With Cruel Intent

by Dennis Larsen

  The men’s portion began a few moments later, giving the women a chance to change and prepare for the freestyle portion of the program. The men, one by one, entered the stage sans cover up, each taking up a spot on the platform and did a couple of quick poses to the delight and thunderous applause of the audience. Jasper was number four in the lineup and Blanche had to admit he looked good, very good, all shiny and pumped up. He gave her a quick wink when he’d concluded his introduction; she applauded and waved in return.

  Rufus was much more excited than Blanche, he stood and stomped his foot on the ground and chanted, “Whoot, Whoot Jasper - Whoot, Whoot Jasper!” Bringing even more applause from the revved up audience.

  Much like the women’s portion had been, the men each had their time on stage to display their physiques and their ability to present a set routine of poses. Each contestant was very muscular. Jasper was the tallest of the bunch, but not the thickest. One fellow had extremely broad shoulders, giving the illusion that he was as big around through the chest and arms as he was tall. The smallest of the group again appeared to be of Asian descent, was well proportioned but perhaps not as defined as the rest of the field. Blanche, oddly enough, felt more comfortable watching the men’s portion of the competition than the women’s, but she found herself enjoying both. At the conclusion of the men’s compulsory, the women started into the freestyle.

  “This looks like it should be fun,” she leaned over and said to Rufus, who had his eyes glued on the stage in anticipation of the first female competitor.

  “Oh, yeah, dis is gonna be good, ah ight, rea good!” he indicated, without taking his eyes from the stage.

  The first woman waltzed onto the stage, a different suit barely covering her unmentionables, and a popular tune with lots of percussion began thumping out a beat. She moved, flexed, pirouetted and shook her ‘things’ like nobody's business. Blanche found herself looking around, expecting the police department to raid the place, but none did and the audience members, women and men alike, got into the groove with the young woman and cheered her on until the final note played. Again, this carried on for six more contestants, each tune somewhat different, some having more dance skills than others, but each uniquely talented and possessing a body blown up beyond its normal limits. The judges madly conversed with one another, frantically writing down notes, as the dancing and flexing finally concluded. Blanche felt like she needed to get home and take a shower. The awarding of the Ms. Muscle title would be postponed until the men had completed their side of the event.

  Blanche was surprised to see the men do basically the same thing but with somewhat less finesse. After all, how to you bump and grind 300 lbs of muscle and make it look appealing? However, when Jasper took the stage, she was in awe at how well he could move that huge physique? She was also surprised that he had been able to find a thong swimsuit smaller than the one he’d worn in the first half of the competition. The massive bodybuilder played well to the audience but went out of his way to look in her direction as he worked his way through the 90 seconds of music. Again, Blanche was impressed with all the contestants, thinking that any of them could hold the title.

  “What’s the deal with this Jasper character?” ‘Rob’ said, loud enough for the guy two rows ahead of him to hear. “She got something going with this black guy?” again he said aloud, but somewhat more subdued. He didn’t want one of the local brotha’s to take exception and beat the shit out of him over the remark. He was more than a little annoyed that she was here and obviously at the request of the large black man. Somehow he felt betrayed, angry that she was sneaking around on him. “I’ll have to put a stop to this, that’s for sure,” he said, even more quietly than he had the other remarks. Standing, he zoomed in as much as the little camera would allow, and took a picture of Jasper as he flexed his quads to the overwhelming acceptance of the audience. “Gross, you oversized gorilla! I’ve got an equalizer I’ll be introducing you to, yeah then let’s see how tough you are.” He walked down the right side of the auditorium until he was in a position to take some pictures of Blanche without her knowing. Once satisfied, he placed the camera in his pocket, pulled his hat down over his eyes and left the arena. He was in the mood to deliver another message to the people of Valdosta.

  At what Blanche thought would be the conclusion of the event, all of the contestants were brought back onto the stage and the runner’s up were announced for both sexes leaving only two of each sex left standing, still playing to the crowd. Fortunately Jasper was one of them, to Rufus’ jubilance. A black woman and the Filipino stood side by side, awaiting the judge’s decision. The auditorium was a hush as the name was read and the crowd burst into chants and applause. The black woman accepted the title, the roses and the trophy, parting with a few poses for good measure.

  The women were ushered off the stage and the MC took to the central microphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have an unusual finale for you tonight. Our two male competitors have tied for the title of Mr. Muscle.” The crowd went wild, people stomping their feet and issuing hand breaking applause before the MC could get them back under control. “We are going to have a flex-off. One song will be played, of the judges choosing, and both men will appear on stage at the same time. They will perform as they see most appropriate to win them the title of Mr. Muscle. They will have 90 seconds to impress you and the judges. We will begin in one minute!” Blanche was on pins and needles. Very energized, hoping for a Jasper win. The entire event had been very exciting and she finally felt the thrill the audience had been feeling all night. The two men each took to the stage and awaited the music. Jasper positioned himself directly in front of Rufus and Blanche.

  “Dat’s my boy, dat’s my boy,” he said, excitedly pointing to Jasper.

  The music began, and the men flexed, bounced and jiggled for the audience, bringing catcalls and whistles from even the most reserved looking women. At one segment in the music there was a heavy thumping of the drums. Jasper put his hands on his hips, flexing his back, making him appear twice as wide and whipped his package forward in a rather ‘stripper like’ fashion. Blanche reflexively snapped her head back as if she’d been hit in the forehead. He did the move a few more times after seeing the reaction he got from the crowd. Now she was sure there would be a raid from the vice squad. The music stopped and Blanche rifled through her purse for the hanky she hoped she had hidden there.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience, we have a winner. Join me in awarding the title of Mr. Muscle to Jasper Jackson of Valdosta, Georgia. He jumped and thrust his hand into the air before giving the audience a few more muscle crunching moves. Blanche and Rufus jumped up and down, and hugged, seemed like the natural thing to do. A moment later Jasper jumped from the stage, took the librarian in his arms, picked her up, smearing her clothing with body oil and spun her around in a triumphant dance of celebration. She didn’t quite know how to react but gave him a kiss on the cheek and congratulated the hulking giant for his win. He placed the little woman down and picked up Rufus in a monster bear hug and repeated the same happy dance.

  “Can’t believe I won. I really won! Thanks so much for comin' Blanche. You were my inspiration tonight, could notta done it without ya cheerin' me on,” Jasper said, trying to catch his breath.

  “I don’t know how true that is, I think the whole crowd had your back tonight, but I’m so glad I came. It was a lot of fun,” she sincerely responded.

  “Ya sho nuff kicked der ass ta night son,” Rufus threw in, still pumping his fist in a celebratory fashion.

  “You gonna stick around till I get cleaned up?” the bodybuilder asked.

  Blanche looked down at herself and her now almost see through blouse, “Under the circumstances, I think I better get home and get these things in some cold water before they stain.” She could tell he was disappointed so she continued, “But, how about we get together this weekend for a celebration, like an ice cream Sunday or something really unhealthy?” His smile re
turned to his face.

  “That would be awesome. I’d like that a lot,” Jasper replied.

  “Yup, dat sounds like fun, where should we go?” Rufus interjected.

  “I don’t think she was including you pops,” the nearly naked man clarified.

  “Sho she was, why ya think des good lookin’ women always jus intrested in you? I still got what it takes.” Putting his hands on his hips, mimicking what Jasper had done on stage, and flexed his groin forward. “Tode ya so.”

  “Listen you two, I’ll let you sort out the details and I’m happy with one or both of you coming, but I should run. Why don’t you pick me up around 6:30 on Saturday night?” She registered the day in her head, remembering that it was now Wednesday.

  “It’s a date,” Rufus said, as Jasper shrugged his shoulder and winked at Blanche.

  “See you then,” Jasper whispered, without making a sound.

  Blanche found the same cab she’d taken to the event and lazily enjoyed the ride back to her room, running the image of Rufus doing the ‘bump and grind’ through her head, bringing a smile to her face each time she imagined the old guy shaking his groove thing.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ‘Rob’ left the Mr. Muscle competition angry that he’d not had a greater opportunity to photograph Blanche. Frustration, and the pressure from his employers to get two more outings in before the weekend, had set him on edge and he knew he needed some release. A house in an estate area, with plenty of valuables, would ease his tension. He cautioned himself that working out of impulse and rage could lead to sloppy work, and the possibility of leaving unwanted clues, or even capture. Pulling the van to the side of a lonely road, he took a couple of deep breaths, closed his eyes, and focused on the job at hand. His pulse reacted, slowing, 80 bpm - 70 - 60 and stable, his breathing also more shallow, more controlled, his mind more clear, as he meditated and drew his attention away from the librarian and saw within his mind’s eye the house he intended to invade.

  Months ago, he had almost burgled the home he saw now, but the owners had come home unexpectedly, just as he was climbing the back fence and he had aborted the mission. It was a large brick home, four-car garage, with at least one Porsche, but best of all, no security system. He’d noted the signs in the windows and the placard displayed prominently near the front door, indicating that a security system was in place. Normally, he would simply bypass such a house but this was too perfect, too good a score to just let it slide. Two months ago, he’d donned a pair of coveralls, complete with sunglasses, hat, and clipboard and had walked the neighborhood pretending to read the meters on the side of each home. When he had arrived at the house in question, he had carefully examined the wiring leading into the home, as well as the casement around the windows, for signs of a security system. Nothing. He also had managed to get a view through a window to the entryway, no control panel, nothing that would point to a security system in place.

  “Cheap bastard,” he’d thought. Could afford the bogus signs but not the actual system, he would pay for that greedy decision.

  He’d gazed into the interior of the home, marble floors, expensive furnishings, and limited edition paintings hanging on the walls. He could not help but wonder what it would be like to have such wealth and power. Soon though, he’d have it all! The house, the car, the hot women, finish this job and he’d be set.

  His initial impulse was to drive by the home and see if any lights were on, however, 10:45 p.m. was really too early to do the kind of work that needed to be done here. He could just see the police, going door to door, after they discovered his crime, “Did you see any suspicious vehicles in the area? Any that looked like they didn’t belong?”

  “Officer, there was an ugly, gray van that slowly rolled down the street before the break in,” some woman with curlers in her hair and a scarf wrapped around her head would say, standing at her front door, dressed in a bathrobe. Not a good idea after all.

  He drove the ugly, gray van down Bemiss Road trying to remember where he’d seen a small church that would act as a shield for the van. He passed several streets that looked familiar, then as he approached Lori Street, he could see some floodlights to the left that he was sure were at the church site. He pulled to a complete stop at the light, being careful to obey all traffic laws. Getting pulled over tonight would be more than inconvenient. A few blocks down on the left was a country church. The parking lot and front of the chapel were flooded in light, but no cars were present. He drove past the church to see if anyone was out walking their dog, or any other activity, none was evident. A mile past the church he flipped around and returned to the chapel, pulling to the rear of the building where it was dark and a small shed stood. It was probably used to store the yard care equipment and would block the van from the street if a patrol car were to cruise by. He sat his backpack, full of the tools of his trade, on the seat next to him, inspected each pocket to make sure everything was in its place, including the black face paint that he would need to apply when he was closer to the house. There was no sense alarming someone that may see him walking down the street.

  For now he was a college student that had missed the bus and was walking home. Leaving the back of the church, he cut through an empty field full of knee high weeds and found a road that would cut across Bemiss Road, and into the vicinity of the target. He’d seen the couple that lived there a few times, as he’d prepared to rob them before. Didn’t think they’d be any trouble if he was confronted, but as a precaution he still had the pepper spray, and had thrown a seven-inch hunting knife into the bag in case his life was threatened. The burglar knew how to use a gun. He was quite proficient with the semi automatic Beretta his father had bought him on his 18th birthday, but it could get him many more years in prison if he were ever caught in the act and had the pistol on him.

  He lay in a ditch paralleling the main road, waited for a lone pickup truck to roar by before kneeling, then scampering across the road, in a low crouch. The black paint, now covered his face, and his dark clothing helped to hide his location even though there were dim lights from homes and streetlights not far off. The moon was in his favor, with only a sliver emitting light over the expanse before him. Alternating walking hunched over, and crawling, he found the orchard that the homes of the upper end sub division backed onto. The pecan trees rustled very gently in the wind as he moved from trunk to trunk, concealing himself and his movements, the best he could. The Stalker reached the back of the home he had in mind, recognized the area where he’d waited before, in his first attempt. No lights were visible, including the porch light. His watch read 11:45, still earlier than he’d like. Some of the houses down the row had numerous lights on casting beams and shadows into the yards and orchard. ‘Rob’ concluded to wait an hour before proceeding. He needed more of the neighbors to get shut down for the night to reduce his risk.

  The minutes sluggishly ticked off, 60 seconds at a time, providing him an opportunity to contemplate his situation and what he must do. “Don’t get overconfident, don’t screw up,” he reminded himself. The job that lay before him had too much uncertainty; the first two had been a breeze; keys, single women, a set of instructions, but not this time. He had done some prep, but that was months ago, and there were variables he had no control over. Something felt wrong but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He expected no 'gimmies' here; only luck would provide an unlocked door or an empty house. His employers would be pissed, if he screwed up this early in the plot, and they were out of an experienced ‘night crawler’. A sudden flash of light from his right brought all of his senses to full alert. He slowly rotated his head in the direction of the random light. Three houses down, someone had turned on the back porch light, he waited, listening, squinting his eyes to make out any movement, and then as quickly as it was switched on it was extinguished.

  “Must have put the dog out to crap,” he postulated. The watch on his wrist now read 12:39, there had been no lights or any change in the house in front of him. �
��It’s go time,” he whispered.

  He crept to the fence, keeping a low profile, lifted the backpack over the fence and hung it from the top, dangling on the other side. Carefully and quietly, he overcame his first obstacle, pulled the backpack from the fence and moved to a black, shadowed area of the yard. He waited and listened; his best defense now would be his keen senses. Nothing. He moved to the back door. No screen, but a dead bolt. A decorative glass inset occupied the top one third of the door; he brought his eye as close as he could to the glass, finding a place where the inside could be viewed with the least amount of distortion. No movement, no lights, no people, so far so good. He sat for a moment on the raised cement landing, adjacent to the door, removed his newly altered Nike’s and opened a zippered compartment in his backpack that held the glass cutter.

  Returning to the door, he began etching the glass in a small rectangle that would be big enough for his hand and arm to pass through. He ran the diamond bit over the same spot repeatedly, until he felt he was almost there, took a small suction cup from his pocket and applied it to the center of the rectangle. The pro continued to cut, holding the suction device with his left and etching the glass with his right. He suddenly felt the slightest degree of give with his left hand. He stopped cutting, and gently, very gently, moved the suction cup right and left, back and forth, seeing the tiny slivers of glass give way as the opening was created. Finally, the piece lifted out and he sat it aside on the concrete far enough away that he wouldn’t step on it if he were in a hurry to get out. He returned the cup and cutter to the backpack but did not immediately extend his hand into the freshly cut opening. He waited for any indication of sound or movement, just in case he’d been wrong about the alarm.