Average Everyday Grim Reaper (Cont.)

Overdressed


When it comes to obtaining the proper identification for renting cars, getting out of the country and of-course getting into five star hotels. Reggie my stay at home runaway is the best. She knows people from her “party days” that can get me any form of id I need.

It’s nice to be able to use a different name every time I come here to this rental car office. The turnover rate at this office with the employees is comical to a point. One day it’s college boy with no future. Next time it’s too thin girl with an acne problem and today is no different. Today, it’s overdressed for success lady.

This women looks like she should be selling Avon or two hundred dollar wicker baskets to her friends. She’s medium height, with a black business suit on. Her blouse is so bright white that I have to squint just to look at her. The make up on her face is caked on. With dark blue eye shadow and blush. Her hair looks as if it has seen its fair share of hairspray this morning. I could picture this women’s family walking around everyday wearing surgical masks to keep the fumes out.

Overdressed for success greets me the second my foot passes through the threshold of the door. “Welcome,” she says so excited and nervous sounding at the same time. I smile and turn on my charm for her. After all, I’ll never see her here again. “Hi, I haven’t seen you here before!” I say to her as cheery as I could muster up at eight o’clock in the morning. She shakes her head side to side so fast, that I think if she were to keep it up, her head would spin all the way around. “Nope, I’m brand new! Well, not brand new in the world, but brand new here!” She takes a quick breathe and continues to speed talk, “I’ve been here for a couple of weeks now. I love it! The stress level is minimal and my boss is a great guy!”

“I can’t believe I have to endure this banter,” I think to myself. Mumbling under my breath I say to her, “breathe”. I’m now staring at her glassy eyed. She lost me at “welcome”. All I want to do is take the roll of duct tape that I see lying behind her on the counter. And, wrap it around her head about fifteen times. I even catch myself looking at the ceilings for security cameras. “Focus”, I have to tell myself.

I cut her off in mid sentence, stretching out my hand with my ids in it. This shuts her up. She begins to punch a couple of numbers on her keyboard while staring at the computer screen blankly. Without even looking up she tells me, “Okay, we have you in Ford Taurus, that’s our economy car, for two days. Would you like to upgrade to a larger vehicle?”

This is always my favorite question at this place. Now, I know that in order to get promotions when one works at a rental car office. The employees need to sell upgrades on the cars. It always makes me think? “Where would the employee with the most upgrades move up to? Car washer? Manager?” I mean if you were a manager here, wouldn’t you spend ninety percent of your time interviewing new hires? I’m rough on these people I know. But, I have never upgraded for two reasons. One, I like the Ford Taurus. It’s spacious and comfortable. I appreciate having the room to move around inside the car if I have to. And number two, I have yet to meet a counter person at this place that I would like to see get a big promotion.

I sign the forms that she places on the counter in front of me. This is always one of the hardest parts of my transaction here at the rental car company. Remembering which name I chose? Today, it’s Earl Sheets. So, I sign Earl Sheets to the forms and quickly swipe the key off the counter. Without trying to make eye contact with Overdressed.

Luckily for me, the manager peaked his head from an office doorway around the corner and called her name. “Nice knowing you.” I say to her. She looks puzzled at me and I repeat what she thought I said, “Have a nice day, Mrs.”

The red-cheeked manager is going to ask her, “to have a seat. There’s something that he needs to talk to her about.” She’ll have a cheery smile on when she walks through his door. This smile of course will end up in a frown. With a frown on her face and all that make up running down her cheeks. She’ll be able to scare little children and some adults on her ride home. He’ll say to her, “that she’s only upgraded three cars out of the last eighty seven that see signed in. And, he doesn’t think that their going to be able to keep her make up around anymore. I mean, her around anymore.”


Research and Proper Planning


In my rented Ford Taurus I pull into the parking lot of a medical building. The address on the business card the Queen of Hearts gave to me at the Martini Lounge, matches up perfectly. The Queen also had informed me that she drives a Audi TT. So I circle the parking lot a couple of times looking for the vehicle.

The architect who designed this building did a incredible job. The walls are all smoked glass that reflect every image back out into the parking lot. The four corners of the building all come to long points. If you were to take a square cardboard box and on in the middle of all the sides push them in slightly. This is what the building would look like from an aerial view.

On my last trip around the building I see The Queens car glimmering in it’s assigned parking place. The license plate on the Audi reads, “HEART4U”. How cute. If you pulled up next to this car at a light you would probably think that this women is looking for love. But, the truth be known, she’s a world renowned heart surgeon.

I’m halfway across the parking lot now. With a view of both the exit and the car. I mentioned earlier that this job consists of proper planning and research. This morning when I woke up, I looked up some information on my current prospect on the Internet. There were a few stories that caught my attention. The first was a positive story. This story was how The Queen performed a heart transplant for a prime minister in a foreign country. The second story was positive also. Apparently The Queen had moved a young boy up the transplant list to save his life before it was too late.

The third story however was not so positive. About a month ago The Queen was performing a routine bypass surgery on a patient. During the surgery she had nicked the main artery of the patient causing him to bleed out. Well basically, die. The patient was the fifteen year old son of a U.S. Congressman. The congressman and his family sued the hospital for malpractice and won. Millions! Although the hospital in all the newspapers reported that, “They back their doctors one hundred percent. And that nothing in this kind of surgery is guaranteed.” The board members were very disappointed with the way she handled the situation.

At a press conference following the botched surgery The Queen broke down in front of all the news cameras. She had to escorted away by a fellow doctor while she sobbed hysterically. This is probably why she was at the Martini Lounge the first night that I had met her. Trying to drown her sorrows. I actually for a split second felt bad for her. People make mistakes.

There are people continuously entering and exiting the medical building. Senior citizens with their walkers and wearing those surgical masks to keep the cold air from hitting their lungs. Pregnant women with small and large bellies. Most likely here to receive their 3-D ultrasounds. So they can take the pictures home and frame them and scare the shit out of all their friends when they show them to all of them. Scared friend would say, “What the hell is that?” Overly excited pregnant mom would say, “isn’t the baby just perfect. There’s it’s leg, or arm, or torso, I don’t know. But, isn’t it just perfect.” The scared friend would smile and say, “absolutely.” Meanwhile when the scared friend and his wife get into the car to go home. They would just give each other a look that says, “Holy Shit. That was the most disgusting thing that I have ever seen. Promise, when we get pregnant that we will never do that 3-D thing!”

Finally, walking out of the building is a group of men with one women following behind them. The men are all in their sixties and not one of them is in descent shape. They all are short and portly. They look like their stuffed into the sport coats that they are all wearing. I think to myself, these guys must all shop at the same clothing store. Picture all these high-class doctors unloading from a stretch limousine in front of a Sears clothing store. Like a group of penguins they waddle into the store and go directly to the stocky section. The salesman, who is their age and build, points them in the direction of the slacks and old man sport coats. You know these sport coats, they have designer patches on the sleeve. The slacks are all too short in the legs of course, but the doctors buy them anyway.

Now seeing The Queen following behind all the penguins as they go to their cars, makes me think of the old sesame street bit, “which one of these doesn’t belong?” The penguins all say farewell to each other and I almost feel a little sympathy for The Queen. When I notice that not one of the penguins even said a word to her. She slides into her Audi and fires the engine.


I’m not much of a Outdoorsman


The ride towards her home was pretty uneventful. I stayed back a few car lengths. I know she didn’t see me. The whole time we drove she dialed her phone, fixed her make-up and dialed some more. Completely unaware of her surroundings.

We pulled into the development where she lives. A vacant guard shack sits unoccupied. There is never a guard in this shack. These high-class neighborhoods put these things up as a deterrent. Yeah, works real good, “Hello, I’m a hit man following a prospect that I’m going to take care of tonight!” I yell at the vacant guard shack as I pull pass it. The homes in this neighborhood are all two to three story colonials. They have bay windows, stone or brick facing and three to four car garages. The Queen had turned left at a stop sign ahead of me toward a cult sac. So I turned right at the stop sign. From my review mirror I see her pulling up the drive of what looks like a mansion. The Queens house is by far the largest in the development.

The sun is beginning to hide behind the tall trees that surround these homes. I pulled into a driveway to turn around. Once I had turned around I headed to the cult sac by The Queens house. Passing by her house I noticed behind her property about a couple hundred yards or so away was a shopping plaza. Through the thinning trees I could see cars parked and people walking around. So I followed the curb line of the cult sac and made my way out of the development and over to the shopping plaza.

When I arrived at the parking lot of the shopping plaza I noticed that it was full. There are ten stores in this plaza. One of which is a large appliance store. This is a place where I’ll be able to park and leave my car for a while without anybody thinking twice about it. I look to the top of the large store for video surveillance cameras, there are none. Just the one by the main entrance. Not a problem, I’m clear. I park the Ford Taurus in the spot closest to the wood line. From here I will trek through the woods to The Queens palatial estate.

The sun has fully set now. In my black pants, black boots, black turtle neck shirt and black gloves, I’d be hard to spot in the woods. Navigating through the woods is easier than I thought it would be. I am not much of a outdoorsman. I never joined boy scouts, never owned a compass and definitely am not, a very good camper. Give me a hotel and a hot tub, which would make me happy. One night at home while flipping through my cable stations I seen a television show about this guy. A helicopter dropped him into the middle of a jungle in some third world country. All the people let him have was some underwear, some sticks, one match, and one diet Pepsi. He had six days to find civilization and he did. So, if the survivor man could last six days in a jungle? I’m pretty sure I could last a couple hundred yards?

I make it to the end of the woods and stand behind a large oak tree. From behind the tree I can see the upstairs lights are on in The Queens house. Her figure passes the window a few times left to right. Then right to left. Then back left to right again. One of the times she stopped in front of the window and peered out into the darkness. She didn’t see me.

The back of her home has a spotlight on it. The sensor of the light is pointed directly down facing the door to the home. This is a common mistake that most people who own homes make. Homeowners feel that if someone approaches the door, then the light will turn on. They would be right, but I would have to stand directly in front of the door to make that happen. So, check your spotlights and make sure the sensor is facing outward. Toward the backyard. Use some common sense.

I don’t see her shadow moving around upstairs anymore so I make my way to the back side of what is probably her garage. I press my back along the siding and shuffle to the light over the door. I look as if I’m standing on the ledge of a burning building trying to reach the next open window. With my left hand I reach up following along the siding of the house. Making sure to keep my hand behind the sensor on the spotlight. I grip the bulb and begin to unscrew it slowly. Careful, not to trigger the light. With one last turn of my fingers the bulb comes free. I bring it down to my side and place it on the ground next to the door.

Free and clear of any lights going off around me now I step in front of the door and look through the pains of glass. I can see a hallway. On the wall to the right of the hallway is a keypad. Obviously for the alarm system. I know that once I breach the door to the home I’ll have eight seconds to disarm the alarm. If I don’t the security company will call their customer and inform them that the silent alarm had been triggered. I pull out my flashlight and look closely at the keypad. Another common mistake that homeowners make is that they never change the code to the alarm. So, once they press the same buttons over and over again the buttons begin to ware down. Someone trying to disarm the alarm would just have to figure out what order to hit the buttons in and Wa La.

Now, I could easily just break down the door and run in. Find her, grab her, break her neck and be done with it. Nowadays, with all the technology the police have. I’m sure that I would leave some sort of evidence at the scene of the crime. I like to be more systematic than that. I like a challenge. Something to make my blood boil.

I put my mini flashlight back into my pocket and pull out my lock pick set. I can feel my blood pumping through my veins faster now. Adrenaline is beginning to kick in. Today’s locks are easier to pick than the old locks. The old door locks were well fashioned, the tumblers inside of them where harder to find. But, these newer locks are all mass produced. Therefore, making them faster and easier to figure out. With one last twist of my wrist, click.

I calmly turn around and pick the spotlight up off the ground. Again, standing out of site of the sensor I reach my hand along the wall and place the light back into it’s home. Simultaneously, with the last turn of the bulb, I open the door and enter the hallway of the house.

Why place the spotlight back into the holder? You ask? I know that the alarm is going to sound at the main office of the company. They are going to send someone out to look around. The main office will inform the security guard that the back door was breached. He will look at the back door and notice nothing out of the ordinary. The light is in place. The lock is locked. Must have been a glitch in the system?


1327


I’m now inside the hallway of the house just looking around. I have a few options of doors to go through at this point. There are hundreds of places in here where I can hide. But, I have a favorite one. Hanging on a holder next to the door that leads to the garage are two sets of keys. I grab the one that says, “Buick” on it. I open the door and enter into the garage. I pop the trunk of the sedan and slowly climb in. I won’t close the trunk all the way at this point. That way I can still hear some sounds coming from inside the home.

The phone on the wall of the garage begins to ring. This call is the security company to check up on The Queen of Hearts. I can hear footsteps above me now. They are calm and cool. I stare at the phone on the wall and know what conversation she is having.

Security Customer Service will ask, “Hi, Mrs. Queen. Is everything alright tonight?” The Queen who will have a puzzled look on her face will answer, “Why yes? Everything is fine? Why are you calling me?” This would explain the calm and cool footsteps above me right now. Security person would tell her, “That the alarm had indicated the back door was opened.” The footsteps grow frantic and faster above me now. The Queen, “Can someone come and check it out for me?” Hurried breaths, now her veins are pumping blood fast, and faster. “I’m scared! What do I do?” “Mam,” the security representative cuts her off and continues, “Mam, we’re sending someone out right now. They’ll be there in a few moments.”

On cue, I can hear a siren coming from what must be down the road. The running footsteps have subsided above my head and I hear the front door slam shut. Outside the garage I hear a car pull into the driveway and come to a screeching halt. The sirens I heard indicate that this is the police outside and not a overweight security guard who makes eight buck an hour. “Damn,” I softly say to nobody in particular. I don’t like when the police show up. They poke around a little too much.

I hear muffled voices from the other side of the insulated fancy garage door. Police Officer, “Are you okay?” The Queen out of breath and beginning to shake say, “Yeah, I’m fine. Scared. But fine. I didn’t hear the door open or see anyone moving around. I have a motion detector in the backyard and that didn’t go off?” Police Officer in a calming voice says to her, “I’ll go in and check it out for you. You stay out here for now.”

I hear the front door of the house open and then close. The police officer begins his sweep of the house. The foray is clear as he opens the coat door. Nothing out of the ordinary here. Hats, coats, shoes, and more shoes. A doorway to the left leads to a large dining room. The dining room has a table you could seat fifteen people at comfortably. He passes the table, the fine china in a cabinet and enters into a huge kitchen. He thinks to himself, “This kitchen is the size of my whole house.” Nothing to find in there. So, the officer heads to the alleged scene of the crime. The back door.

The locks and door seem to be intact. He pulls open the door and waves his hand in front of the spotlight. Three hundred watts of power illuminate the backyard. He shakes his head and the door. Putting the lock in place.

I now pull the trunk lid down, quietly and tightly, until I hear it click. The door leading into the garage opens. I can hear footsteps walking on the concrete floor. Slow and Methodical. I can see his flashlight beam enter into the cracks of the trunk.

“1327, do you have a copy?” The females voice crackles on the police officers radio. She repeats herself, “1327, do you have a copy?” The police officer with his left hand grips the microphone, “Base