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.
Miles away, as the three collaborators were meeting outside of Washington D.C., a very groggy Katherine Criddle was awaking from her sleep. Stirring from a wonderful dream filled with friends from years past and dancing her heart out with both legs present was just too good to give up, but looking at the clock she realized she couldn’t waste the day laying in bed. Weighing which she needed more, a warm shower or breakfast, the need to use the bathroom helped her decide and she swung her legs to the side of the bed, reached down and picked up her prosthetic and with a ‘CHKKK CHKKK’ clicked the artificial leg into place.
She staggered to the bathroom, splashed some cold water on her face in an effort to wake up, still half thinking about the ‘foxy’ guys vying for her attention. The pellets of hot water felt good, she stood with her head under the forceful stream using both hands against the wall of the shower to steady her, the water running down her back and into the waiting drain. Once she was awake enough to finish the job she quickly ran the bar of soap over her smooth skin and washed her hair, lingering under the flow for a few more minutes as the conditioner worked its magic, then she turned the faucet off and twisted the excess water from her hair and used her hands as squeegees to push the water from her body and into the tub.
Toweling off, she could see her reflection in the mirror, not quite what she remembered from the dream but still happy with the way she looked at 50. Things were moving a little bit south on her but could be worse, a lot worse. Didn’t take much imagination to see what was happening to most of the people her age so she was thankful for the God-given looks and genetics that had come her way. She wrapped the cotton towel around her breasts, creating an enhanced cleavage and tipped her head to one side, as she looked at her reflection.
“Yeah,” she thought, “I still got it!” and blew herself an exaggerated kiss into the mirror.
Katie ran a brush quickly through her hair, enough to remove most of the snarls, before she browsed through her closet for the day’s attire. The forecast had called for another warm day with afternoon showers, the usual for August. An aquamarine short sleeve shirt caught her eye, which she matched with a light pair of gingham slacks. She seldom wore shorts, even when the weather called for it, due to the appearance of her prosthetic and the looks that it brought her way, especially from the children. She pulled a white tank over her wet head, reached into each cup of her pushup bra and adjusted herself accordingly, before pulling on the slacks and slipping the shirt around her shoulders.
Without much in store for the day, other than work later in the afternoon for a short shift, she had concluded to avoid the yard work that needed to be done and make a trip into town to check out the farmers market and try to meet some friends for a late lunch. Ms. Criddle was not one to leave chores undone but she just had a feeling this was going to be a very special day and she didn’t want a few menial chores to get in her way of capitalizing on what the day may offer.
“First things first,” she thought. “I’ll grab a quick bite then run down to the gas station, fill up, wash the ‘stang; then head to town. I wonder if that good looking Russell, at the hardware store, would be up for a visit from the hottest babe in town?” her thoughts drifted, as she opened her bedroom door and ambled toward the kitchen.
“He’s probably pretty lonely since his divorce was finalized, could use some female companionship and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Oh yeah, I’ll be stopping by there today and…,” then aloud, but not fully registering the import of what stood before her, “What in the….,” and then it hit her. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” she screamed, turning circles in the kitchen, unsure where to go or what to do, but her stomach forced the issue sending her running for the kitchen sink where she vomited up the remains of her dinner the night before.
She stood at the sink, spitting, mind reeling, unsure of what to do next. “Think, think!” she told herself, “don’t panic, get a grip!” The distressed widow slowly turned to take in the horror that was her kitchen. There before her was the kitchen table with all six chairs arranged in a pyramid on top of the table, balanced perfectly. She stepped to the backdoor to see if it was securely locked. It was. She carefully walked around the table as not to disturb the structure but to get a closer look, still in shock that someone or something had been in her home and had done such a thing. As she ringed the table, she spotted something nestled between the legs of two chairs a bit higher than she could reach. It appeared to be a small piece of paper or perhaps a photograph.
“Dear God, what’s happening?” she whispered, tears staining her blouse. Katie finally got enough of a grip on
