Dennis Larsen - With Cruel Intent

Bev was still unable to scream but she desperately was trying to. Her hands flailed in an attempt to protect herself from Lester who walked over to Felix, put his foot on his forehead for leverage and pulled his knife from the skull. He casually wiped the blood and brain matter from the blade on Felix’s Armani suit. He replaced the blade, and then took the towel that had been around Bev’s hands and held it to his bleeding side.

“Now what the hell am I’m going to do with you?” he asked, looking at the pleading woman. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you.” She breathed a noticeable sigh of relief.

“But I can’t have you calling the police in the next ten minutes either, can I?”

With that he took his Beretta from Felix’s hand and struck Bev about as hard as he dared to the side of her head. Her eyes rolled back and she slumped forward and fell to her side on the bloodied sheets. Lester felt for a pulse, and finding one, bound her hands once again and left her on the bed.

He looked through her bathroom and found the items he needed to slow the flow of blood from his ‘through and through’ wound. Checked her again to make sure she had not stopped breathing and left the house. Time was against him now and he knew it. He would have to fly if he was to take care of business at the library before it closed.

The dashed white lines danced before him, undulated, then snapped back to their original linear shape. The pain, though initially localized in his lower right abdomen, was now radiating throughout his entire torso, overloading his nervous system and affecting his sight and motor skills. He was glad that he had taken the few minutes at Bev’s to staunch the flow of blood with some rolled up gauze stuffed in both the entrance and exit wounds. The holes were smaller than he expected, good thing the wayward bullet was fired from a small caliber pistol. As he drove he periodically looked down to the spot of the injury, a slowly expanding red circle appeared on the bandage that he had wrapped around his waist, covering the gauze filled holes both front and back. The painkillers he’d taken should start to have some beneficial effect at any minute but he was struggling to stay focused on the task before him.

Arriving at the library he parked at the rear, near the end of the open chute that originated on the second floor. By the time he crawled into the back of the van, put on the hat, camouflaged jacket and slipped his father’s spectacle case into his pocket, the pills had started to numb the throbbing in his side. Into the other pocket of the military issue jacket he put the bottle of ether and wool cloth. Lester inspected himself in the passenger side mirror, taking note to walk a bit hunched over, using the cane in his right hand and limping with the left leg. Each step sent a bolt of pain shooting through his central nervous system. He gritted his teeth and moved on, no time to waste, had to get to Blanche and then home. Before he walked around to the front entrance of the library he stopped in the shadows at the corner of the building, pulled his father’s old prescription glasses from their case and put them on. The Stalker allowed his eyes to adjust for a moment, returned the case to the jacket pocket and proceeded toward the front steps. It annoyed him that he had to look over the lenses to see very well far away but knew that Blanche would recognize him for sure without them on.

The first time around with the Gulf War Vet disguise he had trouble negotiating the steps, so he took his time, looked over the glasses as he needed and managed the steps, with cane in hand, without the same acrobatics as before. Alone on the concrete outside the main doors Lester took a few deep breaths, checked the wound again to see how much blood had soaked into the bandages and touched the Beretta tucked in at the small of his back. It was time and he was ready, willing, but was unsure of just how able he was. A patron stepped from the main entrance and down the steps next to him without giving him a second look. He put his weight on the cane, bent over slightly and moved through the same door the gentleman had just used to exit the library.

The foyer was brightly lit, a number of people gathered around the main desk speaking with Blanche. He was pleased that she was distracted and would not pay much attention to him as he moved to the stairs. With the injury to his side it was much easier to use the cane, almost came natural this time around as he hobbled and ambled up the stairs, concentrating not to look at the librarian for fear she might recognize him. Half way up the stairs the sight of Seymour coming down startled him. He momentarily lost his balance and almost tumbled to the floor below, but the agile Seymour caught the crippled vet, helped him regain his balance and made sure he got to the second floor. Lester hoped his nemesis had not felt the gun hugging his spine.

“Looks like your friend is back,” Seymour said, as he passed Blanche at the front desk.

“Rob!” she said, looking up, a bit of panic on her face.

“No, the vet with the cane that you told me about a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh, him, thought you meant the guy I told Deputy Guest about this morning,” a relieved Blanche commented.

Seymour continued looking after the books and magazines left scattered on the tables and chairs throughout the library and didn’t give the gentleman on the second floor much more thought.

From the upper floor balcony Lester watched the exchange between the two at the front desk. He had not factored Seymour into his plans for the evening but it may work out to his advantage to have Seymour help him lure Blanche to the second floor when ready. He knew the library would close at 10:00 and they would start ushering people out prior to that, 9:25 as he looked at his watch. A lone reader, her hair in a tightly wound bun and sunglasses on her head, sat in a comfortable chair near the new magazine section thumbing through a copy of People. Lester tried to think of how he might hurry the woman on her way but didn’t want to chance drawing attention to himself. He decided to take a seat close to her and strike up a conversation, maybe he could persuade her to vacate the second floor all together.

“Evenin’, do you mind if I join you?” he asked, taking a chair and sliding it close to hers, before she was able to answer.

She looked at the obviously unusual character and nodded but did not speak, but right away he noted that she shifted her behind in the chair, moving away from him.

“Good,” he thought, “it’s working already.”

He picked up another gossip magazine from the table in front of them, flipped to a page of starlets dressed in slinky gowns.

“What do you think about that big busted blonde that married that old man for his money? You think she really loved him or was she just banging the old guy for the cash? Personally, I think the old guy couldn’t even get it up. I mean he was 85 when they married, can’t tell me he’s scoring any points with his virility at that age. You got an opinion on it?”

The woman was annoyed but not dislodged. “I’ve really not given it any thought so I couldn’t say.” She continued to be polite and tried to ignore the rude stranger.

“Well, if it came down to it, I’d sure as hell take up with some shriveled up old granny for a few million dollars. My old lady would probably give me permission, long as I cut her in, if you know what I mean,” he pushed, trying to think what it would take to make her leave.

“I’m just trying to get through this article. Do you mind?” she said, showing the open magazine to him.

“Oh no, no problem, what you reading there?” he said, sliding even closer and looking over her shoulder.