Dennis Larsen - With Cruel Intent

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.