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 under 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 forced 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.
There was an answer at the other end, “9-1-1, what is the nature of your emergency?”
Now whispering as not to alert an intruder if he was, in fact, still inside the home, “Someone broke into my house and I’m not sure if he’s still here, son of a bitch stacked my chairs on my table,” Katie slowly started back down the hallway to the kitchen.
“Excuse me, he did what?” the operator seated inside the Lowndes County Sheriff’s Office inquired.
“He piled my kitchen chairs on the table like a pyramid thingy. I need some help, please send somebody!”
“I’ve got officers responding; please confirm your address for me, okay. Stay on the line, don’t do anything but stay on the phone with me. Is he still in the house?” she asked firmly.
“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t dare look around. What do I do if he’s here?” tearfully whispered the terrified woman back into the receiver.
“Listen to me, is this Katherine Criddle?” no reply. “Katherine, you with me, don’t leave the phone, are you with me?” the operator said forcefully, trying to keep the victim’s attention.
“Yeah, I’m here, I’m so scared, please help me, please send somebody!” she sobbed into the phone; tears running incessantly down her cherry cheeks.
“Okay Katherine, I want you to get out of the house, can you do that? I want you to get to the front door and get out of there and wait for the officers in the street. You hear me? Get out of there now!”
“Okay, okay I can see the front door from here,” she said, moving toward the living room and her escape.
“No, No, No! Please no! Why me? I… I… I ……” Screaming,then silence. The 911 operator listened. Nothing.
“Katherine! Mrs. Criddle what’s happened? Can you hear me?” She pressed her ear firmly to the headset, trying to draw any possible response from the petrified woman. Then she heard it, very faint, very light, but the unmistakable sound of someone breathing, almost snoring, coming from within the living room of 412 Big Buck Circle.
The operator, knowing that only one Sheriff’s Unit was available to respond, called upon the help of the Valdosta PD and emergency fire and ambulance crews to assist as well. Multiple squad cars and emergency vehicles from the county and city were soon rushing to aid the victim, her circumstances unknown.
At the same time the 911 operator was scrambling help to Katherine’s location, Blanche was standing in the shade of one of the larger trees populating the grounds of the old library, having an early morning banter with Mr. Marcus. Suddenly, they saw the first squad car speed through the intersection, lights and sirens blaring, sending pedestrians running for the safety of the sidewalks.
“Whoa, what’s that about?” Marcus hollered above the sounds of the sirens. Blanche shrugged her shoulders, thinking of the next barb she might send his way, when a second unit roared past the two, again with lights and sirens going.
“Quite a bit of excitement for little old Valdosta this morning, eh Marcus? You forget to turn off your stove after you brewed your coffee or something?” she jokingly put forth.
“Now that you mention it, the Mrs. said something about mowing the lawn this morning, hope she didn’t cut her foot off or anything. Don’t think the insurance will cover that,” he replied sarcastically.
A couple of miles away the students on the college campus were also alarmed at the number of sirens they were hearing.
“Must be quite the emergency, sounds like the entire force is on the move this morning,” Seymour said to the cute freshman, standing with him just outside the athletic department.
He’d just finished his morning workout and shower when he’d heard the commotion and hustled outside to see what was afoot.
She adoringly looked up at the older, more experienced college student, batted her eyes a few times and replied.“ Maybe there’s some crazy person on campus running around with a gun or something. Might be safer if we go to my dorm room and wait this little emergency out.”
The innuendo and offer were totally lost on Seymour who took a few steps closer in the direction of the noise and inferred, “No, don’t think this is a campus issue, sounds are moving away from downtown rather than coming toward us.”
The young lady, disappointment showing on her face, pulled her book and binder to her chest, rocked herself from the waist up and said in childish tone, “Won’t you at weast walk me to my next cwass, I’m a wittle sceawwed?”
Seymour turned to address the persistent young lady when the sound of another siren caught his ear, this one moving quickly in their direction. She advanced the couple of steps to join Seymour at his side, ran a hand between his side and arm and pulled his bicep to her breast and laid her head against his shoulder, appreciating the bulge that was there. More students filled the empty spaces around the two as the sounds approached. Questions filled the air in shouted tones to get above the sound of the multiple sirens.
The freshman, lost in the thrill of holding the older student so close, forgot about the possible threat at hand, and nuzzled her face against Seymour who seemed unaware of her affections. Within a moment or two an ambulance could be seen weaving its way between stalled traffic, working its way down the main boulevard, followed closely behind by a fire engine, lights reflecting off the buildings and sirens screaming. The group of students, including Seymour with the cute student latched on, surged to the street in an effort to get a better view and postulate what might be happening. To the relief of the young lady the emergency vehicles advanced beyond the college and raced toward their ultimate destination.
“Good crap, are they ever in a hurry. What could they be up to this early in the morning?” Seymour said, more to himself than to anyone in particular.
“Well, I surely don’t know, but I’d sure like to spend some more time with you this morning,” she said, pulling his arm close and rubbing it suggestively against her clad bosom. Once she’d gotten his attention and she could see that he was looking directly into her eyes, she continued, “If you know what I mean?” winking.
“Oh, yeah, I mean no, really I’d love to hang out with you for awhile this morning but I’ve got a project I’ve got to get together and need to hit the library before my noon class,” he tripped over his tongue but he was sure she’d gotten the message.
“You sure? I think I can make it worth your while,” she said; in her best Southern drawl in a final attempt to sway her crush.
“I really appreciate the offer; maybe another day.” Pulling him away from her grasp and waving as he jogged toward the library, Blanche foremost on his mind.