paint nozzle at the lower section of the door, and painted the words in bold strokes, R I C H P I G S, the paint thick enough that gravity stretched the letters downward.
Inside the home he surveyed the layout looking for items of value, eventually finding his way to the bedroom. There he found the usual items lying about on dresser tops and in the drawers. Nothing really surprised him anymore. Over the years he’d found just about everything imaginable hidden away in the personal hiding places of unsuspecting people. Today was no different. In what he believed to be the husband’s side of the bed, a small night table with drawer, gave up an adult novel, “The Lusty Librarian.” It looked pretty tame by today’s standards, but he placed it in the pillowcase anyway. Lester pictured the couple in their mid to late 50’s based on the clothing and items he was finding. He tried to leave the room as he found it, returning useless items to their original state and throwing the items of value into a stolen pillowcase as he’d done on previous occasions.
Somewhat disappointed in what he’d found he decided it was time to create some controversy. He returned to the back porch, deposited the half full pillowcase alongside his backpack, and walked through the house looking for an ideal wall to paint more graffiti. The house was a split with a main floor, a half flight of stairs going both up and down. He’d explored everywhere but the lower level that appeared to be only partially finished. The thought of a gun case pushed him lower into the home, thinking that some more handguns would be easy to sell or keep for his own amusement. A laundry area had been somewhat finished as he descended the stairs, located on the right hand side, with bi-fold doors hiding the washer and dryer that were in a stacked configuration. Another matching bi-fold covered an empty space to the right, with a couple of shelves upon which detergent and fabric softener sat, bits of clothing cut into squares filled a bucket, apparently to be used as rags. Some dirty clothing littered the bare floor, but no gun cabinet or safe. The intruder determined that there was nothing of significance in the basement and was about to return to the main floor when he heard a key in the front door deadbolt.
He considered running up the stairs and out the back door but the front entrance was so close to the stairs that a confrontation was bound to happen. Lester pulled the gun from his right pocket and the pepper spray from his left and armed each hand with a means of escape, if necessary. His stomach was doing flip-flops. In all the years of robbing people he had never had to deal with a victim face to face and he didn’t want to start now. Retreating to the laundry area, he opened the bi-fold quietly, hearing the key now enter the locked door handle. He stepped into the empty space below the shelves, and pulled the bi-folds closed, hiding himself and the washer and dryer. He knelt and waited, being able to see through the horizontal slats that made up the central portion of the sectional doors. His breathing increased and he realized there was a very real possibility that he would hyperventilate. The thief momentarily closed his eyes and tried to calm his fight or flight response that was screaming for him to fly. Movement could be heard on the floor just up the first few stairs.
“No speaking, just walking. Whoever it is they must be alone,” he thought.
The gun felt cold in his palm, but there was no doubt he knew how to use it, and the pepper spray, damn…, the pepper spray! He had meant to test it that morning before heading out, but had forgotten in the rush to get this job over with. Hopefully it would function normally. The gun really had to be a last resort, but he could not allow anyone to identify him regardless of the cost.
More movement, then the delicate sound of scraping on the hardwood floor above, followed by a dog whining. “Oh no, this can’t be happening!” he thought, trying desperately to keep from peeing his pants. He could hear the dog moving about, growling lowly, panting and letting out the occasional little bark. At least it didn’t sound like a big dog; perhaps he’d be able to handle it if it were pint sized.
“Rascal, what are you doing in there? Come here, come to mommy,” a woman could be heard saying.
“Maybe she’ll go shopping or something before she notices what’s going on,” Lester thought. Then he realized that when she went from the kitchen to the car, it will be obvious that they’d been broken into. “Oh please, just go into your bedroom, close the door and have a nap.”
The dog continued to run about on the main floor, making some disturbing sounds but not going into full pursuit mode. “Rascal, for heaven’s sake, come to mommy. Wanna treat, wanna treat? Mommy's got a treat for you. Come on boy, come and get it,” she said, trying to convince the animal to join her on the upper level.
“What is she doing up there?”
He listened ever so closely for anything that would give him a clue. Nothing came, other than her footsteps directly above him and the sound of the dog finally joining her for his treat.
“Good boy, good boy,” she exclaimed, in a strange baby like voice.
Whatever she was doing, the noises he was hearing drifting down from the upper level led him to believe that she was going from room to room. But why, and finally he could hear her making her way down the upper stairs, stopping briefly on the main level. He readied the spray and the gun, his left foot flat on the floor and his right knee down, foot back, ready to push him forward in an attack posture. The sound of her steps could be heard coming down the stairs directly at him, the dog leading the way. He held his breath, suddenly realizing that he needed something to disguise his face. On the floor scattered among the few dirty clothing items was a pair of women’s underwear. He looked for something more suitable but there was no time, it would be a second before the dog was at the door. He moved the spray to the right hand, along with the gun, holding them awkwardly while he stretched the granny panties over his head, leaving one eye exposed so he could see where he was shooting or running. The spray was quickly returned to the left hand and he assumed the previous posture again.
“Rascal, what has gotten into you today? You little monster,” she teasingly said.
The dog stopped at the door behind which he knelt. He could see the mutt through the slats in the dim light of the basement. Rascal tilted his head and lifted his nose into the air, letting out a bark before moving to the door, and smelling along the small gap at the bottom.
“Rascal, I know what’s in there, and no, you can’t chew up another pair of mommy’s panties. You’ve already ruined two pair this week.”
He could now see the slender woman standing behind the dog, a laundry basket held with one hand, pressing the edge of the basket against her hip to hold it in place. “Come on, get out of the way so I can get this stuff in the wash,” she insisted.
Lester slowly moved his position as far to his left as possible without making a sound. He kept his eyes on the woman and could see her set the basket down to her right and reach for the bi-fold handle that would uncover the appliances. He tried to make himself invisible, lowering himself as close to the floor as possible, without losing his ability to strike. Suddenly the door slid open, exposing the washer and dryer, but leaving him somewhat in the dark. Rascal was protesting loudly now and the woman continued to explain why he couldn’t get at her panties.
“If only she knew.” He couldn’t help but find some humor in what this must look like from the dog’s perspective.
The panty covered thief held his breath, watching her load the washer inches away from the gun pointed at her, just behind the closed door. Suddenly, the woman reached through the narrow opening, to the side of the dryer, in an effort to pull the detergent from the shelf above Lester. Her elbow was mere inches from his shoulder but he remained stone still, she was unable to reach, and she retracted her arm, pushing the small dog out of the way with her foot in the same instant. He could see her body moving to his left, placing her directly in front of him, her hand reaching for the knob that would expose his hiding place. Never before had he felt so alive. Every muscle taut, nerves raw, his senses in overdrive and his fingers tight against the triggers. Rascal continued to whine and yap, snapping at her slipper covered feet. She momentarily withdrew her hand from the knob and scooped up the small dog in her right, cuddling him close to her breast, and pulled the door open with her left.
Lester burst from the closet, panty on his head, screaming like a madman and pulling the trigger at point blank range on both the woman and Rascal. The woman fell backwards, landing in a heap in the laundry basket, the dog firmly pulled to her chest, pepper spray burning their eyes, nasal passages and mouth, making it difficult to breath but not keeping her from screaming at the top of her lungs. The sprayer leaned in closer to make sure he gave them both a liberal application of the pepper mixture, covering his own face with a bent inner arm in an attempt to avoid himself being overcome. The woman remained in the basket, her legs kicking wildly, hoping to take the attackers feet out from underneath him but being ineffective. With her free left hand she swung at Lester, her eyes squeezed shut, and unable to connect with any of the pathetic blows.
Satisfied that they were out of commission for a few minutes, he issued a verbal warning, “Don’t leave the basement for 10 minutes or I’ll come back and finish the job!” He repeated it a second time, screaming above her hysteria, to get his point across.
He ran up the stairs, also feeling some of the effects of the spray that had drifted into his own eyes. Fighting
