Dennis Larsen - With Cruel Intent

The way the question was posed had Blanche a little confused, “Who’s asking? You or the police department?”

“The police department, of course,” he said, clearing his voice and dropping it an octave in the process.

“Oh, okay. Well yes. It’s not serious but I have just recently, mind you, started to see a college student that I work with. His name is Seymour Wood.”

“Thank you,” he said, reaching for the pen and writing Seymour’s name on the pad. “Is there any possibility that he, either directly or indirectly, could have been involved with last night’s shooting?”

“You think Seymour was involved?” the flabbergasted Blanche asked.

“Remember, we’re just trying to get to the bottom of who hurt your friend. We have to explore every possible avenue.”

“I suppose.”

“Can you answer the question, and can you positively rule out that the man you saw walk through the diner, and into the bathroom, was not this Seymour Wood?” The young police officer stressed his question by leaning closer to Blanche, pen in hand.

She thought for a long moment before she replied, “No, I don’t think there is any way on this earth that Seymour was involved, and I almost hate to answer the second part of your question,” she hesitated. “And no, I can’t 100 % be sure that it was not him in the diner. If you’ll recall, I said I didn’t get a very good look at him, but I know Seymour wouldn’t do anything like that. I swear!”

“That will be all. Thanks for your cooperation, we’ll contact you if we need anything further,” he finished.

They concluded the interview by Blanche providing her current address, contact numbers, place of employment and a few other odds and ends, but then she was free to go after signing the notes that the officer had taken. When she returned to the waiting area she could see Rufus, aimlessly walking around, asking people where Jasper was. Most treated him like a worthless homeless person that was looking for a handout. Blanche quickly went to him and put her arm around his shoulders.

“Where’s ma bo, where’s Jaspa? Cops jus cum n’ pic me up, jus say Jasper’s been shot,” Rufus said, eyes red from the tears and filled with confusion.

“He’s either still in surgery or in recovery by now. Let’s talk to a nurse and see what we can find out,” she sympathetically reacted to the older man’s needs.

They found their way to the nurse’s station and asked about Jasper. The first nurse would not release any information but a young lady standing nearby and hearing what they were after, pulled Blanche aside and whispered to her, “Mr. Jackson is in the recovery room and in a couple of hours will be brought to room 322. Watch for him then, he’ll be able to have family visitors.”

“Thank you so much, you’ve been very helpful,” Blanche said, squeezing the young ladies arm in appreciation.

The old man and beauty spent the next couple of hours chatting in the cafeteria, talking and sometimes laughing. It helped to pass the time and ease the worry. Rufus was certainly a storyteller and Blanche enjoyed the time together. He was a good-hearted old soul and she appreciated the kindness he had extended to her, and she was happy to reciprocate in his hour of need.

At the appointed hour they took the elevator to the third floor and followed the signs until they came to room 322. They could hear Jasper’s deep voice and a young lady giggling inside. The two stepped inside to see Jasper lying on his side, sheets pulled up to his waist, and a hospital gown covering his upper body. He was groggy but awake and had been having some fun with the candy striper, trying to convince her that he needed some assistance taking a leak, and could she hold it for him. Blanche suspected it wasn’t the first time she’d been given that offer.

“There you two are,” he said, as they entered the room. “Was wondering if you had deserted me.”

“Jaspa, me boy, how ya doin’? Ya hurt bad?” his father asked, going to his side and holding his large head against his chest.

“No pops, mutha shot me in my thickest muscle, right in my gluteus maximus. Docs said didn’t hit anythin' but USDA 100 % ass, no bone or vessels. Said surgery was a breeze, just had to remove the slug. I’m feelin' pertty lucky.”

Blanche joined Rufus bedside, leaned over and kissed Jasper on the forehead, “I’m so glad to see that you’ll be okay, we were so worried about you. All that blood, and you were in so much pain, it was pretty scary.”

“How long they be keepin’ ya here, son?” Rufus asked.

Jasper motioned, pointing to the tubes and bottles that were running liquids into his veins, “They said they have ta watch fer infections fer a couple of days, but if I don’t run a fever I can go home if I’m up to it. Just feelin’ really tired and the painkiller is starting to wear off a little bit. Feels like somebody took a bite out of my butt. Hope the scar won’t affect my posing, been told my ass is my second best muscle,” he said, winking at Blanche, causing her to blush.

“Well Jasper, I can see that you need some rest, as do I. I think I’ll be able to go home and get some sleep, now that I know you’re going to be okay. I’ll stop by in a day or two and check on you.”

“I’d like that. Bring a book from the library and read to me,” he said, half joking but quite serious.

“Okay, bye you two.” She departed, but not without kissing each on the cheek before finding her way to the front of the hospital, and into the backseat of a cab for the ride home.

* * *

Beverly Davis sat in the waiting area of her realty office waiting for her newest client to show up. The prospect of showing the large parcel had energized the depressed realtor and given her hope that perhaps she’d still close on some kind of deal soon. The bottom had certainly dropped out of the market the past week and nothing was moving. People had been cancelling opportunities to explore what was available, but the number of new listings was up dramatically, and people willing to take a fairly large hit on the price, if it could just be sold quickly. These were more the units and homes near the base. Beverly had a hard time understanding the whole stalker phenomena. She had a loaded 32 caliber semi-automatic pistol that she kept with her at all times, had a permit to carry it as a concealed weapon and felt pretty comfortable loading and firing it. At close range she was deadly, killing multiple silhouette targets on more than one occasion from twenty to thirty feet. Helped her sleep at night knowing it was by her side.

A large black sedan pulled up out front and a good-looking guy with dark hair and stylish sunglasses got out. He was tall, tanned, and wearing a nice silk shirt and slacks.

“Oh baby, come to Mama,” she said, licking her lips and checking her hair in a pocket mirror she kept in her purse.

She greeted him just outside the office and introduced herself, not hiding the fact that she found him very attractive. The attention was not lost on Felix. He produced an authentic business card and presented it to the woman, and she reciprocated with one of her own. He noted, when she opened her purse to retrieve the card, that she was packing. Felix hadn’t been sure if she carried the 32 with her all the time but was glad to see that she did. The mobster breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he wouldn’t have to search her home for the weapon. Iggy had previously found a gun registered in her name, and the carry license, so they knew she had it, but were unsure how she treated it. The ride through the streets of Valdosta and into the country was pleasant enough. He found himself actually enjoying her company. She was funny, knew how to turn a phrase and in her day was probably quite pretty. He even envisioned himself being attracted to her if she dropped forty pounds. Felix did not hold back when it came to the flattery and moves, he put on the unsuspecting widow, working even more quickly than he normally did to worm his way into her bed.