With Cruel Intent (19 page)

‘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 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