“I don’t know how true that is, I think the whole crowd had your back tonight, but I’m so glad I came. It was a lot of fun,” she sincerely responded.
“Ya sho nuff kicked der ass ta night son,” Rufus threw in, still pumping his fist in a celebratory fashion.
“You gonna stick around till I get cleaned up?” the bodybuilder asked.
Blanche looked down at herself and her now almost see through blouse, “Under the circumstances, I think I better get home and get these things in some cold water before they stain.” She could tell he was disappointed so she continued, “But, how about we get together this weekend for a celebration, like an ice cream Sunday or something really unhealthy?” His smile returned to his face.
“That would be awesome. I’d like that a lot,” Jasper replied.
“Yup, dat sounds like fun, where should we go?” Rufus interjected.
“I don’t think she was including you pops,” the nearly naked man clarified.
“Sho she was, why ya think des good lookin’ women always jus intrested in you? I still got what it takes.” Putting his hands on his hips, mimicking what Jasper had done on stage, and flexed his groin forward. “Tode ya so.”
“Listen you two, I’ll let you sort out the details and I’m happy with one or both of you coming, but I should run. Why don’t you pick me up around 6:30 on Saturday night?” She registered the day in her head, remembering that it was now Wednesday.
“It’s a date,” Rufus said, as Jasper shrugged his shoulder and winked at Blanche.
“See you then,” Jasper whispered, without making a sound.
Blanche found the same cab she’d taken to the event and lazily enjoyed the ride back to her room, running the image of Rufus doing the ‘bump and grind’ through her head, bringing a smile to her face each time she imagined the old guy shaking his groove thing.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘Rob’ left the Mr. Muscle competition angry that he’d not had a greater opportunity to photograph Blanche. Frustration, and the pressure from his employers to get two more outings in before the weekend, had set him on edge and he knew he needed some release. A house in an estate area, with plenty of valuables, would ease his tension. He cautioned himself that working out of impulse and rage could lead to sloppy work, and the possibility of leaving unwanted clues, or even capture. Pulling the van to the side of a lonely road, he took a couple of deep breaths, closed his eyes, and focused on the job at hand. His pulse reacted, slowing, 80 bpm — 70–60 and stable, his breathing also more shallow, more controlled, his mind more clear, as he meditated and drew his attention away from the librarian and saw within his mind’s eye the house he intended to invade.
Months ago, he had almost burgled the home he saw now, but the owners had come home unexpectedly, just as he was climbing the back fence and he had aborted the mission. It was a large brick home, four-car garage, with at least one Porsche, but best of all, no security system. He’d noted the signs in the windows and the placard displayed prominently near the front door, indicating that a security system was in place. Normally, he would simply bypass such a house but this was too perfect, too good a score to just let it slide. Two months ago, he’d donned a pair of coveralls, complete with sunglasses, hat, and clipboard and had walked the neighborhood pretending to read the meters on the side of each home. When he had arrived at the house in question, he had carefully examined the wiring leading into the home, as well as the casement around the windows, for signs of a security system. Nothing. He also had managed to get a view through a window to the entryway, no control panel, nothing that would point to a security system in place.
“Cheap bastard,” he’d thought. Could afford the bogus signs but not the actual system, he would pay for that greedy decision.
He’d gazed into the interior of the home, marble floors, expensive furnishings, and limited edition paintings hanging on the walls. He could not help but wonder what it would be like to have such wealth and power. Soon though, he’d have it all! The house, the car, the hot women, finish this job and he’d be set.
His initial impulse was to drive by the home and see if any lights were on, however, 10:45 p.m. was really too early to do the kind of work that needed to be done here. He could just see the police, going door to door, after they discovered his crime, “Did you see any suspicious vehicles in the area? Any that looked like they didn’t belong?”
“Officer, there was an ugly, gray van that slowly rolled down the street before the break in,” some woman with curlers in her hair and a scarf wrapped around her head would say, standing at her front door, dressed in a bathrobe. Not a good idea after all.
He drove the ugly, gray van down Bemiss Road trying to remember where he’d seen a small church that would act as a shield for the van. He passed several streets that looked familiar, then as he approached Lori Street, he could see some floodlights to the left that he was sure were at the church site. He pulled to a complete stop at the light, being careful to obey all traffic laws. Getting pulled over tonight would be more than inconvenient. A few blocks down on the left was a country church. The parking lot and front of the chapel were flooded in light, but no cars were present. He drove past the church to see if anyone was out walking their dog, or any other activity, none was evident. A mile past the church he flipped around and returned to the chapel, pulling to the rear of the building where it was dark and a small shed stood. It was probably used to store the yard care equipment and would block the van from the street if a patrol car were to cruise by. He sat his backpack, full of the tools of his trade, on the seat next to him, inspected each pocket to make sure everything was in its place, including the black face paint that he would need to apply when he was closer to the house. There was no sense alarming someone that may see him walking down the street.
For now he was a college student that had missed the bus and was walking home. Leaving the back of the church, he cut through an empty field full of knee high weeds and found a road that would cut across Bemiss Road, and into the vicinity of the target. He’d seen the couple that lived there a few times, as he’d prepared to rob them before. Didn’t think they’d be any trouble if he was confronted, but as a precaution he still had the pepper spray, and had thrown a seven-inch hunting knife into the bag in case his life was threatened. The burglar knew how to use a gun. He was quite proficient with the semi automatic Beretta his father had bought him on his 18th birthday, but it could get him many more years in prison if he were ever caught in the act and had the pistol on him.
He lay in a ditch paralleling the main road, waited for a lone pickup truck to roar by before kneeling, then scampering across the road, in a low crouch. The black paint, now covered his face, and his dark clothing helped to hide his location even though there were dim lights from homes and streetlights not far off. The moon was in his favor, with only a sliver emitting light over the expanse before him. Alternating walking hunched over, and crawling, he found the orchard that the homes of the upper end sub division backed onto. The pecan trees rustled very gently in the wind as he moved from trunk to trunk, concealing himself and his movements, the best he could. The Stalker reached the back of the home he had in mind, recognized the area where he’d waited before, in his first attempt. No lights were visible, including the porch light. His watch read 11:45, still earlier than he’d like. Some of the houses down the row had numerous lights on casting beams and shadows into the yards and orchard. ‘Rob’ concluded to wait an hour before proceeding. He needed more of the neighbors to get shut down for the night to reduce his risk.
The minutes sluggishly ticked off, 60 seconds at a time, providing him an opportunity to contemplate his situation and what he must do. “Don’t get overconfident, don’t screw up,” he reminded himself. The job that lay before him had too much uncertainty; the first two had been a breeze; keys, single women, a set of instructions, but not this time. He had done some prep, but that was months ago, and there were variables he had no control over. Something felt wrong but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He expected no 'gimmies' here; only luck would provide an unlocked door or an empty house. His employers would be pissed, if he screwed up this early in the plot, and they were out of an experienced ‘night crawler’. A sudden flash of light from his right brought all of his senses to full alert. He slowly rotated his head in the direction of the random light. Three houses down, someone had turned on the back porch light, he waited, listening, squinting his eyes to make out any movement, and then as quickly as it was switched on it was extinguished.
“Must have put the dog out to crap,” he postulated. The watch on his wrist now read 12:39, there had been no lights or any change in the house in front of him. “It’s go time,” he whispered.
