Dennis Larsen - With Cruel Intent

“You don’t have to tell me that,” thought Blanche, sarcastically rolling her eyes and hoping that nobody noticed.

Caroline, wanting to clarify their reservation, jumped in, “Have you decided how much longer you’ll be staying?”

The husband took a drink of his juice before answering, “Looks like we’ll need to get going later today. We’re so close to the Okefenokee Swamp that we decided to head over to Waycross and see what’s going on over there, but we have enjoyed our stay with ya’ll.”

“I don’t think there’s any question of that,” Blanche almost said aloud, but what did come out of her mouth was most likely worse, “Yes, young love can be so exciting, learning all the ins and outs can be trying but worth the sacrifice, if you know what I mean.”

With nothing further to say and no retort from the guests, Blanche excused herself and left for her room. As an afterthought she said, while climbing the staircase, “By the way, really enjoyed sharing the bathroom and the ambiance with you.”

Her meeting with Beverly was to be at 10:00 a.m. so she tidied up her room and spent a few more minutes looking over the list of condos she wanted to look at that day. When she’d talked with Bev earlier in the week the house hunting didn’t sound very promising. There were a lot available but nothing that really fit her needs or budget. She had to remind herself that she was still early in the hunt and not to get discouraged, surely something would come along that would be well suited for her. The trick was not to get too impatient and settle for something less than desirable. The units that Mrs. Carmichael had mentioned to her looked promising but there wouldn’t be enough time today to drive out to look at them hopefully next week.

With her room in order and nothing else to do for a couple of hours she lay back on the bed and picked up her book. Before long she was back in the ‘Old South’, the words on the page going in and out of focus, she placed the book upon her abdomen, closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

She awoke with a jolt, her eyes searched for the clock and the time alarmed her, 9:45 a.m. in bright red, illuminated numbers. Blanche scrambled to get the few things together that she needed for the day, checked her looks quickly in the mirror, adjusted herself in her bra, and dashed from the room, down the stairs and out the front door, nearly knocking Mrs. Muir over in the process.

“Well, I never!” she exclaimed, looking on as Blanche ran down the street toward the bus.

The stop was about two blocks from the B amp;B, normally a pleasant, peaceful walk along azalea-fronted homes, but not today. She could see the bus moving down the street. Lifting her feet a little more quickly she raced for the stop, waving her hands and trying to grab the attention of the driver in hopes that he would wait for her, but it was to no avail. She arrived at the bench in time to see the bus turn the next corner and it was gone.

“Just frickin’ great!” she said, slamming her things down on the bench and placing her hands on her hips, walking in circles trying to catch her breath. Rifling through her purse she retrieved her cell phone and placed a call to Beverly at her office. Ring, ring, ring…, no answer.

“What else is going to go wrong today!”

She tried Bev’s cell number, “Hello Ms. Davis, this is Blanche, I have an appointment with you right now but I’ve missed my bus. Would it be possible to reschedule?”

“Don’t be silly, where are you? I’ll just come by and pick you up,” Bev enthusiastically belted into the phone.

Blanche gave her the approximate address and the realtor indicated she’d be there shortly.

“That was one crazy run for the bus there lady,” a young man half hollered, followed by a different voice.

“Yeah, would sure like to see some of that action again. You interested?”

Blanche lifted her umbrella in case she needed a weapon and turned to confront the verbal assailants. Three young men in their late teens were walking toward her, skateboards in hands. Each had a different baseball hat sitting askew on their head with dark glasses covering their wandering eyes. Jeans worn very low, crotch between their knees and skater type shoes on their feet.

The presumed leader spoke, “Yo, mama, you's lookin’ so fine dis moanin’. You need some hep with somethin’? We’s sure we got what ya could use.”

Looking at each other they laughed and shook each other’s hands in some secret combination. The creepy young guy strutted closer to Blanche, looking her up and down. A tattoo curled from the inside of his t-shirt, up and around his neck and terminated in a snake’s head on his Adam's apple.

“Listen, why don’t you boys just mind your own business and be on your way?” the increasingly frightened Blanche said, through clenched teeth.

“How ‘bout you come wit us then, bootiful.”

They circled her, cutting off any possibility of escape except it be through them. She lowered the umbrella and issued another warning, “I don’t want any trouble, I’m just trying to get through my day, so I’d appreciate it if you’d just leave me alone.”

More laughter, “Yeah, Mikey, leave the poor little woman alone,” they taunted.

“I’ll leave her ‘lone aw ight once she takes care a sum buidness fer me.” Mikey extended his arm and ran his hand over her shoulder.

Reflexively, Blanche spun the umbrella, knocking his hand away and swung the object in a circle pushing the teens beyond an arm's reach.

“Grab dis bitch so I’s can get a feel,” the startled leader yelled. As the two accomplices circled Blanche looking for an opening their attention was drawn to the road.

The sounds of squealing tires and locked up brakes startled the group who turned in the direction of the incoming sounds. A yellow Datsun could be seen on the opposite side of the road making a quick turn, jumping the meridian; a dark figure huddled over the wheel.

“What’s this sheeeit?” Mikey said, stepping ahead of the others, bringing his skateboard up in a defensive stance.

The little truck came to a screeching halt, only meters away from the skaters, and a very large, agitated black man squeezed his way out of the truck.

He took two quick steps toward Mikey, puffed up his chest and said, “Miss Delaney, these punks giving ya any trouble?”

Blanche quickly sidestepped the trio and ran behind Jasper. “Rescuing me again? I must say you have impeccable timing.”

Mikey was not discouraged, “Lady, yo pet gorilla don’t scare us none, do he boys?” There was no reply, “Right boys?”

He turned to see why his partners were quiet and could only make out the back of their hats as they bounded over the fence of the nearest house. With his head turned, Jasper moved to action, grabbed the skateboard with both hands, wrenching it away from the thug, dropping Mikey to his knees in the process.

“Man, we was jus havin' some fun wit her, we wasn’t goin’ to hurt her or nothin’,” he pleaded.

“You little creeps are giving Valdosta a bad rep, how ‘bout you get on your way ‘fore I do something terrible,” Jasper hissed, arms and shoulders towering over the quaking Mikey.

“Gimme back my board, man.”

“Oh yeah, right!” Jasper took the skateboard with his hands positioned at opposite ends and extended the board as if to hand it to the troubled youth. Mikey stretched forth his hands to accept the board, but before he could, Jasper lifted his powerful leg and brought the board down with a mighty thrust, breaking the board in half across his thigh. Splinters and wheels twirled through the air.

“There you go (handing the board back to Mikey), now get out of here you scumbag.”