Chapter 15
His long white hair swirled in the afternoon breeze. Even with the prescription sunglasses, his eyes burned against the late day sun. His long-sleeve black shirt hung loosely across his thin chest. Even with the .45 Desert Eagle semi-automatic tucked in its shoulder holster by his armpit, the shirt appeared at least a size too big. Black jeans and black boots finished the ensemble. He didn’t purposely dress the part of the villain. He just liked black. It probably stemmed from years of neighborhood kid’s torment and schoolyard bullies’ fights over his albino skin, hair, and eyes. He tried his best to distance himself from white. But those years did not make him weak like so many other victims. It hardened him. Although he used to feel pangs of regret years ago, now he simply felt nothing. And nothing worked just fine for him.
The dog was sitting by the pickup truck now. He toyed with the idea of driving down there and grabbing the beast and making a hasty escape. A possible scenario, but likely to be a scenario wrought with failure. No, he had to play this far smarter. After all, that’s why he was chosen for this job. He was meticulous. Nothing was left to chance.
Of course, chance interfered when this unknown man took the dog from the shelter before he had the opportunity to take ownership. He’d almost lost it when he realized what was afoot. He despised feeling a loss of control. He left the shelter almost as quickly as he arrived, knowing that this alteration to his plans required further attention to detail. Any rash decisions or abrupt, impulsive choices would surely sabotage his efforts. Simple reconnaissance would provide all the intelligence needed to make his next move.
He watched as two men loaded the dog into the white pickup truck. He wasn’t sure of the second man’s identity. This added a new complexity. Did he live here, too? He did not believe this to be true, but he worked on facts, not beliefs. This too would require a thorough investigation. Hopefully, his business associates could provide him with the necessary information on this unknown male. The man’s license plate and physical address should suffice in getting the ball rolling. Employment history and vital statistics would provide enough information to make informed decisions. Certain intangibles, like girlfriends, daily routines, and any eccentric behaviors would have to be determined by watching the subject. He didn’t want to hack into computer systems. He could do it, but that was not his forte. Besides, it just left more trails to follow for the seasoned investigator. Not that it would ever get that far, if he did his homework.
As the truck inched its way backwards out of the driveway, he pressed the brake and shifted the car into neutral and released the brake. His black Mercedes rolled forward as the pickup gained speed and headed to the intersection at the end of the street. It was a small town, and he knew better than to get too close. Probably not a lot of Mercedes trolling the streets of Pine Valley, he surmised. Better to lose him and pick up surveillance at a later time than to get burned. He was a one-man show.
With few stoplights in this part of town, following from a distance was easy. He watched the two men intently to see if they checked their mirrors for anything unusual or out of the ordinary. They drove straight to a pet store without ever looking back, never instituting evasive driving techniques, or employing surveillance countermeasures. They were clearly amateurs and had no idea a threat existed just 500 feet behind them. As long as he maintained a low profile, this job would be easy. Of course he was a 6’7” albino. Low profiles were best established by having no profile. He remained in the car while the two men took the dog into the store.
The parking lot by the pet store had a few cars scattered around it, but not enough to provide adequate cover. He drove to the far edge of the parking lot and pulled into a space that was part of a Wendy’s Restaurant. The traffic that came through here would provide the distractions he sought. A stream of construction workers and high school students meandered between the cars and in and out of the establishment. He cracked open the windows and eased the seat back. There was nothing more to do now, but to wait and watch.
It was in the following next few seconds that he heard the voice. It had been years, but it was as familiar to him as his own voice. He’d heard it a million times or, at least, that was his recollection. It suddenly filled him with a cascading sense of nostalgia, comfort and finally fear, all following each other in rapid succession. He pushed down into the car seat as if the leather upholstery could somehow swallow him into invisibility. Despite trying to make himself less visible, he craned his neck toward the driver window to get a glimpse of the man he’d not seen for over two decades.
“All I’m saying is, all that hollering and amen, knee slapping theatrics you southern Baptists like to do, doesn’t make your story any more plausible because you think some long-haired hippie from Nazareth saved you,” Schwartz said. “Jews wrote the book on God, and all the rest of you are editors, just trying to rewrite the ending or put in more chapters after the story’s already gone to press.”
“I respect you and all, but that’s not how I was raised. I believe in the New Testament and the Old Testament. Ignoring Jesus isn’t something this brother’s ever gonna do. We can argue this until we’re blue in face, but my mind is set in stone on this one, dog. Let’s just say we agree to disagree.”
This second man’s voice was not recognizable and he couldn’t see either one of them. He lay silent with the exception of his pounding heart and rapidly drying mouth.
“You’re so fucking politically correct,” Schwartz shot back. “I’ve tried sex, politics, and now religion and you won’t so much as bite. Good God, do I have to hurl more racial epithets at you to generate a little discussion, here?
“Damn Schwartz, I didn’t know you were so hard up for a little dissention. I suppose we could talk about why old, fat kikes are such a hateful band of self-loathing racists.”
“My nigger! Now we’re getting somewhere,” Schwartz said as he slapped the roof of the government owned four-door sedan.
“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe they assigned us together,” Winston said, shaking his head from side to side.
“I didn’t think you fellas were allowed to take your savior’s name in vain,” Schwartz retorted.
Winston opened the passenger door and plopped down into the seat. His door slowly closed as Schwartz’s door quickly shut and the car fired up.
The Mercedes hummed along in idle just two parking spots away from Schwartz and Winston’s unmarked police car. He peered behind the door jam and saw the vehicle pull out of the Wendy’s parking lot and merge into traffic. He wasn’t sure if this was just coincidence, or if the old Jew had an official reason for being here. As long as it had nothing to do with his reason for being there, he should be able to continue normal operations. However, if the Jew was floating around town and saw him, all bets were off. Things had to be confirmed. He reached for his cell phone and went immediately to the address book. He located the number and pressed send.
The phone rang three times on the other end before it was answered. “Gionelli and Associates. How may I help you?”
The Bernie Factor Page 15