Free Diabolical by Hank Schwaeble

Tables at each end and along the wall on each side where there was a break in the row of dryers. He glanced up at a clock above a wall-mounted vending machine selling tiny boxes of detergent and fabric softener. He could come back around three, if he decided to use this location. But the sun was going to be shining, and the day had clear and warm written all over it. Perfect park weather. And there was plenty of time to find a dog.
    Laundromats were okay. They were especially reliable in rain or snow or just plain cold weather, a place he could loiter without drawing too much suspicion. All he needed was a cheap laundry bag and a book or magazine. Newspapers, he found, didn’t really do the trick. Over the years he observed that women got a little chary around a solitary man reading the local rag. Maybe it was a cliché, maybe it was some false reality learned from spy movies, maybe in the internet age it simply marked you as unusual. All he knew was that something about it seemed to clue them in, make them notice him. Paperbacks were the best. Sports magazines worked almost as well. He was a harmless-looking guy. Most of him. He knew his mere presence wouldn’t cause alarm, not if he seemed to have a reason to be there.
    That was, as long as he could keep them from noticing his right hand, keep them from wondering why it never strayed from his jacket pocket, the one bulging like it was about to split a seam.
    But finding attractive mothers with children in tow at a Laundromat was hit-and-miss. The most desirable location for that, bar none, was a park. The catch was, parks were ideal if and only if he had a dog in tow. This was a lesson he’d learned early on. Take a dog to a park, and nobody looks at you as being by yourself. Nobody even looks at you at all, just your dog. Walking a dog through a residential subdivision was a bit different. People in those tended to wonder why they hadn’t seen you walking the dog before, always seemed to want to ask questions about whether you were new to the neighborhood. Most important, people in neighborhoods took notice. But in the park, a dog was like a backstage pass, letting you go where you wanted, get as close as you wanted. You were conspicuously invisible, cloaked in nonthreatening purpose. Like someone walking into an office building with a hard hat on his head and a phone handset hanging from a tool belt.
    So all he had to do was find the nearest park and steal a dog before three. Easy peasy. And if that didn’t work, he’d hang at the Laundromat.
    The day was off to a good start. He could feel its potential with each breath, the morning air practically swollen with it.
    He headed down the main strip, continuing away from the bus station. It was still quiet, but people were beginning to populate the sidewalk in places. Here and there, merchants were unlocking doors and setting items out in front of their shops. The angle of the sun was glistening off glass, creating long shadows and brightening an immaculate sky. Morris sucked in another contented breath as he saw a school bus turn onto the road and disappear over a crest far ahead. Something about this town felt tailor-made for him. Like he was destined to be there—like this was, as was so often the case with him, the right place at the right time.
    About a mile and a half later, he reached a municipal park. Open, with expanses of grass dotted by a few clusters of trees. A brunette was sitting on a wood and concrete bench alongside a jogging path, flipping through a magazine. Large dark sunglasses. Scarf wrapped over her head, knotted below her chin. Very attractive. His eyes fixed on the creamy smooth flesh of her legs, crossed at the knee. He followed the lower line of the top one along its delightful slope, the shape hugged by her dress, curving into the tight round bulge of her ass.
    Women were the greatest joys, he thought. So much fun in one package, so easy to dispose of. Every man should