no one had really noticed or cared that he had gone in, used the bathroom, and left.
Crouched behind the concrete in the parking lot he waited for the fireworks to begin. He didn’t have to wait long. When the first ‘Black Cat’ exploded, he had the attention of everyone in the diner and then the panic set in as 49 more went off in rapid succession. Bang, bang, bang! The sound echoing in the can, shooting shredded paper into the air. Parents scrambled to protect their children, people dove under chairs, and the huge Jasper pulled Blanche by the hand, half dragging — half carrying her from the diner. Lester knelt along the side of the concrete, hidden from the lighting that flooded the other half of the lot. He brought the.38 Special up in his right hand, supporting his arm with the left, pressing his left elbow into his bent left leg, his right knee ground into the pavement.
Jasper pushed the door open with his back, his hands wrapped around Blanche in an effort to shield her with his massive arms. Once free of the door, he pushed Blanche ahead in the direction of the Datsun, and then looked back into the diner to see if there was anyone else he could assist.
In that instant, the gunman had a stationary target, his back turned to him, the light of the diner illuminating Jasper. “Thank you God. Here you go, hero.”
He pulled the trigger only once, one final bang to complete the evening. The smoke from the barrel wafted into the air, recoil from the revolver brought the gun back a few inches before he rammed it back into his right front pocket. He didn’t need to stick around to see the aftermath; he knew the bullet had reached its target. The large man staggered, and then dropped, a split second after the slug left the barrel. Lester imagined him writhing about, swimming in his own blood, as he walked quickly, but with control back to the waiting van.
A smile crossed his lips, which led to a laugh, the sound of Blanche’s screams filling the stagnant night air.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
In his office, 'The Wolf' sat behind the expansive oak desk, cowboy boots crossed at the ankles under the seat, his chin rested snugly in his hands, elbows firmly against the desktop for support. A stack of files before him, the top one opened to his scrutinizing view. Four break-ins within the span of a couple of weeks, each with a degree of escalation that was without question, the work of one man. His office had been working around the clock, deputies forgoing their days off, conducting interviews, even going door to door in the rural areas trying to drum up any possible leads. Forensics, led by Ricky Dean, were doing their best with the crime scenes and firing information as they assimilated it back to the Sheriff.
The latest incident troubled Lupo. His witness, although pepper sprayed, was sure she had seen a gun in the assailant’s hand.
“You don’t take a gun to a break-in unless you’re willing to use it”, he thought, reading through the final report one more time.
Arlene stuck her head in the door of his office, “Sheriff, did you even go home last night? You’re going to kill yourself if you don’t start eating and getting some sleep. This office can’t run the way it needs to it you’re in the hospital.”
“You’re sounding more like my wife than my secretary. I caught a few hours on the couch, I’ll be okay,” the stubborn man responded.
“Well, you look a mess, if you ask me, you should at least grab a shower and a clean shirt. Did you see anything on that shooting over at The Dixie Diner? Not our jurisdiction but thought you might want to hear about it.”
“Yeah, I caught that over the scanner, some big black guy shot, no apparent motive and no suspects. I’ve got enough to worry about, I’ll let the police department take care of that one,” the Sheriff grumbled, returning his concentration to the papers before him.
“Any possibility it’s connected to our case?” Arlene asked.
“Not likely. Wrong part of town, probably a drug deal gone wrong or a payback shooting,” he responded, again trying to get his focus back to his own case and dismissing his secretary without saying a word. She turned to walk away, but he called after her, “Hey Arlene, do me a favor and send Deputy Guest in here when she shows up will ya?”
“Sure Sheriff, no problem.”
Officer Guest arrived twenty minutes later, with Otis in tow, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth and his tail curled up over his rear end, swinging happily side-to-side. The big shepherd tugged at the leash when he saw the Sheriff.
“Come here you knucklehead. Come here Otis,” Sheriff Lupo called, taking the big dog between his hands and rubbing his neck and ears. Otis responded by extending his long tongue in an attempt to lick the Sheriff’s face. “You being a good boy, huh, you gonna catch the bad guy?”
“You wanted to see me?” Guest inquired.
“Yeah, a friend of mine that teaches over at the University wanted me to speak to one of her classes, but with this investigation ongoing, I just can’t free up any time. I’d like you to take my spot and address the class on my behalf.”
“Me. Why me? I’m no speaker. What would I say? I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Why don’t you send Breland, he likes to talk.”
“I’ve already made up my mind and you can take Otis with you. You’ll need to be there tomorrow morning and tell Mrs. Wild I said hello. Arlene will give you the particulars and don’t screw up. I don’t care if you talk about this stalker investigation but you know what’s classified and what’s not. Use your head. You’re smart. That’s why you’re going and Breland is not,” the Sheriff instructed his youngest recruit.
“Just use your head,” she said, under her breath, on the way to Arlene’s desk. “Just wonderful. Just absolutely wonderful!”
“What was that Deputy Guest?” Arlene asked.
“Oh, the Sheriff wants me to cover his butt tomorrow over at the University, some speaking assignment. You got the location and time?”
“Sure do,” handing a slip of paper to the young officer. “It’ll be fine. Good looks, a way with people, eager to please,” she said petting Otis on the head. “And of course you’ve got some good qualities too Natalie, so don’t sweat it.”
“You’re too kind, thanks. I guess Otis and I will hit that section out by the river this morning, bunch of little farms and country homes. Thought we’d do some more interviews and see if the folks out that way know anybody with a bike that matches the description Deputy Breland gave us.”
“You be careful out there and report in regularly, okay?”
“I got Otis here, he’ll take care of me,” Natalie said, feeling her K-9 friend rubbing his side along her lower thigh.
Deputy Guest, with Otis, parked their unit just off of Knight Academy Road in the northeast section of the county. A number of side roads led off of this main blacktop that accessed small acreages, farms and country homes. Her intent was to walk as many of these rural subsidiaries as she could fit into the day, interviewing the locals, hoping for a lucky break.
With only a short time under her belt with the Sheriff’s office, she had learned that the work was 95 % blood, sweat and tears and 5 % luck. Today she knew that the same would hold true. Otis’ excitement showed as they started their walk to the first hidden driveway. Natalie knew it was bad form to let him just run, but on these long, hot walks, with only a few homes in a one mile stretch, she let him off the leash so he could explore and work his talented snout.
The young officer clicked the mic on her shoulder and checked in with headquarters, giving her location and intent, confirming that she’d report in at the end of each dirt road. Her companion zigzagged in and out of the burrow pit on either side of the road, his nose locked to the ground.
“Otis come!” she commanded. No response from the dog, but she could see him stopped in the ditch, tail wagging. “Otis come!” she again commanded. Otis pounced forward into the brush and a half dozen grouse lifted into the air, wings flapping wildly as their bodies wobbled through the air, landing in the same ditch a few hundred
