day with afternoon showers, the usual for August. An aquamarine short sleeve shirt caught her eye, which she matched with a light pair of gingham slacks. She seldom wore shorts, even when the weather called for it, due to the appearance of her prosthetic and the looks that it brought her way, especially from the children. She pulled a white tank over her wet head, reached into each cup of her pushup bra and adjusted herself accordingly, before pulling on the slacks and slipping the shirt around her shoulders.

  Without much in store for the day, other than work later in the afternoon for a short shift, she had concluded to avoid the yard work that needed to be done and make a trip into town to check out the farmers market and try to meet some friends for a late lunch. Ms. Criddle was not one to leave chores undone but she just had a feeling this was going to be a very special day and she didn’t want a few menial chores to get in her way of capitalizing on what the day may offer.

  “First things first,” she thought. “I’ll grab a quick bite then run down to the gas station, fill up, wash the ‘stang; then head to town. I wonder if that good looking Russell, at the hardware store, would be up for a visit from the hottest babe in town?” her thoughts drifted, as she opened her bedroom door and ambled toward the kitchen.

  “He’s probably pretty lonely since his divorce was finalized, could use some female companionship and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Oh yeah, I’ll be stopping by there today and...,” then aloud, but not fully registering the import of what stood before her, “What in the....,” and then it hit her. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” she screamed, turning circles in the kitchen, unsure where to go or what to do, but her stomach fo
rced the issue sending her running for the kitchen sink where she vomited up the remains of her dinner the night before.

  She stood at the sink, spitting, mind reeling, unsure of what to do next. “Think, think!” she told herself, “don’t panic, get a grip!” The distressed widow slowly turned to take in the horror that was her kitchen. There before her was the kitchen table with all six chairs arranged in a pyramid on top of the table, balanced perfectly. She stepped to the backdoor to see if it was securely locked. It was. She carefully walked around the table as not to disturb the structure but to get a closer look, still in shock that someone or something had been in her home and had done such a thing. As she ringed the table, she spotted something nestled between the legs of two chairs a bit higher than she could reach. It appeared to be a small piece of paper or perhaps a photograph.

  “Dear God, what’s happening?” she whispered, tears staining her blouse. Katie finally got enough of a grip on her emotions that she realized she needed to call the authorities. “The phone, where did I leave that damn phone?” questioning herself out loud. The sound of her voice seemed to offer some degree of comfort and safety. Her mind shot scenarios at her faster than she could compute them but one stood out more than the others. “What if he’s still in the house? WHAT IF HE’S STILL IN THE HOUSE!”

  “Got to get the police and get out of here,” she continued to talk to herself. She suddenly remembered seeing the phone near the sink after she’d showered. Without hesitating she quickly made her way back to her bedroom, peering into the laundry room and spare bedroom as she passed, hoping not to see anything out of the ordinary, and she didn’t. The phone was next to the sink as she had thought. Rapidly she dialed 911 and waited trying to contain her breathing, feeling a bit light headed.