Early the next morning, Arlene went to work preparing the scene. She made a pot of tea, set the picnic table for two, and put out some shortbread cookies. All that was left to do was get her nosy neighbor’s attention. She didn’t figure that would be too difficult.
“ DANG IT! Quit digging—you blasted mutt!” Arlene hollered out the back door. But the big dog paid no attention to Arlene’s rant. Once the dog was headlong into a newly dug hole, nothing short of a hand grenade would dislodge him. She knew that, so she wasn’t disappointed by Dang-It’s failure to obey. Several DANG IT’S! more made certain Mrs. Devlin hadn’t missed anything.
When Arlene was satisfied, she seated herself at the picnic table and waited. She didn’t have to wait long. A moment later, she noticed the bedroom curtains next door move, which indicated she had achieved the goal of getting her neighbor’s attention.
“Good morning, Mrs. Devlin,” Arlene called to Alice sweetly. “Would you like to sit and have a cup of tea with me?” In a flash, the curtains parted, the window slid open, and Mrs. Devlin appeared looking disheveled but eager. It was early, so she wore a pink robe over pajamas with her hair in rollers.
“Oh dear, I am such a mess,” Alice declared, fussing with her rollers. Then she added, “I’ll be right there!” She mock-whispered the words as if it was a great secret. Then the window slid shut with a bang.
Arlene guessed right that Mrs. Devlin would never miss an opportunity to restock her inventory of gossip fodder. The fact that she was still dressed in her house clothes wouldn’t slow her down one bit. Arlene guessed correctly because Mrs. Devlin appeared out her back door in a moment without the slightest alteration to her appearance. The little woman had run through her house, quick-stepping in her fuzzy pink slippers, through the gate, onto Arlene’s porch, and was seated at her table in less than one minute flat. Arlene was impressed.
To describe Alice Devlin as a small woman would be an understatement. Just a frog’s hair over five feet and one-hundred-five pounds soaking wet, her children’s size twelve outfits were loose-fitting. With her highstacked bouffant hairdo in rollers, thick black framed cat-eye glasses, and pink robe Alice was a sight to behold without makeup. Nevertheless, Arlene welcomed her warmly, stifling a smile while pouring her a cup of tea. After a bit of small talk centered around neighbors and local goings-on, Arlene turned the conversation to her intended goal.
“You would never guess who I saw hanging around the Santa Ana Street underpass last night,” Arlene said, leaning forward with a confidential tone. This was a tidbit requiring a deft delivery. If she was going to suck Mrs. Devlin in on her scheme, she needed to make it sound as if this piece of information was a salacious bit of news. Moreover, she also had to be coy about it, making it seem as if Mrs. Devlin had dragged the information from her.
“Really? Who?” Mrs. Devlin demanded to know. “Well, I’m not sure really,” said Arlene, doing her best to sound unsure of herself.
“Tell me,” Alice insisted.
Arlene hemmed and hawed, allowing tension to build. “You know—that man—
the one in black,” she whispered.
“The man in black?” asked Alice, not immediately making the connection.
“You know, the big man who attacked me in my home last month.”
At this piece of news, Mrs. Devlin’s eyes became wide as saucers as she recalled the big man in black she had witnessed staggering away from her neighbor’s house that day. As the memory took shape in her mind, her teacup came down hard enough to knock cookies off the plate.
“No!” she gasped disbelievingly, holding both hands to her mouth in genuine shock. “I saw him leaving here, but I had no idea that man came into your home! Why didn’t you tell me?” Alice scolded, then offered support by taking Arlene’s hands in hers.
Arlene felt a twinge of guilt for dismissing her neighbor outright that day. Had she misjudged Alice, she wondered? Certainly, her neighbor was a busybody, but perhaps she had been too dismissive.
“I didn’t tell anyone in the neighborhood because I didn’t want to cause them to be frightened.”
“You poor sweetie! I’m so glad you weren’t seriously hurt!” Alice said sympathetically. Although a moment later, the true Mrs. Alice Devlin reemerged as she began pressing Arlene for more information.
“But tell me, dear, what happened to your house? Did that man blow up your house? Is he a Communist?”
Arlene burst out laughing, unable to restrain herself. “I have no idea,” she said dismissively. “Maybe it was a gas leak.”
“Then what was that man doing in your house? Was he a burglar? Is he someone you know? Was he with the gas company?” Alice persisted, asking four questions with just one breath, a fact that had not escaped Arlene.
Suddenly Alice bolted from her chair, knocking it over in the process. Slamming both hands down on the table, she cried, “Why—that man raped you, didn’t he!” Now the little neighborhood spark-plug was right in Arlene’s face. “And you didn’t want anyone to know the truth!” she declared accusingly.
“Whoa, slow down, Alice!” Arlene said, holding her hands up in an attempt to get her to stop jumping to conclusions. But it was no use; Alice was a tiger when she latched onto something. The conversation had transformed into an interrogation so quickly Arlene never saw it coming. She needed to think fast if she was going to turn the conversation back to the intended destination.
“No, that man isn’t someone I know, and no, I wasn’t raped,” Arlene assured her. “But he is dangerous—he choked me, he is a burglar, and if he is still in the neighborhood we need to watch for—“
“He choked you?” Alice interrupted, clearly frightened as she eased herself back into her chair with her mouth agape. But the comment had the desired result: Alice was listening again rather than ranting.
“He choked me,” Arlene repeated, holding her hands to her neck for effect. “This is a dangerous man we’re talking about, and he is still in the neighborhood. We need to be on the watch for him.”
There, she finally got it out, and apparently with the desired effect. Behind the thick cat-eye glasses and high stacked rollers, the gears were turning in Alice Devlin’s head. Now that Arlene had admitted to having a burglar in the house who tried to strangle her, the gas explosion alibi seemed too farfetched to defend.
Arlene breathed a sigh of relief, thankful she had diverted Alice from the subject of how the house was damaged. She didn’t have a believable story for what caused the destruction, other than claiming she didn’t know or couldn’t remember. But then how could one not know what caused the back of their house to be blown off? Regardless, she had no choice other than to keep the little woman focused on the intruder rather than the damage.
“Mrs. Devlin, would you keep an eye out for that man for me? Promise me you will tell me immediately if you see him again, alright?” Arlene pleaded, then smiled inwardly, believing she had cast exactly the right bait at Mrs. Devlin. Now all she had to do was wait and see if she would bite.
“Oh, you can count on me!” Alice agreed all too eagerly, poking at her chest emphatically. “And when Mr. Devlin comes home from the office, you can be certain I will tell him all about it! Did you know my Alvin is our fair city’s prosecutor? Everyone at City Hall just loves Alvin Devlin. Why my Alvin will have everyone in the police department hunting that scoundrel within hours. You can rest assured Alvin Devlin will not rest until he throws that terrible man in the pokey! And when—“
“Alice!” interrupted Arlene, startling her into silence. “Alice,” she repeated, “will you help me watch out for that man?” All she needed was to suck Alice into her plan, and it would have legs.
“Um, yeah, I can do that,” Alice assured, nodding vigorously. “Should I call the police if I see him?” she said weakly, betraying the fact that Arlene had successfully gotten into her head.
“Call me if you see him. I need to know, and you know why,” Arlene emphasized.
“Oh? W
hy do you need to know?” asked Alice suspiciously.
“I need to know, Alice, because Wednesday nights at eight, I walk over to O’Brien’s Diner to meet my friend Morgan for dinner.”
“Oh no, no, no, you can’t do that!” Alice insisted, shaking her head. “What if he saw you walking there? It wouldn’t be safe!”
“Well, I’m not going to worry about that,” Arlene assured confidently. “I’m not going to live in fear—or alter my lifestyle.”
Arlene knew that given the opportunity, Alice would jump at the chance to spy for her. But if she thought she could spy and gain notoriety as someone who saved a life, she would be…what? Then it hit Arlene: she’d be as famous as Alvin Devlin!
“Only if,” Arlene sighed.
“What, dear?” Alice asked intently.
“Only if I had someone looking out for me. Then I would feel much safer,” implored Arlene.
“Oh, I would love to look out for you!” Alice gushed. “What can I do to help?” she said, excitedly smiling, overly-eager to be involved in what she considered to be something sensational.
“Well…” Arlene paused as if she were trying to think of something for Alice to do. “Oh, I know!” she exclaimed, “If you were to drive through the underpass on Wednesday night just before eight, that would be perfect. Then, if you saw him, you could tell me before I walked through there. Do you think you could do that for me?”
“Of course!” Alice agreed, bouncing in her chair excitedly. “Let’s do it!”
“Alright,” Arlene agreed. “Tomorrow night just before eight o’clock. I’ll be on the corner of Eleventh Avenue and Santa Ana Streets, waiting for your report. All you have to do is drive through a couple of times and let me know if you see anyone there. Okay?”
So it was settled. Mrs. Devlin would be the spy Arlene needed to trap Stone. But what she didn’t tell her newly adopted co-conspirator was that tomorrow, Wednesday, would be her third walk through the underpass at eight o’clock. The pattern had already been established, so there was a better than fair chance Stone would be there lying in wait. And if he wasn’t there, she was sure it wouldn’t be long before he was.
The following night at precisely seven forty-five PM, Arlene left her house, walking three blocks to the corner of Eleventh and Santa Ana Streets. A moment later, she spotted Mrs. Devlin’s green Plymouth Business Coupé pass her by. The car turned right, then disappeared down the incline to the underpass on Eleventh Avenue. Two minutes later, the green Plymouth returned, turned left, then parked next to where Arlene waited. Mrs. Devlin stopped the motor then rolled down the window.
“Did you see anyone?”
“Nope. No one is there,” Alice assured her.
“Do you want to go around another time?”
“Sure,” said Alice. “I’ll go a couple more times. Should I blink my lights if I see someone?”
“Alright. But remember, that man was dressed all in black clothes that day. He might wear black all the time, and if he is wearing black again, he will be hard to see in the dark.” Then she added, “If you don’t blink your lights, I’ll know it’s safe to go. After that, you can go home. I will call you after dinner. Morgan will drive me back, so I’ll be safe.” Arlene thanked Alice warmly then she pulled the Plymouth away from the curb.
A few minutes later, Alice passed by again without blinking the car’s lights. Arlene waved her off, and then her gaze followed the green Plymouth as it turned toward home. When it was gone, she turned and began walking toward the underpass, O’Brien’s Diner, and her eight PM dinner date with Morgan Beal.
As Arlene exited the underpass, she noticed a black Ford sedan parked at a closed service station across the street from the diner. The car was strategically parked to provide a clear view of the underpass. Although the vehicle was barely noticeable in the shadows, Arlene was able to make out a dark figure sitting behind the wheel. The recurrent red glow of a smoldering cigarette betrayed the drivers’ presence. No one had to tell her who that driver was or why he was there. ________________________
Stone smiled with satisfaction as he stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, then glanced at his gold watch to check the time. Straight up eight o’clock, just as expected. Good, he thought, the skirt is a good timekeeper. She was punctual, someone he could count on. He liked that about Arlene Dunne, but that precision would be her downfall; he would see to that.
This one is a fighter, he thought. I like that in a woman. But her ring makes her a tough customer. She nearly gouged out my eye and threw me against the wall so hard I sailed right through it. I underestimated her that time, but I won’t make that mistake twice.
This time around, Stone intended to keep his dealings with Arlene short and sweet. There would be no time to play with her. Having to forgo the fun of choking Arlene Dunne, one that deserved it so much, was a disappointment. The prospect of toying with her was compelling, although this time he would sacrifice that to accomplish his goal of getting her ring.
Three times he had observed Arlene Dunne walking to the diner on a Wednesday night at precisely eight o’clock. Each time she met the same guy at the diner. She sat across from him in a window booth as they talked, ate their meals, then talked some more. Then at about nine o’clock, they left together in his pickup truck. Nothing changed; it was all predictable. When they left together, he followed them from a reasonable distance, but it was always the same. The guy dropped her off at her house, and she went in alone. Punctual as ever, thought Stone. The woman was both reliable and punctual. That was good.
________________________ Stone’s car rumbled past Jerry’s house that night just before ten o’clock. Jerry’d been in bed reading a Zane Grey Western, so he couldn’t help but wonder why the boss was out so late. What could he be doing? He had been gone from dawn until after dusk seven days a week for the past two weeks. When Jerry asked if there was something he could help with, Stone brushed him off, saying he had personal business to take care of. That didn’t bother him, although Jerry had a gut feeling the boss was up to no good.
And Jerry had good reason for being concerned. Stone’s condition as he staggered out of the darkness and into the Cherry Motel that first night raised questions that still remained unanswered. Jerry paused to recall the night the Stone came into his life. He guessed the big man had been in a terrible fight, but the evidence did not support that assumption.
Stone came in soaked in blood from head to foot. His body was a patchwork of nasty cuts, scrapes, and bruises. A shirt tied around his head covered an eye that remained swollen shut for a week. It was ugly, but Stone seemed to heal surprisingly fast, raising more questions. The man appeared as if he had survived an explosion, enough so that Jerry’d checked the newspapers for reports of one but found nothing. So he wrote the entire episode off as a fight, although he still wondered what was true.
The thought of following Stone that night crossed Jerry’s mind, but in the end, he decided doing so would be a breach of trust. And if the boss learned of it, the relationship might suffer irreparable damage. Jerry was taught to believe the truth always reveals itself in the end. All one had to do was be patient and let it happen.
However, the situation was entirely different the next morning. Jerry was surprised when the boss didn’t leave as he had every day for the last two weeks. He stayed in, and by the time he finally came out the front door, it was almost noon. Jerry and Loius, a farmhand he’d hired to help him around the farm, were just coming in for a lunch break. The two were riding together aboard the Massey-Furguson tractor when Stone approached them.
“Hey Boss,” Jerry called down to him as he came to a stop and shut down the engine. “How is it going, Jerry?” Stone responded cheerfully. “Who do you have there?” he asked, referring to his helper.
“This is Luis. He’s helping me blow stumps and build a fence around the place.” Then Jerry added, “It’s a two-man job. Luis doesn’t speak much English, but he’s a good worker and reliable.”
/> “Well, that’s good,” Stone commended. “The place looks great, Jerry; you’re doing a good job. Keep up the work.” Stone took a moment surveying the newly-fenced pastures. “You’ve really taken charge, boy,” he said with a broad smile. “Let me know if you need anything.” With that, Stone slapped Jerry’s knee affectionately, turned, and went back inside his house.
Jerry was dumbfounded. Stone’s mood is good—too good, he thought. Then he realized that he had never seen the man smile. Not like that anyway. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but if the boss was happy, then so was he. Jerry guessed that whatever the boss had been doing while he was out all day must have gone awfully right for him to be so good-humored. Since he couldn’t know what Stone had been up to, Jerry was once again left wondering.
In the following days, Stone continued to be abnormally cheerful. Jerry suspected that Stone was looking forward to something big but had no clue what that might be. Typically, getting Stone to say anything more than a few words was like pulling teeth. Jerry had become so accustomed to having no one to talk to, so he resorted to carrying on lengthy conversations with Luis even though he didn’t understand enough English to order a hamburger.
But Jerry knew there was more to Stone than what met the eye. Sure, he could be ill-mannered, sullen, and brusque. More often than not, he had nothing to say beyond what was absolutely necessary. Too often, he was discourteously blunt and foul-mouthed. That, combined with being so tall and wearing black all the time made Stone an intimidating character to behold.
More than anyone else, Jerry had been able to see past the moodiness, bluster, and bad manners. When Stone arrived at the Cherry Motel broken and bleeding, Jerry saw him as no other ever had, a pitiful creature in need of help. He’d seen the big man helpless and hurting in a way that engendered an affinity between them that went beyond mercy. The kindness Jerry paid to Stone earned him dividends when Stone released him from the prison that was the Cherry Motel. Stone gave him the gifts of stability, responsibility, and the kind of trust Sergeant Gerald Dunne, Army Ranger, never could. Those badly needed gifts engendered Jerry’s fierce loyalty to Stone.
The Rings of Hesaurun Page 35