Free With Cruel Intent by Dennis Larsen Page A

things
    that came to mind and the possibilities that
    he could explore. The library would be a
    great resource for the assignment both in
    terms of material available at hand, the
    time he could put into researching while
    getting paid, and the prospects of roping
    Blanche into helping him. It had been a
    few days since they’d worked together
    and he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
    Granted, she was a decade older than him
    but there was something about her that he
    couldn’t shake. She had filled his dreams
    the past few nights, where he had been so
    debonair and self assured, sweeping her
    off her feet with his style and charm.
    “Why can’t I be that guy for real?”
    he thought, as the period ended and the
    students gathered up their things and
    exited the classroom. Seymour sat for a
    few more minutes jotting down his last
    minute thoughts, then stuffed his backpack
    full of his belongings and hurried out the
    door.
    Forensics would have to wait; first
    he’d hit the school library before his
    classmates cleaned it out. He didn’t think
    he could rely solely on the public library
    for insight but the idea of asking Blanche
    for help was both exciting and nerve
    racking for the young man, who needed the
    hours between class and work to build up
    his courage. However, courage would not
    be the only thing he would need to win
    over the strawberry blonde’s heart.
    CHAPTER EIGHT
    Over the sound of an audience
    alternately chanting ‘Jerry, Jerry’ and
    ‘Take It Off’, he could just barely make
    out the sound of a ringtone cutting through
    the melee.
    “Shit, where did I put that frickin’
    cell phone?” he cussed as pillows;
    newspapers and a pizza box flew across
    the room as he searched.
    Grabbing the remote he muted the
    TV to help in his search. The sound drew
    him to the bookshelf lining the wall
    adjacent to the entertainment center.
    Grasping a volume of the Koran on the
    upper shelf, he pulled, but the book did
    not budge instead the entire unit began to
    pivot away exposing a hidden room. He
    pulled until the opening into the small
    inner room was big enough for him to pass
    through. Inside, a makeshift plywood desk
    lined one wall with a bar stool as a chair.
    The pictures he’d taken at Thelma’s still
    neatly arranged on the rough surface, a
    ringing cell phone laid nearby. On the
    wall above the desk he had carefully
    pinned a map of Georgia with some areas
    circled in red, and Moody Air Force Base
    deliberately outlined in blue, with the area
    directly south of the base crosshatched in
    green. A single yellow-topped pin was
    stuck in the map on Cat Creek Road. In the
    corner of the room sat a backpack that
    appeared to be full, with the metal buckles
    covered in black electrical tape.
    Picking up the phone he flipped it
    open and lifted it to his right ear knowing
    that if he placed it to his left he would not
    be able to make out the muffled voice of
    the caller.
    “Yeah, I’m here,” he pulled the
    phone closer to his ear and closed his
    eyes to help focus his attention on the
    needed sense.
    “What do you mean? I thought it
    went pretty well. Looked like she was
    scared shitless in that interview.” Again
    listening intently as the person on the other
    end spoke and relayed the message.
    “I had expected that, lazy stinkin’
    cops!” He paused and listened, then
    reached for a pencil and notepad sitting on
    the table.
    “Hold on, hold on, I’m getting a
    pencil, (paused) okay, give it to me.”
    He wrote an address on the pad
    and asked, “Same as before. The
    information will show up in my mailbox
    sometime this week?”
    A response in the positive came
    from the other end.
    “You want me to be creative? Just
    how creative are we talking? I told you
    from the start that there’s just some shit I
    won’t do regardless of how much you’re
    paying me.”
    The tone and volume of the caller
    noticeably increased and he pulled the
    phone away from his good ear.
    “I know a