Dennis Larsen - With Cruel Intent

“Sure will perty lady,” he replied to her requests and returned to his spot in the room, getting himself comfortable again amidst the cacophony of sound.

Blanche left for the library in enough time to be a few minutes early, everything had to appear normal today, the inspectors would be by at an undisclosed time and she wanted to be prepared. Mrs. Ester Anderson would be on high alert.

Felix laid awake looking at the ceiling, watching the small dots and lines drift across the white surface, organics originating in the back chamber of his eyes. His doctor had told him he had floaters due to his age and they were harmless, but in the early morning hours he often could make shapes and faces from the unusual bits of debris that circulated through his vision. The sound of Bev sleeping next to him calmed his own breathing and made him feel relaxed and assured. The night had been interesting; she had been hungry for his touch and he for hers. It had not taken long to conclude the meal and business at the bar before making a beeline for her house. He had to focus to even remember where he left his car; he hoped it was still there. She shifted, rolling over on her side and draped her arm and leg across the cool Felix.

“Wednesday,” he said, moving his lips but not uttering a sound.

He tried to run the coming day through his mind, the things he needed and wanted to do, a trip to the Land and Title Office at the top of his list. Iggy had secured a special item for him that he was anxious to get his hands on, and he thought a face to face would shake the little man up in the process. He would be glad when he could put Valdosta behind him. Up until last night it had almost been fun, the game had been afoot, but it would all come down to the events of tomorrow night and the woman that slept beside him. He felt her leg move up his thigh and her hand slide between the sheets and down his torso before he felt her soft lips on his shoulder. Tomorrow would be much more difficult than he had imagined.

Deputy Breland pushed a silver cart through the main door to the lockup, juices on the bottom level and oatmeal and toast on the top. He stopped at each cell, calling the cellmate forward and handing them the breakfast. Seymour was still exhausted but not for lack of trying to sleep. The cot was insanely uncomfortable and he stirred with every sound, which was many, as they bounced off the concrete walls. The showing of support the afternoon before had lifted his spirits and he was confident his mother would be able to make the necessary arrangements to get him out of this hellhole. He was anxious to do his own investigation. Throughout the night, as he drifted in and out of slumber, he saw faces and places but he kept coming back to the man in the locker room, how unusual it had been that he retained his sunglasses as he stood at the end of their aisle.

At the time he had not cared or paid much attention to it. Some students just wore their glasses all the time, perhaps his were the type that changed and he was waiting for them to clear. He wished that he had paid closer attention to him. In his mind he could see him observing the conversation he was having with his friend, he remembered movement and he sat behind him and opened a locker. Seymour had not turned and looked at the man, but he noted as he left for the showers that the man was reading, his backpack in the open locker and his shoes on the floor. It seemed odd to him now. Why had he not undressed and changed, what was he waiting for? Then it struck him; he was waiting for the locker to be unattended so he could plant the gun. Why had he not realized that a day before?

“Deputy, Deputy Breland, I need to speak with Sheriff Lupo right away. I’ve remembered something!” he said, both hands on the bars speaking excitedly.

Noon rolled around and still nobody arrived from the bank, Lillian’s patience was wearing thin and the anger she’d felt on Monday was making a repeat appearance. She picked up the phone and dialed the bank, asking to speak with the manager. As she waited, listening to the annoying audio commercial and then the elevator music for more than two minutes, a distinct rap brought her attention to the front door.

She hollered from the kitchen, “I’m on the phone, if you’re a reporter get lost! I’m not making any statements.”

“Mrs. Wood, it’s Marc from the bank. I think you are expecting me.”

Lillian dropped the phone onto the mount and hurriedly went to the door, greeting the young man and putting her best foot forward.

“Thank you for coming, I’ve been anxiously waiting for you this morning. It’s very important that I get this taken care of so I can get my son home.”

“I understand and I’ll work as fast as I’m able but be aware these kinds of things take time. After all it’s a lot of money we’re talking about,” the preppy young man said.

“Oh, I know, I’m just anxious. What do I need to do?”

“Nothing really, I’ll just take a look at the house and the property. I’ve already looked over the legal description; the title and I know the size of your farm. It’s going to be close.”

“Close? I can’t tell you how important it is that I get that money. You’ll get it all back and with interest, my boy’s not guilty and he’s not going to run.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Wood, but we at the bank need to be careful, you understand.”

She did not understand, she just wanted this pencil pusher to clear the way for her to get her son out of the county jail.

“Well, if you need anything I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll find everything. I won’t bother you when I leave but you should get a call later this afternoon from our manager, thanks.”

Blanche had not seen Marcus all morning and wondered where he was keeping himself. Mrs. Anderson had cruised through the foyer multiple times, just checking up on things. She stopped by earlier and complimented Blanche on her attire and thanked her for keeping her ‘headlights’ under wraps. The young librarian had a difficult time focusing on her job, she’d not even looked in her organized boxes and she kept thinking back to the night on the hillside. The pleasant thoughts were always pushed aside by the vision of Jasper squirming about in his own blood, calling for help, then the sight of Seymour standing behind bars, dressed in orange and the tears in his eyes. She was so torn and confused, but her heart spoke to her, giving her hope and assurance that all would be well.

At 1:00 p.m. she sat at the main desk eating the banana she’d brought and finally saw Mr. Marcus waltz through the front doors. He carried a ladder and his tool belt slung low around his waist.

“What are you doing? I thought everything was fixed and ready for the inspection?” Blanche asked, looking to see if Ester was within earshot.

“I thought so too, but remember the emergency door upstairs?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“The part still hasn’t come and Mrs. Anderson wants me to take another look at it, see if there's something I can do to get us by the inspection. I already told her if there was something I could have done I would have already, but she’s insisting, so here I am,” he said shrugging his shoulders under the weight of the aluminum ladder.

“I see. What should we do if they show up while you’re up there?”

“I hadn’t thought of that, you’ll just have to come give me a heads up and I’ll get out of here.”

“Sounds good, I’ll just come pull the ladder out from underneath you and you can dangle there as the alarm. That should get us past the inspection, don’t you think?” she joked.

“Very funny. How’s our boy doing? You doing okay?” he genuinely asked.

“I’m okay, didn’t sleep much, but I can’t imagine what kind of a night Seymour must have had. His mom is working to get the bail money today so he can go home.”