A beep on the monitor alerted Jeremy that something had changed; he looked up to see the bps signal dropping, now only registering 36. This is happening too fast, he’s slipping away faster than…. “Dad, I need you to know that I love you. I always have and I always will.” At that moment a miraculous thing happened, Jeremy didn’t know if it was his father speaking back to him in the only way he could, or just the muscles reacting to death as one finally gives in, but there was a very distinct, knowing squeeze of Jeremy’s hand, the assurance that a son needs to carry on, and then he was gone. The blue signal on the monitor flat-lined, and a steady beep sounded the end of a remarkable life.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lester bolted upright, sweat dripping from his nose and chin, his hands clenched together in a balled up fist, a cluster of bedding squeezed tightly between them. Drawn from his murderous dream too quickly, he’d literally held the fate of Virginia May in his hands, and now it was lost. His nights, over the many years since she’d left him, were filled with such dreams, but they teased him, never completing the act whether malicious or sexual. He kicked the covers off and lay back on the cool sheets, letting his heart rate return to normal as he thought of the things that he needed to accomplish before he returned to his bed. The phone call he’d had with Felix the day before still troubled him.
“What an arrogant jerk,” he thought. “I’m done with the whole damn thing if that five grand isn’t in the mailbox this morning!”
The thought of which gave him the energy to rise from the comfortable bed and throw on some shorts so he could check for the money. The walk down the path to the mailbox was a beautiful one this time of the morning. The sun glistened off the dew that covered everything, a pair of hummingbirds hovered over some honeysuckle that lined the drive and lead to the modest farm home. A mailbox sat at the end of the drive, weeds lined the ditch and were on the verge of consuming the box. Lester flipped down the front door and peered inside. A manila envelope was stuffed into the enclosure, folded over on itself with nothing written on the outside, but he knew it was for him. He pulled the parcel out and bounced it lightly in his hand.
“Looks like I’m still employed,” he said, as he strolled back up the dirt path, thinking of what mischief he might cause today.
The parcel contained the $5000 he had requested, 250 well-worn $20’s stacked and bundled, with a green rubber band holding them together. However, there were no directions, instructions or pictures to compliment the money and no indication of what they wanted done next. Lester assumed the plan would move forward as discussed with Felix, one more off the cuff 'outing', and then they would decide the next move based on the publics and authorities response. Today would be tricky; the police presence in the area near the Air Force Base would certainly be extensive. The people of the county had all but demanded the Sheriff Department increase their patrols, and some neighborhoods had instituted a watch program, civilians taking turns walking the streets to stop or report suspicious activities. Sheriff Lupo had warned these individuals to stay within the laws and only carry firearms if a permit was issued, but Lester knew better, every one of them would be packing, increasing the risk to him and them.
He had spent a couple of hours drinking coffee and sizing up possible targets while looking over the map pinned to the wall in his cloaked office. The pictures, that covered a portion of the wall, brought back some adrenalin filled memories that fueled his desire for more. Unbeknownst to Blanche, she would be the subject of his next photo shoot, but there was much to be done before he could have his fun with her. A house on Pine Breeze Circle caught his eye, much like the others, it had access from a green belt and very quiet. The officers investigating the previous crimes would be looking for another nighttime caper. If he acted during the day maybe he could shake them up and prove that he was more than a one-dimensional criminal. It had been a while since he'd worked during the day, he would want to blend in, the van would be out, too many watchful eyes and people were already on the alert. The backpack was ready to go, with one new item, thanks to the most recent couple and their lack of security. A.38 Special was added to the pack, the thief telling himself it would only be used in self-defense and not as an offensive weapon.
Lester wore a long sleeved plaid shirt, his trademark black jeans, and a new pair of Nike's with the bottom of each shoe altered as before. He exited the back of his country home, a helmet with dark visor on his head, the backpack secured over his shoulders and clipped at his midsection. From the barn he pulled a Yamaha 350 cc dirt bike that he'd used as a youth, racing the MX circuit, to the thrill of his father. He'd kept the bike in good running order and licensed for just such occasions, besides he still loved the feeling of the wind rushing by and the sense of power that could be unleashed with a simple twist of his wrist. He avoided the main routes, taking as many back roads as possible, working his way around to access the house from the rear. As he hugged the corners, laying the bike almost to the ground, he remembered why he loved the sport so much and he couldn't help but smile. A couple of miles from the house he went off road, following the train tracks, riding just along the base where the brush had been cleared away. It was not unusual to see motorcycles traversing the sub-grade, so he felt safe in the decision to close the distance in this manner. When he was sure there was only a few hundred yards left he cut the power to the bike and coasted to a stop. From this location he could see the back of three homes, with fences dividing their property from the unoccupied beltway, but no obvious traffic in sight in any direction.
"Perfect," he thought.
He pushed the Yamaha until he found a suitable low spot in the ground that would provide an adequate hiding place and he laid the bike on its side. Kneeling in the fine powdered dirt he had just enough height to see over the brush and weeds. The back fence was wooden, with alternating slats that would provide footholds as he climbed the minimal obstacle. He debated taking the pack but needed too many of the items to leave it behind. The helmet sat atop the motorcycle hidden in the foliage.
Lester had no idea what to expect. What little research he could do showed a Mr. and Mrs. in the online phone book, but nothing further. He pressed his eye to a slit in the fence looking for a swing set or toys left lying on the grass, neither — good. If a dog was present it would already be going nuts and no barking was coming from the house. The home sat on a large lot with the next neighbor a good 80 yards away and only scrub brush between them. He pulled himself part way up the fence and looked into the windows in an effort to assess if the owners were home. Confident that he could get to the back door without being seen, he lifted himself to the crown of the fence, then rolled over landing on his feet, the backpack still in place. A large picture window dominated the back of the house, allowing him a perfect view into the kitchen and beyond, no movement and no people. From his pocket, he extracted a pair of latex gloves, and swapped those with the riding gloves he'd worn until now. The backdoor was dead bolted and the handle was locked. To the left of the large window, a cement slab dominated the yard, a portable fire pit in the center and lounge chairs surrounding it. A doorway led from this patio to what he suspected would be the garage. The handle of the door turned easily to the right and allowed him easy access.