“She still here? Thought she would be out for the night.”
“You really are clueless aren’t you Lester. Wish I had time to explain it all to you but some other time. Oh wait a minute, you won’t have another time, will you?” and he laughed, mocking him. “Let’s go talk to Bev.”
The two walked up the stairs, Lester leading the way, the 32 pointed at his back. Once in the bedroom Felix turned on the main light, illuminating Beverly sitting up in the bed, a red rubber ball in her mouth attached to a black strap pulled around her head. She was silent, saliva dripped from her chin, a look of wild panic in her eyes. Her hands and feet were bound with plastic, pull-tight strips with a towel between the skin and plastic as not to leave any marks. She grunted ever so softly, trying to get enough air without choking.
“See how I’ve got her all wrapped up for you tonight. Saved you the trouble of doing it yourself. We really did consider bringing you in at one point and letting you ‘off’ the fatty on your own but you were just one more loose end we had to take care of. You know, give us peace of mind so we could sleep better at night. You’ll go to your grave knowing you served a higher purpose.”
“You really are a cold, heartless son of a bitch aren’t you?” Lester asked.
“Yes, I’d have to agree with you there but you left out rich; a rich, cold, heartless son of a bitch. Kind of has a ring to it. What do you think?” He did like to remain upbeat even in the face of crisis.
“Well, Bev dear, I’m going to need your help with this next part. If you’ll cooperate I promise I’ll make it quick for you. Believe me you’ll thank me rather than enduring the opposite.” He looked into her eyes and had a fleeting bit of compassion for the woman that was quickly replaced with dollar signs. No mercy tonight, cold hard cash would rule the day.
“Lester if you would be so kind as to stand just there at the end of the bed. Perfect, I’d hate to have you move around too much. Could get messy if Bev here has to pump the entire clip into you.” He looked back at Bev briefly. “Oh, don’t worry my dear, I’ll help you aim but don’t piss me off or I’ll put the first slug through your scheming little brain. Do you understand?” He looked back at her, she did not move.
Again he said with more authority, “Do you understand Beverly?”
She immediately shook her head in agreement, tears spilling down her face and on the sheets covering her body.
“Fine. Lester, don’t get any stupid ideas, trust me this is not my first ‘outing,’” he said, drawing Lester’s Beretta from his waist with his left hand and leveling it at The Stalker’s head. This could get very messy, very fast, so do as you’re told!”
Lester stood motionless at the end of the bed, the edge of the mattress just above the height of his knee. With all the concentration he could muster he brought his right foot up, bringing his leg to a 90-degree angle, allowing him to almost reach his calf. He stood motionless like that for the time being, confirming that Felix could not see what he was doing. For all visual purposes he was still standing with both feet on the floor, his balance perfect and his concentration precise.
“Okay Bev, this is the tricky part, I’m going to undo your hands but you have to promise me that you will not fight or I’ll drill you with this baby,” he said, still holding the 9mm in his left hand and placing the muzzle against her head.
Laying the 32 cal. aside momentarily, he cut the strap that held her wrists, allowing her hands to spring free and rest in her lap. Felix sat on the bed next to her, wrapped his left arm around her shoulder and aimed Lester’s gun directly at her left temple. With the right, he retrieved the longer, silenced 32, forcing her to bring her hand up to hold the grip on her own pistol. He carefully watched Lester with his peripheral vision while instructing Bev on what he wanted her to do.
“I’m going to hold this for you so you don’t miss and just squeeze off a couple rounds. He’s just a few feet away.” He quickly looked back at Lester to make sure he was not moving. He was not. “Okay, let’s give this a try, shall we gang.”
In that very moment Lester saw it in Bev’s eyes and knew it was now or never. She pushed with all the energy she had, forcing Felix off the mattress, accidentally firing the 32 at Lester standing at the end of the bed. The round found its mark, ripping through his lower right abdomen but blasting cleanly through the flesh, not hitting any bones or vital organs. Felix ripped the pistol away from Bev and in that brief struggle gave Lester the second he needed to respond. Reaching his right calf he slid the pant leg up enough to pull the 7-inch blade from the sheath, which was taped to his calf, handle end down. Felix looked up as Lester released the blade, could see it tumbling toward him but there was no time. He fired a wild shot into the side of the bed then fell back, the hunting knife buried in his skull. It had entered through his right eye, crushed the orbit, and lodged the tip deeply within Felix’s visual cortex at the back of his head. He was dead before he hit the ground.
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.
CHAPTER THIRTY
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
