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Deadly Interest - Undedited beginning
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Deadly Interest - Undedited beginning For millennia in these mountains and valleys, just like tonight, the canvass of sky above was painted with a magnificence that inspired awe and invoked serenity in its beauty. But the dusk wasn’t fooled, for the air hung still, as if the cautious evening held its breath, issuing a silent warning for the meek to tread carefully or experience the death the dark hunters would surely bring. The blood lust dance of mosquitoes signaled the start of the feastivities. On this night many things would cease to exist, no different from any other night, however included right here, amongst the natural order of predator and prey, the most unnatural killing would occur, human murder. Sitting on the closed trunk of a dusty tan rented Ford Escort, which had been hidden through most of the day under low boughs of a thick fir, was a shadowy figure silent in contemplation. All the preparations and physical labor the day had brought, should have the newest applicant into histories great dark hall of infamy exhausted. The thoughts of the impending event however, have kept the adrenaline pumping overtime like any first murder would. Rethinking all the details, making absolutely sure nothing was overlooked (the things you can learn on the discovery channel), the killer-in-waiting now felt more confident and relaxed. Now came the wait. There was still time to stop this. Doubt crept in. Pressing play on the Sony Diskman and listening to the reassuring words in the headphones offered by Sting and the Police for the 38th time this week: Once that you’ve decided on a killing, You first must make a stone of your heart. And if you find that your hands are still willing, You can turn a murder into art. The doubt faded away….. Chapter Cool water cascades down his back, rinsing away the salty sweat and lowering his overheated body temperature. He could almost feel his body absorbing the refreshing spray, replenishing the 6 pounds of water he just perspired away over the last two hours. Jaron Stone is known to be the hardest playing, extremely physical, most competitive, and talented center in the NBA. He also has a street ball mentality on the floor, and this attitude gets him in trouble from time to time. On the court he is a force to be reckoned with, a tremendous presence even among the best ballers in the world, exactly what the organization he plays for wants, and pays for. Off the court he is everything the front office doesn’t want. Jaron is no role model. He is master of most habits considered unsavory and borderline illegal. His assigned personal assistant/trainer Jeff Helmick, is really damage control, and controlling “the 60 million dollar man” is more like “mission impossible”. Now switching the pulsating water on warm to loosen up muscles that were sure to tighten, he gave thought to what his coach had said about handling the media, which could easily be summed up by saying keep your mouth shut. “Well hell”, Jaron thought. “I don’t remember putting media relations on my resume”. He eventually told his coach he will try to tone down during news interviews. Reporters would undoubtedly be waiting before he could even step into his boxers, because of tonight’s important win. Ratings are more important than privacy, and the consumers of basketball are the bearers of the burden of his recently renegotiated 60 million dollar contract. The thought of the redundant annoying questions was doing wonders to ruin the soothing his shower massage should be providing. In disgust Jaron turned off the water and turned his thoughts to getting out of here and taking his new ride home and then soaking in his own sauna. He gathered his things and approached his locker. Jaron’s shadow was there waiting to go over the routine post game mini physical exam and to hand him his jewelry when he finished dressing, which now looked like it was going to be delayed tonight with the approaching cameras. “Damn straight they are coming to talk with me first, showing me the respect I deserve”, he said to Jeff. With reporters and cameras heading in his direction, Jaron got off the bench and stood tall, he felt he more powerful and domineering, not to mention more attractive in this pose. Might as well let them see the whole package they are paying for he thought. Jaron is in top condition for a person his size. At 7’ 1’’ and 262 pounds he is an amazing example of genetics and insane physical training, and he knew it. “Hand me my necklace dawg”, he said to Jeff. “I fell all naked”. “News flash, you are”, said Jeff. “Personally I don’t think that necklace has quite the coverage your shirt does but that’s your call”. “You know what its all about, now make space and none of your groans or tortured faces during my interview”. The lights from the 3 cameras allowed into the locker room were nearly blinding. As a convenience to the athletes, the front office insists that all the reporters travel together in a group to each interview. The reporters have to agree on the most important targets, and their first stop is Jaron Stone. Jaron recognized the reporters as they walked toward him. None of the majors came for this one, just some of the local affiliates. “Guess I don’t have to be on my best behavior”, he thought. “Everyone in this town already knows me too well.” “Go ahead Traci, your up first”, said one of the reporters. “Ok, start rolling…how are we looking?” said Traci. “Hang on, have to adjust for the extra camera lights, ……sec….ok, we are good to go” said Traci’s cameraman. “Hi, Mr. Stone, Traci Burns with Channel 9 KCLA” the female reporter stated. “No shit, like I don’t know you” Jaron thought. She is suspected of giving the infamous “NBA gets Phallicsized” information, in which, high profile players genitals where compared in some sleazy tabloid. Not sure who did the research to confirm the article but it was found to be fairly accurate, so no one could sue the rag magazine that published it. However, it led to still more controversy of athlete’s rights of privacy and women’s equal employment rights, allowing them in the locker room. “Since coming to this team last year, it now seems that your presence is turning this team back into the kind of winner this city is used to seeing. Congratulations for clinching a playoff birth tonight. Do you think that the rest of the team has raised their level of play to match yours? Also, do you feel that you have taken on the leadership role for this team?” ask reporter Burns. “To answer the first part of your question, I think most of the team is playing harder than last year because everyone feels we have a chance to win a championship this year. My coming to this team at the end of last year gave them encouragement to play for the win, not the draft pick, and I wish someone could step up and match my level of play. I didn’t see any other triple doubles tonight. On the leadership thing, no way that’s happening. I work hard, and get into my own zone of play. I make things happen out on the court but I don’t make friends while I do it.” Jaron looked to the next reporter, Traci’s interview was over. “Hi, Mr. Stone, I’m Eric Winton from the local KNBS 4 news. With your recently negotiated $60 million dollar, 9 year contract, some say you might as well be this franchise’s new ownership. How do these comments make you feel and how do you think some of the other members, especially the veterans, feel about the amount your getting paid. Jaron thought “What a lame ass question, here we just clinched and this nerd is asking about last months news.” “Look, your beating an empty hornets nest. The team is getting what they are paying for from me. They agreed to pay me, no one was holding a gun to their heads when they signed my contract.” Jaron glanced over and caught the tail end of Jeff’s grimace. “The other players can step up and get theirs too, that’s not my business.” Jaron replied. “Yes, that’s true,” said Eric, “but budget constraints make it so your team cant afford more quality players with the salary rate your receiving.” “You don’t quite have all your facts right, my contract was back loaded so that it freed up money now. It may become a problem for the team later on but that was their choice. I was lucky enough to have an agent that found a program outside of this organization that could get me some of my money now, so I took the offer the team made. I had other teams making me similar offers, but I stayed here. I don’t feel bad about taking the money.” Said Jaron. Two down, one to go he thought, as he turned to the last reporter. “Peter Foster, with Channel 7 KSBC”, the final reporter stated. “Congratulations Jaron on the win tonight and another great personal performance. The league may not appreciate your physical play style, with them bestowing you with more fines this year than any other player in the history of the NBA, eclipsing even your often compared Dennis Rodman, however your success on the hardwood cant be denied.” “Dennis always worked harder than anyone else on the court when he played so I don’t really mind being compared to him, but I wont be showing up for my wedding in a dress. What’s your question Pete?” said Jaron somewhat impatiently ignoring the compliments. “With your early clinching, it has yet to be determined what team you will play in the first round of the playoffs. Unless there are some unforeseen losses in the closing games this season you will have home team advantage, is there any concern in who you may be playing, and how might you change your game in accordance with who you may be playing?” asked reporter Foster. “There will be no unforeseen losses, we will have home team advantage, so be ready to buy your tickets when they go on sale. It doesn’t matter to me who we play in the playoffs. As I have demonstrated all season long I will control the middle, get boards and score points, so what do you really want me to change about that?” “Now if you would be so kind as to let me get dressed and out of here, I have a hot date with my new love.” Answered Jaron. “Oh anyone we may know?” chimed in Traci Burns, fishing for the scoop. “Does your new love have a name?” “Yeah” said Jaron with a wide grin, “Mercedes is her name, Mercedes McFaren”. Traci scribbled the name down smiling to herself thinking scoop, and Pete shook his head approvingly at Jaron and condescendingly at Traci. Pete decided to let her do the research to find out her scoop was a coupe. With that the media drifted towards their next target, Jaron turned towards his personal assistant and asked “Well? Anything you need to go run and report?” Jeff just shook his head. Then handed Jaron the rest of his jewelry. “I will be over in the morning for conditioning after your Stern interview, please answer your door. Don’t make me break in again.” Jaron laughed slightly and said, “You just better hope I don’t shoot your smirking ass when you come around playing a criminal.” Chapter Hurrying into the empty hotel elevator, Dale’s pent emotions have been racing at a fever pitch all day long and he needed to release. He clinched both his hands and raised them towards the ceiling, shaking them in a victory cheer, Dale jumped and screamed something that resembled RAHR and YEAH strung together. This process was almost preordained, if he actually gave it thought, he would say this was a consciously planned activity, it was in truth a spontaneous reaction determined by Dales innate nature, much like an wolf howls after a successful hunt. Making certain no traces of what, if seen, would have been an embarrassing moment, he straightened himself and flattened his tie, because who knows who will be on the opposite side of the door when it opened. He does not want to tarnish that highly polished image he works so hard to project. Briskly entering his richly appointed Hyatt Regency suite, Dale Tillberry drops his Hallaburton attaché on the bed, undoes his tie and lays it over the plush high-back chair. He then moves to open his curtains to lighten the darkened room to match his bright mood. He then remembered it was already dark outside. Looking out his hotel window, unconscious of his panoramic view of the river and dramatically lit Wrigley building, Dale Tilberry said, “Damn, today was a great day”, to himself. It wasn’t a great day because of its picturesque perfection. In fact it was overcast and unseasonably cold for May. The day was great due to a culmination of months of hard work paying off. After years of working on a multitude of different business plans, one is finally working and is making him rich. His today was Derrick Ramsey of the Chicago Bulls, and as Dale is much like the bloodhound on a money trail, it has led him here. With the conclusion of the days business Dale was a little more than $180,000 dollars richer. “I think a little nostalgic fun seems to be in order”, he said still looking out the window and finally focusing on what was outside. Tonight’s celebration would commence in one of his favorite cities, Chicago. break In his youth he had often taken the old South Shore Railroad with his mother for a day of shopping, from where he had grown up in South Bend Indiana. He was never interested in shopping per se, Dale loved going to Chicago to marvel at the sheer number of people and the huge buildings. This was life exemplified. There was an electric feeling for him every time he went to the big city. The summer before starting college he boarded that very same train, paying his $3.10 fare and stowing his one duffel bag of clothes, and lived precariously for the next 3 months in Chicago in the predominantly German near east side neighborhood. This brief stay, in the heart of the inner city, taught Dale a great deal about living life as well as the disparity of those that have given up on their desire to live it in any fullness. The first week in Chicago that summer, Dale met Keefer. Keefer used to be on the top of the world, almost literally, since he was a window washer on some of the tallest buildings in the world. Window washers in “The Windy City” made a fortune, their union made sure of that. He was very lucky to know someone that could get him in the union so young, making the kind of money many lifelong employees would love to be making, unfortunately at the tender young age of 22 Keefer had to have open heart surgery, due to a recently diagnosed defect. The union hired physicians would no longer allow him to work with this condition for insurance reasons. In the next two months following his surgery that should have been considered recovery, Dale saw depression kill Keefer surer than his flawed heart ever would. It only took two more years of alcohol, smoking and in truth a lack of desire to live, to send Keefer to his early exit from life’s journey. While Keefer was on the outside looking in, Dale had the exact opposite perspective. He worked for a lighting maintenance company with contracts on some of the same buildings that Keefer had cleaned the windows for. Dale was on the inside. He worked in the plush offices, international headquarters, and in high power meeting rooms that looked like something from a James Bond movie. He saw the quality of life these highly successful, driven business people lived. These lavish lifestyles he observed at this pivotal, persona molding point in his youthful life, along with the knowledge of what pitfalls belied the unmotivated, did more to shape Dale’s future life than anything else. break Dale Tilberry, the epitome of the business professional, was readying himself for a little self-indulgence, which for him was truly a rare occurrence. Dale went to extreme lengths to conform to all adherences of professional decorum. “From suits to syntax” he often jested with those he confided in. Immaculately dressed, regularly scheduled hair styling and manicures, and personal improvement nightstand reading was the norm. So going out in public without being enshrouded in a Cordalioni suit, bally shoes on his feet, and Zanetti tie around his neck (which generally gave him headaches but he suffered through in the name of progress), was a real letting-down of the proverbial hair. His knew style and could afford it, and he had to stay on their level to maintain his confidence and their respect. This evening was comfort and casual, no business anticipated. He traveled with his assistant, Patricia Hughes, during times of major networking and contract signings. He dialed her room, “Hey Trishster, you almost ready?” She could always count on some quirky pet terms of endearment immediately follow a deal closing. He was almost always no-nonsense and would refer to her as Ms. Hughes in anyone else’s presence. Patricia was smart, and knew more about Dale than Dale knew about himself. Making money made Dale giddy. She so much admired his drive and professional treatment directed towards her, she felt she could forgive this minor personality transgression, and chuckled openly into the phone, “Just about, I will meet you in 10 minutes?” Not much passed Dales perusal “Sure 10’s fine, what so funny?” Dale asked. “You ‘Dalester’, now let me get finished. Reconfirming we are not meeting with anyone, or I will have to change again and it will be more like 15 minutes” Patricia said. “Casual, ahem ‘Ms Hughes’, no tonight” he said impetuously. One of the many reasons Dale had her travel with him to all serious meetings was her remarkable looks. Natural auburn glossy silken hair, brilliant green eyes, a great sallow complexion, combined with a figure that stopped conversations in their tracks, all of which kept the unbalanced and off their guard. This gave Dale the upper hand during negations, however he sometimes had to remind them about the real business at hand. A multitude of other reasons were tied to her amazing drive and competence in all her responsibilities. Patricia was an integral part of his success and he knew it. Dale sometimes pondered whether his success was dependant upon her involvement, which kind of annoyed him for doubting his own professional prowess. He always concluded he was lucky to have her around, and told himself not to think about it further, which laying in some motel, the evening of a deal closing, he replayed the events of the day, he would eventually revisit the same thoughts anyway, and always drew the same conclusion. During draft parties, she would add the necessary attention needed to attract the crowd for the pitchman, Dale, to explain his oh so beneficial program to the ogling throngs. Agents and athletes would listen a little longer than they would without her being there, and then a few would even see the merit of Dale’s proposal. Patricia would then take care of the following arrangements, and exchanging was no difficulty with her at Dale side. To Dale’s credit he never spoke about this use of her beauty, nor did he look at her longingly, she could tell. All women can. Patricia didn’t fret from this lack of affection, she was justly confident in her abilities, and appearance. If she saw a growing physical desire expressed by Dale she would straighten out her boss immediately, without compulsion, telling him to focus on business, and if that didn’t work to dissuade him, she would give notice that she would be quitting based on principle. She didn’t work so hard just to be an inefficient eye candy fluff chick. She truly was an integral and important part of this small company, besides, Dale would do nothing to compromise his business, he was so purely professional. break Patricia hung up the phone, agreeing to meet in 10 minutes, which she knew meant outside the lobby. Even though Dale got so excited about making money, he didn’t seem to care much about it once he obtained it. After every successful recent deal closing she knew to expect a substantial bonus in her next paycheck along with an e-mail updating her clothing expense ledger. Dale saw to it that she dressed for success by keeping her flush in the newest fashions. There are a limited number of high profile agents to pitch and repetitive meetings were conducted with the same ones frequently. Woman’s business clothes are very recognizable, so he had Patricia name each outfit and note where and when it was worn in order to sport a new ensemble at each meeting with any particular . All this attention to detail emphasized Dale’s perfectionism over frugality. He wasn’t driven by greed as much as by a desire to win the game called business, and this fact made her feel the most comfortable about her chosen position, especially since she was on the starting lineup of the team. She returned to the task of readying herself for her evening out, with her normal efficient fervor that she had applied to just about every aspect of her life since she was about 10 years old. Always making every job look effortless, with swift, graceful, thoughtful movements Checking herself in the mirror, she dwelled on her chosen outfit. Its was hard not to consider what Dale’s opinion would be since he did pay for most of her clothing, but he rarely had anything but compliments. Patricia did have great fashion awareness. She chose a matching Charles Tyrwhitt cashmere roll neck shirt and cardigan, Giovanni black leather pants, and Versache stiletto boots also in black leather. “Good enough Trishster”, she said to herself. She applied an unusually light amount of Caleche, by atomizing the perfume into a spritz and then walking through the mist. This particular perfume was better applied in the morning, due to the unique quality of starting out smelling fresh and citrus sweet, fading to a flowery scent at midday and ending in a light powdery classy fragrance in the waning evening hours. This was the only perfume she brought with her and her shower removed her earlier dosage, so it would have to do. Giving her room a cursory glance to make sure everything was neatly in place, she then opened her dainty Cappopera Lions Heart handbag, stowed away her magnetic key card and headed downstairs to meet Dale. Chapter Nodding to the security guard that wont make in his lifetime what he will in single year, Jaron smiles, or maybe smirks, as he leaves the arena into the chained enclosure containing his baby. There she is…and for a moment nothing comes between Jaron and his black Mercedes SLR McLaren. A banging on the chain link fence brings him out of his auto-revered stupor. The fans were beaconing for autographs. “What a damn annoyance.” he said under his breath for delaying his departure in his sweetness, but he relented to their calling for two reasons. He could bring attention to himself leaving in his new car by making a visit to the fence first and more importantly so they wouldn’t throw anything or scratch his car leaving the open gate. Using the little charm he possessed, he buried his displeasure and headed toward the fence. There were about 20 people waiting and one other teammate signing. These were the real fans of basketball and a trip to the fence for autographs was the ultimate part of their game attending experience. Some, more likely than not, were from out of town and this was the highlight of their simple and brief vacation before they had to return to the drudgery of their daily jobs. Jaron took the items that people shoved through the links, which included programs, scrapes of paper, and napkins. Two people brought basketballs, one a with his father so they tossed the ball over the fence and he signed it and tossed it back over. The final person was someone he recognized, a sneaky little entrepreneur from many past visits to the signing spot. He also had a ball to be signed, which Jaron knew would be run directly back to his car, raced across town to his little dingy apartment, digitally imaged, and then posted for auction within probably 45 minutes. “Dude, whats my autograph worth nowadays?” Jaron asked the supposed fan. “What do you mean?” the e-bayer asked. “Wrong answer, next time be real and I’ll only charge you half what your getting paid from your auctions.” With that Jaron turned and left comfortable with the fact that the weasel would be back, sliding him a few bucks through the fence next time. Jaron lifted the divers side swing wing door and entered his baby, settled into the custom fitted carbon framed seat, powered her up and ever so slightly chirped the tires leaving the parking lot. The act was a little tease for him and little show for the fans. Her powerful demeanor would be more fully explored on the open road and palms already getting clammy, he couldn’t wait. “Where are my gloves?” he said to himself with eyes agleam. Chapter Dale already had the valet fetching the rental car. He and Patricia usually just took cabs in other cities, but since Dale knew the town well and he chose to drive himself around. Exiting the hotel’s revolving doors Patricia saw the car arriving and, smiled at Dale, observing his confidence in her timely arrival. “I see you already sent for the car. What would you do if I was late just once?” “Are you kidding? It’s not in your nature. As a matter of fact I think the fabric of our whole existence would unravel. You are the one constant in this whole world that keeps us spinning regularly around the sun. Your perfect timing, I’m sure, keeps the seasons coming just as they should year after year, you even make sure the spawning of sea turtles take place right on schedule.” Attempting to stifle a laugh Patricia responds “Ah the old overstated sarcasm, along with the entwining of reptilian sexual innuendos make for a sound reminder that I should never ask you any hypothetical questions into my personal demeanor.” “Oh now you know me better than that. It was meant purely as a compliment,” responded Dale grinning. “Now I’m going to show you a little of what formed my personal demeanor, lets go see what’s going on in my old neighborhood. You hungry?” “Yes, starving actually. The late signing pushed me way past my regular eating time.” She answered. “Well get ready for the worlds best burrito.” Dale drove the long more nostalgic way to Arrandas on the corner of Ashland and Division. He drove past the famous bars on Division, then further on past the infamous Caprini Green Apartments (Mayor Jane Burns declared she was going to live there for a month to prove that it could be cleaned up but only lasted 2 days). He continued west on Division and turned left on Ashland and found a place to park. Inside the restaurant, little seemed to have changed, it was almost as if time stood still. The Hispanic counter person, who was also the chef, gave you just enough attention to let you know to give your order. Then without a word he left, and went to work on your request, taking a whole steak and slicing it into strips and adding your desired burrito’s ingredients. The only sign of the progression of time was the music that used to be only Hispanic in nature was replace with a progressive radio station that was now playing a new Dido tune called Sand In My Shoes. Dale was obviously happy to be back in a place he called home, he felt a strange comfort here and had a great meal talking and joking with Patricia. Patricia was fun and uniquely wonderful company seemingly free of any concerns. She was a rarity, indeed. Rather than listening to herself complain about an issue, Patricia would analyze the problem, determine the best solution, and then apply that coarse of action. This enabled her to be much more productive in every aspect of her life, from doing mundane chores in her youth to her education that she excelled in. After graduating 4th in her class at Georgetown University, Patricia sent out many resumes and got more than the dribble of responses she had expected, since she didn’t continue on through the McDonough School of Business MBA program. The internship stints with the Washington Redskins and Hiatt, Riley, & Smith LLP Sports Management Company, along with her lofty grade point average, had attracted more opportunities than she expected. She passed on careers offerings that would make most recent graduates drool. Patricia felt eventually she would have , be embroiled with the costs of raising them, buy a home, and set up retirement plans, all of which is primarily contingent with a stable income, so if she were to take chances with her life, it would be best to do so earlier than later. “Trish why did you decided to come to work for me?” asked Dale. “ I know you talked with Marguerita in the office about all the other offers you had. Early when you started I didn’t want to bring it up, but I think we are on sound enough footing now, and I’m just curious.” “Well the hardest hurtle to overcome during this career choosing process was my parents, who just finished paying exorbitant amounts of money for their ’s education. With this considerable investment into my future, they felt they had a right to dictate its path. A real mistake was informing them about the call-backs I was receiving after sending out resumes. The responses thrilled my parents, and me as well, but they were more than a little taken back when I passed on offers from fortune 500 companies, that included nicely dependable salaries and major benefits. They were downright incessant that I was throwing away all these golden opportunities that they never had, to work with a small startup, high-risk company that didn’t offer a typically stable package of compensation. “Working for a promise is like voting for an independent candidate for President. It may sound idealistically good, but it is always a waste”, my father explained, trying to maintain his most diplomatic tone.” “I am a good judge of character. I guess you could say I accepted this position on intuition.” Patricia explained Dale sat back and reflected. He conclude with the thought that her intuition was in reality a high stakes game of chanced and that he would do his best to keep getting her the best odds. Patricia sighed contentedly and said, “Without a question, that was the worlds best burrito. I think in some abstract sense that it is the standard in which all burritos should be measured.” “Well said, Ms. Hughes, well put.” Stepping outside and looking east back towards downtown Dale said, “I used to have such a intimate connection with this city. I use to do the lighting work on most of the major buildings in its skyline, and I felt when I sat back and enjoyed Chicago’s majestic silhouette, that I played a significant role in its existence”. Without comment Patricia smiled and enjoyed what may still have been some of the vestiges of Dale’s former profession. Ending the moment Dale said “Lets to go make a splash in my old neighborhood-drinking hole Jeans Place.” Chapter Closing the center counsel, Jaron fit the gloves he had made to match his exclusive Silver Arrow custom leather interior. Stopping at the light before entering the northbound entrance to US 5 he spins through his CD changer to find Ludacris Word of Mouf and hits play. No need to crank the tunes, the volume adjusts to speed. The faster the car goes the louder the stereo gets. When he first purchased the car, the stereo usually remained silent. Jaron preferred to just listen to the engine work though the gears. Tonight he felt like doing a little more work, so he took the car off automatic. He set the car on manual shift-super sport setting. This way he could shift the car manually with buttons on the steering wheel, much the way racecars do. The SLR is a true high performance machine. The one statistic he couldn’t get out of his head is that the natural cruising speed for this car is 170 mphs. Most cars were set to cruise at 60 mph, and even the Porsche 911 naturally cruised at only 120mph. This car is made to drive fast and Jaron liked to accommodate. Rolling along this stretch of highway he had to keep his speed moderately close to the posted limits, since he had a rash of 3 recent speeding tickets and he wasn’t on a secluded enough road yet. Jaron’s mind wove in and out of lanes of thought as he cruised. Still thinking about the Ferrari Enzo he might have owned instead, the phone interview he promised to do at 7am that he dreaded, sweet women that knew their place, a trip to Vegas, back to tomorrows interview and what the dirt the interview was going to try to expose tomorrow morning, and sitting in his Jacuzzi sipping a Stoli on ice watching ESPN sports center were among his wanderings. Then the CD ended. Switching from the southern scene he selected some west coast flavor and found Xzibit Man Vs Machine and hit play. His exit, State Route 14 was next. Entering SR14 he punched the accelerator. She was capable of 0-60 in 3.7 seconds. He wished he knew how close to that figure he got. Hitting 59 mphs the rear spoiler adopted a 10 degree position, forcing the car down and giving better road contact. Within 30 seconds man and machine were flying down the straightest and flattest section of SR14 at 170 mph. He felt he owed it to his baby to get her to her naturally designed speed as often as possible; otherwise she was wasting her existence. Unfortunately road curves forced him to hit the overpowering fiber reinforced ceramic brakes, forcing him to bring the speed down sooner than he would have liked. The last leg of his trip home was actually the most fun. It was curvy and treacherous, his baby was best in the corners, and she would make the turn if you could stay in the seat. His private road up the mountain he purchased recently for 17 million, was redone for just under what he paid for his car. The former owners of the estate entitled “The Eagle’s Nest” owned 4 wheel drives and made the bumpy ride up, but that just wouldn’t do. Jaron leveled the incline up the mountain by having the road encircle it 3 times, got rid of the rocks, paved it smooth, and did the sensible thing by placing guardrails. He loved the physical rush in being crazy, but he wasn’t suicidal. Heading off the highway onto Sand Canyon Run he took the corners at a harried speed, a nighttime run was more to his liking with less cars on the road and you could see them sooner due to their oncoming headlights. Pushing the limits of control was necessary if he wanted to end up at the top with an adrenaline induced high. Slowing at the next turn he had to back off the speed since Trail Ridge Rd wasn’t in nearly as good shape as the previous road or his 2 mile driveway, he had already contacted his councilman to get this piece of county road improved. It might damage his baby and always created an unwanted respite in his excitement heading home. Finally reaching his private road he turned and stopped. Not to pick up his mail, nothing so mundane. Jeff his assistant would do that in the morning. Jaron stopped to prepare for the rush. He popped a nitro pill under his tongue, used to get heart attack patients blood flowing faster (do I really want that last line?). Said some comforting cajoling words to his baby Merecedes. Then he mashed the accelerator and rocketed forward up the winding trek skyward. This is worth ever penny of the $600,000.00 I spent, he thought. The turns made his muscle striated arms ache gripping the wheel. The backend hugged the road with a seemingly magical magnetic force. The steering guided him flawlessly where directed. The sideways G-forces were amazing. Most of the turns went left up and around the mountain. Racing toward a particularly sharp left turn, he hit the shift button on the wheel, downshifts and pulls hard on the wheel. A foot from the inner cliff at the apex of the turn, again preparing to floor the accelerator, his foot froze. The instant realization of what he was seeing stopped time, almost. Who knew the eternity of a single second could be jam packed with so many different emotions, life changing decisions, and reflective thoughts. The first few emotional milliseconds contained confusion, hesitation, comprehension, and fear. Once it was mentally confirmed that indeed there was an enormous boulder from an apparent rockslide sitting in his intended path, a course of action needed to be taken. The meaty part of this slow motion second, encapsulated the most milliseconds and actions that determined Jaron’s fate. A decision to do nothing would end in a head on impact with a large boulder traveling at a high rate of speed, which Jaron quickly dismissed as the proper course of action. About a third of the way through the second he concluded that quickly trying to make it past the object before him, then breaking with an inevitable side impact with the guardrail also slowing him down would be best. In response to this conclusion, the first action was in turning the wheel sharply to the right immediately avoiding the huge rock in front of him. Now heading straight for the guardrail he sharply turned the wheel to the left and then simultaneously mashed the breaks. The sudden deceleration caused the rear spoiler to raise and take a 65 degree angle to help act as an air break. The waning moments of this precious second precariously flittered by. Most were filled with angry thoughts of the impending impact being accompanied most assuredly with nauseating sound of his baby colliding with the guardrail. The backend started sliding around in complete compliance with the laws of inertia, the speed was still great and the damage would be substantial. Nothing else can be done he concluded and wondered why this was happening, he didn’t hear about any tremors or quakes that would cause a rockslide. Gripping the wheel he waited as this eternal second’s last grain of sand, cloaked now in hope, fell. On impact the innovative, highly technical, carbon fiber crash structure performed perfectly, absorbing the highest amount of impact ever designed. The airbags, which include the front airbag, side airbags and brand new knee airbags, deployed flawlessly. He was as snug as a bug in a rug; only the rug didn’t stop its lateral movement. The smooth aerodynamic undercarriage didn’t snag on the failed railing, it just skidded across metal creating a shower of sparks. As it turns out, his logic was flawed. He was tricked by a lack of knowledge. He had no knowledge the large boulder and rockslide was no act of nature, but caused by an ancient technique of placing dry wedges of wood in the cracks of a rock and getting them wet causing the wood to expand and the rock to separate. He had no knowledge that the guardrail at the precise point of impact was weakened by clever sabotage by loosing the soil with water around the support posts, looking like a natural run off erosion problem. His choices for him were prearrange. The evil engineer predicted his hasty ascent homeward and anticipated his athletic lightening quick reaction time in guiding him on the chosen path concluding at the precise point of guardrail impact. Unfortunately for Jaron, the correct choice was probably to go with the head on course of impact with the boulder and letting Mercedes’ exceptional safety designs work their magic. Now he was free falling with many random final thoughts buzzing in his soon to be crushed head, since there was, of course, no roof-deployed airbag to save him. Break The malevolent choreographer watched the events unfold according to design. The car didn’t explode on impact like in the movies, and actually that was good because it would bring unwanted attention. Neighbors weren’t close enough to hear the accident but they may see the flames from a distance. The sparks created by the car going over the guardrail was a nice touch however. They looked like little falling stars, how apropos. In the distance a sound could be heard. It was coming from the wreckage. “There is no way he could have lived through that”, the killer correctly thought. What was is then? It sounded like a phone ringing. No longer worried, the murderer now laughed out loud and thought, “Sorry Jaron is out, for good. Please leave a message and he wont get back with you.” Chapter Jeans Place hadn’t changed much, except for the name, which probably changed several times in the years since Dale lived in the neighbor. It was now called Tim’s Taproom. What was the difference he thought, the only motivating factors to come here was that it had cold beer, a TV, and was within stumbling distance of these customer’s homes. A few rickety tables and chairs, along with the stools at the bar were the extent of the seating. Torn, faded sports posters and burnt out beer advertising signage were the extent of the décor. Everything in the place was yellowed with years of cigarette smoke and smelled exactly like 2 decades of drunken defilement, swabbed down occasionally by a Lysol soaked mildewed mop, would. They chose the cleanest of the filthy tables to sit at. Dale looked at the few alcohol sodden soles sitting at the bar. There was no one he recognized or deemed dangerous. He went up and ordered two Old Styles, which was the only beer anyone drank in this neighborhood, everything else would be stale. Asking the hackneyed man behind the bar, who was most likely Tim, the proud owner of this establishment, about a few old friends from the area rewarded Dale with a suspicious icy stare followed by negative replies on all his inquisitions. Dale brought the beers back to the table. Outside the sound of screeching tires was heard, screaming, as they strained to maintain contact with the road they were bounding over. These sounds were followed closely by the flashing lights of the two blue and white police cruisers that were in hot pursuit of the fleeing car. Thirty seconds later the same car came racing the other direction, which happened to be the wrong way down the narrow one-way car lined street, and the cruisers had closed in. Additional forces arrived trapping the fleeing auto, forcing a noisy smoke filled, tire peeling stop. Dale and Patrica stood looking out the window, whereas the other patrons just glanced towards the commotion only to make sure the car wasn’t going to drive into the building and affect their ability to finish their drink. Three car doors flew open and the occupants took flight. One immediately decided his chances of winning his foot race to freedom was nonexistent, so he dropped to the ground after a few steps and extended his arms without anyone directing him to do so (obviously he had been acquainted with this procedure before). A second subject was knocked down at full gallop with a blind-sided body check and went down hard. The third, much more athletic and faster than his mates, streaked around the corner and the show was over. Sitting back down Patrica said “You bring me to all the nicest places. Looks like your old stomping grounds have taken a turn for the worse, since you have been gone”. “No, actually, everything is pretty much the same as when I lived here 20 years ago, which is why didn’t stay.” Dale responded. Patrica read a painful sorrow in his eyes, but was unable to determine if it was caused by some event that happened to him here willing him to leave, or if he was just displaying a despairing compassion for those who had to stay. He changed thoughts she observed because the look vanished. “We need to discuss potential targets for the upcoming NBA draft. As you know this is always tricky since the range of our cliental is never from the top few picks due to their ability to get quick cash through endorsements, and representation hasn’t been announced for most entering the draft. I have a list of the most probable candidates for our program. I am going to need you to call the ones I have highlighted and do the normal introduction and background surveys that I explained to you. In the past I have done these exclusively.” He paused. “I have come to the conclusion that I need to delegate you more responsibility. You know the program sufficiently to answer any concerns and sell the merits of our service. We have been doing well with these insured payroll advance loans, but I think we can do better with your increased involvement. I will give you an additional commission to you normal salary for any deals you initiate.” “Wow that was unexpected, but your faith in me will be rewarded, I will do my best.” She said. “I’m sure you will. The only way the business can grow is to surround myself with capable people, and that you genuinely are.” replied Dale with a sincere smile. Dale, on the prowl for customers, turned his attention to the television and to catch ESPN’s basketball highlights of the games of the games earlier that evening. “Hey look there”. Dale said to Patrica pointing to the old TV. “Jaron Stone, one of our more flamboyant had a good night. He had a career game and clinched a playoff spot. Good for him”. “That’s great. He will have more to talk about than just his sordid sex escapades.” Patrica responded. “What are you talking about?” asked Dale turning to look back at Patrica. “He is going to be on the Stern Show tomorrow. I think that is what they said today.” She said. “That’s funny, I didn’t figure you for a Stern fan” “If you would ever listen it is great entertainment, like “Saturday Night Live” on the radio, not to mention he is probably the best interviewer in any media. I guess that makes us even though. I never figured you for an Old Style swilling, burrito connoisseur.” She finished. “Touché Ms. Hughes.” Break The jaunty trip back down to SR 14 took Jaron’s murderer nearly 15 minutes, over twice the time it took Jaron to speed home to his demise. Just before entering the highway, two cruisers zoomed past in a hurry. Did someone see what had happened? Was the distance to the nearest neighbor miscalculated and the crash overheard? One thing was certain, someone alerted the police and that was trouble. The roseate viewpoint on the day’s outcome vanished. “Better go find a TV and watch the news,” thought the Ford’s baneful occupant, while looking for a news station on the car radio. Break Having had their fill of the ramshackle ambiance and cheap beer, Dale and Patricia, now a bit giddy, stand to leave when the television displayed a prominent, attention grabbing, “Special Report” screen. With the blue screen gone the television now revealed an aerial camera shot, obviously from a helicopter, of a car crash. Knowing that car crashes happen nightly without any media notice, they both concluded that the person involved in this accident must have been of some importance to become a special report. With grim fascination they stopped to listen. The airborne reporter was talking animatedly with the tinny sound created by doing the report through the headset microphone. Dale reached up to turn up the volume on the television. “Only a few minutes ago a Life Line emergency helicopter lifted away what we think was one person out of the wreckage you see below us, now on your screen. This accident is located just outside the residence of what is reported to be NBA superstar Jaron Stone. At this time we have confirmed that the car does belong to Jaron Stone, however the identification and status of the victim is unknown.” “Oh my God!” exclaimed both Dale and Patrica. Looking at each other briefly in incredulous sobering disbelief, they turned their attention back to the news report. Dale knew that Jaron had purchased the Mercades he was seeing on the faded television screen, and it was now in an almost unrecognizable form. Rescue personnel and law enforcement officers were walking about with flashlights. The red and white emergency vehicle strobe lights echoed off the dark environment. The reporter wasn’t talking allowing the audience a few moments of silent comprehension to absorb what they were now seeing. The camera now panned to the point where the car left the pavement. “ The apparent cause of this accident seems to be a rock slide”, said the reporter. “You can see the large boulder or rock in the background blocking the road. In the foreground is the point of impact where the car must have been trying to avoid the obstruction, went through the guardrail, left the road, and descended down this steep mountainside.” Another minute was allowed to pass in silence as the viewers were allowed to imagine the car’s short final odyssey down the mountainside. “At this time we don’t have any further information as to the identity or condition of the car’s occupant. We will get you more information on this accident as it becomes available. This is Ron Taylor reporting for KCLA Air News 9.” Patrica said, “That looks very bad, do you think he lived through it?” Dale looked at her and stared for a second, and then shook his head in a slow negative response. Looking pained he said, “Lets go.” Break Dale had been silent in contemplation during the short ride back to the hotel. He was obviously shaken. Usually, he followed Patrica to her room, however tonight he followed her in as well. She though back to see if there was a time when he actually came to into her room during one of their frequent business trips, and she couldn’t recall one. On many occasions he would do the gentlemanly thing, by Escorting her to her room if they had arrived in late at night, but then promptly left. She had doubted that she would feel uncomfortable about having him in her room, but it seemed he intentionally avoided the whole scenario by not coming in. Tonight he was forgoing his own code of decorum. Dale turned on her television to see if there was confirmation on what he surmised was Jaron Stone’s death. He switched the channels, and found nothing. He sat down at her desk, lowered his head and ran his fingers through his hair. From where was his distress derived? Patricia wondered. Was he worried more about his business or about the probable tragic loss of Jaron’s life. “Trish, I am going to change my ticket for tomorrows flight. Instead of going back to Cleveland, I am going to catch a flight out to LA. Would you please hold down the fort tomorrow, I should be back by Monday?” He asked “It may not even be Jaron. He may be ok.” Patrica implored. Looking at Patricia with clouded melancholy eyes “I’m sure its him, and I’m sure he is dead. My logic is probably flawed but I feel responsible.” Patricia tried to impede his guilty assertion, but Dale waved her off. “My program got him the money he wanted to live large. I afforded him the means to buy the house in which he was ascending that mountainside to reach and allowed him the ability to purchase the car he raced out of control and plunged to his death in. I had a direct cause and effect on his life. More accurately, I should say his death.” He lowered his head. They were both silent. Rising to leave Dale composed his self slightly and said, “Calls will need to be made first thing in the morning to the Bank out in California and to the Insurance company in London if in fact he is dead. When I get back to my room I will call the airlines and find a flight out. We will still go to the airport together. I will meet you at 5:30. Call me if you hear anything.” He said and closed the door with a sigh. Break Will my dreams consume me with nightmarish guilt? Will there be an ever present beating heart tormenting my eternal soul? The killer had concluded that the risk was worth the gain. Had the answers to these ponderings changed now that the dirty deed was done? The genuflecting was interrupted by a news report. The killer lie awake with renewed contentedness after learning from the friendly local sheriff on TV, looking for his few seconds of fame, that they were summoned to the scene by an OnStar representative. Upon deployment of the airbags, it seems, that a signal is sent to OnStar, (a 24 hour a day personal automobile innovative technology), and a call is generated to the customer. If the does not answer, then a global satellite positioning is determined and the corresponding police department is called to give assistance. There had been no eyewitness’, and no foul play was expressed as being suspected. By all accounts the whole incident was being regarded as a tragic accident. Putting the headphones on and pressing play, the killer listened to Sting for the 39th time this week: Now if you have a taste for this experience And your flush with your very first success Then you must try a twosome or a threesome And you’ll find your conscience bothers you much less. Hmmm, maybe I shall…… Chapter The eternal darkness of which she held dominion, now surrounded Kaitlyn. She knew this because she heard the automatic timer click off the lights in the room. She had no personal need for these lights other than to keep the appearance of normal occupation while she was at home alone. Kaitlyn was born blind and a dark house invited dangerous interlopers. Kaitlyn Colton works from home during the day as an adult fantasy role-playing telephone operator. She is the best the company has. She is so busy with regular they have to make appointments. Who better to express imagined sexual desires than someone who lives, for perpetuity, in a fictive visual realm. She masterfully conveys her heightened sense of touch, smell, and sound as it pertained the physical act of sex and incorporates her own experiences and intense imagination to her provocative pillow talk. Kaitlyn was in fact very attractive, everyone said so, including Alexis, her sister and roommate, whom she trusted more than anyone. Kate was slight in physique with delicate features. Clean and wholesome would be aptly used describing her appearance. Not having spent long periods out in the sun in her youth, and the inability to apply make-up (and the chemicals they contain), left her with pale and lustrous skin. She would be forever labeled as having a much younger than her age appearance. At 26, she already had her share of relationships and a large pool of erotic encounters on which to dwell, although she had been most recently without both. Her base for Naughty Housewives, was the reliable, repeat, daytime customers the company relied upon, not the drunks the late night hours brought. She usually worked the 11am to 7 pm timeslot, which offered a bit of realism since this coincided with when cheating housewives would be home alone. She only actually worked the phone for 6 of the 8 hours she got paid for. She got 15 minutes between callers to prepare some clever fantasy for the next one of her regulars, and a half hour break at 2:30. Unlike the night crew that was instructed to keep their random pervert callers on as long as possible, her upscale clientele paid for an hour, whether they used the whole hour or not. Kaitlyn rarely had anyone leave early. She gave them their monies worth playfully stringing them along, building up their fantasy and tried to work in the climax around the 45-50 minute mark. This gave them some cool down time and a little bit of sweet talk to get them interested for the next session. She was very quick witted, bright, and edgy. She had no problems telling anyone what was on her mind and when the hour was up it was time for her to go. After work she deftly prepared dinner to be eaten later, listened to Friends, Will & Grace and the News on television and checked her e-mail using her new Blue Sky computer system. She was one of the first to have access to the technology with her sister’s influence and insistence. Using a Braille keyboard and voice software that read the screen, it announces out texts, menus and names of icons wherever the cursor goes. The whole system only took two days for her to master and enable her to send e-mail. The first e-mail she sent was to Lexi, a mundane note, telling her to bring home some hair conditioner, as if the triumph of conquering her disability using this impressive (and expensive) scientific advancement was just a clichéd occurrence. Without the aid of failing daylight, the threshold into the tenebrous nightfall could only be perceived on the face of her Braille watch. Slipping past twilight and into the night some hours ago she now stilled. The time was almost at hand, and tonight, like so many others, her survival prowess would be tested. Opening the cabinet tucked under the stairway that served to house her armory, by familiar touch Kate picked out her desired weapon. She counted her way up the stairs, turned right into the spare bedroom, sat on the floor with back to the wall, tucked next to a piece of furniture in clothing she knew matched the room color making her less visible, with loaded gun ready in lap, and awaited the bogeyman. Break The overriding consideration in any tactical operation is accomplishing the mission. Situational awareness is the degree to which one is able to maintain a picture of all aspects of the situation. Points of entry, Where am I? Respective to my environment, what are the risks? Where is the enemy? What are the enemy’s capabilities? “Remember your tactics, techniques, and procedures.” thought the combatant entering the house. Quickly disarming the alarm, unholstering the large chrome weapon, and removing shoes that could cause unacceptable noises, the room-by-room search began for the intended target. The house was dark and deathly still. With eyes closed and gun forward the hunter knelt down and put an ear to the floor to listening for possible clues, the smallest of movements the prey might transmit, but heard nothing. Knowing that the target was blind, armed, and more sensitive than any other potential opponent, provided the highest degree of challenge. The house had been wired, when the alarm system was installed, so that all the lights could be turned off by typing in the proper code on the touch pad, and they were of course all out. To keep the playing field even no flashlight would be used. This mission was of a private nature. Usually during house sweeps there are multiple agents, with non-lethal munitions and devices, such as stun grenades, pepper spray and other personnel restraint items. Protective equipment including knee and elbow pads, heavy gloves, and of course a Kevlar vest would normally be worn, but here only ballistic eyewear was employed. Hearing and feeling nothing in the room the hunter moved slowly quietly forward room by room on the lower level and found nothing. Now creeping slowly up the steps since the downstairs had been cleared of any possible places of concealment, the combatant was most vulnerable. No opportunistic shots were fired. The hunter pushed the first door open and moved sideways out of the doorframe. Anxiety built. The fear and anticipation of the unknown can have devastating effects on the mental well being of a person. Confusion and exposure to danger could result in improper decision making. Still no sound could be detected. The target was one cool customer, and if vanquished would be a victim held in great esteem. Using the senses of sight, and sound, nothing could be discovered, scent however proved more helpful. Sniffing the air noiselessly a faint odor emanated from the opening. It was redolent of perfume. The quarry was possibly within this room. Now that the target may have been acquired, the fundamental movement techniques needed to be employed. Avoid silhouetting, make visual reconnaissance, select next cover position before movement, and determine the route needed to get to that position were all SOP (standard operating procedures). Lowering to the floor and peeking around the corner, with head lower than the target would expect, the hunter gathered the information. Going through the door would be the most dangerous and would employ the pie-ing method. Surprise is the key to a successful assault at close quarters, but that wouldn’t be possible so the only hope would be a distraction. Speed would provide the only measure of security moving into the room. Standing back up and removing a sock since a loud noise would obviously be determined a rouse by this cagey opponent, a more sublet sound might be enough to purchase the split second needed to triumph. The other concern was the perfume might just have been located in the room and the target might not even be in here so a tossed sock would only be heard in this room, reducing further signaling of the hunter’s location. Time to move in. Now pie-ing around the entryway, moving tactically and quickly to the spot predetermined to allow complete control of the room, providing an unobstructed field of fire, the hunter tossed a sock in the opposite direction hoping to draw the fire and locate the target. There was no response. The room was silent. Turning to check in the corner to the right, the door to the armoire opened suddenly. There were six quick shots fired, 3 each. This was the rule after all, only 3 shots each. Of the 6 shots fired, two shots hit their mark. Both were from the same gun, Kaitlyn’s. Straining to see in the faintest of light, Alexis looked into the wardrobe to see if for the first time she met with a successful campaign. Kaitlyn pushed the door shut and stood up from her sitting position off the floor from the left hand side of the cabinet. “Lexi, was it least a draw tonight?” she asked her sister as she untied the string she had attached to the knob of the cabinet door. Grimacing to herself in disgust, Lexi replied “Dang it Kate, you sure are making a mockery of all the training the agency provides me. No you won. You got me twice.” Alexis Colton was an FBI agent. She had seen Silence of the Lambs when she was younger and wanted to be like Clarice Starling tracking the killer that Hannibal Lector gave the clues to go find. “Good, less paint for you to clean off the walls tonight.” She said handing Lexi her paint ball gun. “And by the way, I put plastic up in the armoire. Where I‘m sure your shots went, your welcome.” “Kate you are such a little shit.” Lexi said. “Oh, your just a sore loser. At least when Kato kept kicking Inspector Clouseau’s ass he always kept it in good fun. You’re the one that wants to keep scheduling these cat and mouse games. If you want to try to keep your combat skills and vigilance sharp, I am here to humor and humble you.” She said smiling. Even in the dim light Lexi thought she had such a lovely smile. They hugged each other. Lexi always intended to keep these occasional forays operating under the guise of helping in developing her own prowess in room sweeps, with her real intention to protect her sister. The ironic reality was that false pretense proved true. She learned that she was far more vulnerable in these situations than she would have imagined. Running these scenarios was actually preparing and teaching her that complacency and overconfidence kills. She  |
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