Monday, February 8, 1998
Tommy walked across the grocery store parking lot, scanning the cars before he found the right one. Tucking the notepad from Diana into his back pocket, Tommy approached the late model Cadillac Seville.
He was in a random disguise, a pale-skinned, lean and bland face that people would find hard to describe if pressed for details. He still cast several slow glances around the lot to see if anyone was paying attention, or if a security patrol was showing up early.
If Diana’s notes were right, the security company would send out a truck to circle the lot in another ten minutes, and by then, he would already be done. Thanks to Jenny, he didn’t even need to get into the car, so his task would be even faster.
He leaned over to peer through the driver’s side window, locating the headlight knob. Tommy summoned a globe of water and spread the surface into the grooves on the side of the knob. He hardened the water and forced the knob to pop up, and the headlights of the car clicked on.
From the chest pocket of his shirt, Tommy pulled out a small rasp and jammed the file into the door lock. He yanked to snap the file inside the lock, and he went around the car to repeat the process on every lock except for the rear passenger door. It would require climbing into the front seat to reach the headlight switch, which would grant him a few extra minutes to work, considering the age of the mark.
Tommy walked into the store, passing an employee who was escorting a customer out with her groceries. He went to the men’s restroom, pausing just long enough to make sure he was alone before he shifted. He was taller than the sacker, and he had to slouch to cover for it.
The aprons for the employees were in the corridor, hung from a row of grey metal hooks mounted under a shelf for employee bags.
A metal rack holding the employee time cards were mounted next to the shelf, and above them was the company clock. The minute hand clunked as it shifted, drawing Tommy’s attention.
Just to be a dick, he swapped all of the cards around.
He put on an apron and wandered to an empty checkout counter. He picked up the phone and pressed the intercom button. “Your attention. If you’re the owner of a black Cadillac Seville, license plate M-5-M-J-H-C, your headlights are on.” He repeated the message and moved back to the bathroom quickly.
From behind him, a man’s voice barked, “Johnson!”
Tommy spun around, and the manager waved him down. “No, not you, Sean. Take off your Walkman.”
Tommy nodded and spun back around, muttering, “Sorry, sir.” In the bathroom, he changed into his false face and walked back out just in time to see the pharmacist shuffle past him.
At seventy-three, the old coot really needed to retire. He was wheezing just walking outside, and Tommy almost felt bad about making him climb through his car to turn off the lights.
That was assuming the anger of being kept out of his car didn’t give him a heart attack. But then again, the old guy was just a human, and the world had plenty of humans. One less old man wasn’t such a big deal.
Tommy walked outside ahead of the old man, studying his features and his pace to make sure he got the act right. At least the pharmacist was closer to Tommy’s height, but he would have to contract his muscles hard to appear so thin and infirm.
He also had to wait a minute outside, because no one would believe that the old man had made it to his parking space and back in a few seconds.
If anyone was really paying attention, they would notice that the pharmacist came back dressed in different clothes. But aside from cops and the humans who had served in the military, the vast majority rarely looked around at their surroundings unless they were directly provoked.
In the pharmacy, he grabbed an order and filled it for the customer waiting in line. He couldn’t fake entering the ticket into the computer, so he set it aside and walked away, looking like he had to fill another order. He said, “I’ll get right back to you, Miss,” croaking his voice to sound old.
Diana’s notes served him well, leading him to the inhalers. Her research of the pharmacy layout gave him exact directions to the row and bin that held the boxes of steroid inhalers. He picked up one box and glanced at the old woman. She was looking away from him, bored and in no hurry.
Tommy pocketed the box and walked around the counter. The old woman never noticed him leave. With any luck, the pharmacist would survive the climb over Mount Cadillac, and he could return to finish processing her Medicare claim.
He went to the bathroom a final time and took off his apron. He unbuttoned his work shirt and tossed it in the trash. Then he shifted over to another fake face and walked out dressed in a white “wife-beater” muscle shirt.
He thought the fake stains were a nice touch, and everyone who looked his way quickly turned their heads, making sneers of disgust or contempt.
Sometimes the best disguises were the most repulsive stereotypes. Tommy left the store without anyone sparing him a second glance.
He smiled as he took the box from his pocket to double and triple check the label. It was the right drug, and the rest of the plan would go much more smoothly from then on.
***
Tommy arrived early for the meeting, and he got out of his car to sit on the hood.
When the Hummer arrived, there was nobody firing handguns, and Tommy had to factor that into his plan. He greeted Manny and showed the appropriate level of concern as he waited for signs of an allergy attack.
But none came, and Manny went around to the passenger side of the Hummer to drop the suspension.
Roland got out of the back more easily, and he had recovered from his pacing in the hospital. He also watched Manny with a worried frown, but the driver was already moving to the back of the vehicle to grab the gun case, waving off their concern.
Tommy made small talk while they went to the club office, and then he filled out membership forms while Roland paid his fees for a year. Roland tried to insist on a five-year membership, but Tommy shot it down, explaining that he wouldn’t be staying longer than a year.
In the galley, Roland took out a number of handguns from the foam rubber packing material that held them in place. He laid the guns out across the counter, offering Tommy his pick.
Tommy chose the Glock nine millimeter, a gun he’d fired a lot in the past.
While Manny loaded a clip, Tommy moved to the counter and disassembled the gun to check the barrel and the firing pin.
He was just as smooth in assembling the gun, and he took the clip from Manny, nodding as he muttered a quiet “Thanks.”
He held up a hand, his expression becoming grave. “Okay, Manny, if you have any problems at all, just wave and we’ll stop the test.”
“Okay, sure. But I don’t think I have an allergy. Something in the air just got to me.”
Tommy laughed, nodding. “Right, well it could be six of one, or a half dozen of the other, but I want to make sure. To be sure you don’t have too much direct exposure, maybe you should step back.”
Manny did as he asked, and then Tommy pushed a set of disposable foam earplugs into his ears. He smirked at Roland, who was still fumbling with his first earplug.
Speaking louder than normal, Tommy said, “We go through all of these precautions, and it’s only going to take five seconds to empty the gun.”
Roland snorted and nodded his agreement. “And the cost of bullets isn’t pretty when you waste them as fast as I do. It seems to me like I’ve spent a million dollars in ammunition, and I still haven’t shot anything yet.”
Tommy nodded, and said, “I haven’t spent that much, but I haven’t killed anything either, furry or otherwise.” He paused and added, “But enough about the humans. Let me talk about why I don’t like hunting animals.”
Roland was just starting to laugh when Tommy spun and raised the gun to empty the clip in four seconds. A steady stream of bullets pierced the throat of the man-shaped outline on the paper target.
Tommy set the gun down and ducked under the counter. As he straightened up, he called, “clear,” even though they were the only people using the range that early on a weekday.
He went out to fetch the target, biding his time before he turned around and squinted at Manny.
Manny smiled and gave a thumbs up. Roland was still much further ahead at the counter, his wrinkled eyes strained wide open as he stared at Tommy.
Humming to focus his will, Tommy cast a globe of water under Manny’s nose. The driver hit the ground, and then Tommy dropped the target and took off running.
He loved running in to save the day. It was bullshit, and yet, it always helped to make a mark into a true believer. It made the scam feel more urgent.
Stand aside! I’m going to try something heroic!
Roland turned around, and he was able to move to Manny’s side before Tommy could duck back under the counter.
Dropping onto his knees, Tommy cradled Manny’s head in his lap. “I was afraid of this. It is a gun smoke allergy.” Taking the box of steroids out of his pocket, he told Manny, “Just take one short puff from this and breathe in deep before you exhale. Do it even if you feel an urge to cough, okay?”
“Y-y-yeah,” Manny sputtered, his eyes glassy with tears of confusion and fear.
Roland grabbed the inhaler. “Wait, what is this?”
“It’s just a mild steroid to strengthen his lungs, Roland. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt him, and it will help him recover faster, possibly without another trip to the hospital.”
Roland nodded and passed the inhaler to his driver. “All right, go ahead and try it.”
Manny did, and after he exhaled, Tommy sat him up slowly. Tommy asked, “How do you feel?”
Manny drew in a deep breath and nodded. “It’s better. There’s still a bit of a stinging in my throat, but my lungs feel a lot better.”
“All right, well you don’t want to use a whole lot of this, so I have some bad news for you. It appears that you won’t be escorting Roland to anymore shooting sessions, unless you just like drowning in your own fluids.”
Manny looked sincerely grief-stricken by the revelation, as he enjoyed sharing Roland’s hobby. Sometimes, he’d even gotten in on shooting a few targets.
He sighed and said, “I could maybe get a paper facemask, right?”
Roland shook his head. “Nonsense, Manny. I’ll just have to hire someone else to handle my driving, and we’ll move you around to handling the driving duties for Jessica.”
“Jessica?” Tommy asked.
“My…I don’t like calling her my girlfriend, as she’s in her forties.” Roland smirked. “Still, I suppose that’s what she is.”
Manny sighed. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“You don’t need to be,” Roland insisted.
“No, I still am,” Manny said, laughing. “I’m going to miss seeing trick shooting like the stunt he pulled.”
Roland remembered the paper target and swung his head back around. “That was rather impressive.”
Manny said, “One of us has to go get it, to save it for posterity.”
Tommy laughed and shook his head. “It’s not that big of a deal. I just take advantage of the kick to make each shot a little higher than the last.”
Roland said, “Please, run out and fetch it, Walter. I want to see it up close.”
Tommy got up and ran under the counter, again shouting, “Clear!”
He grabbed the target and returned using a more casual jog. Tommy held up the paper to reveal a straight line with only a few ragged edges. His aim hadn’t been perfect, but it was so close that the difference was negligible.
Roland’s face was active with conflicting emotions as he studied the target. “Walter, are you certain that you’ve been entirely honest about your past?”
“Yes, of course.” Tommy smiled innocently. “Why?”
Roland waved his hand. “Just now, the words ‘too perfect’ flashed through my head.”
Tommy laughed and nodded. “I get that a lot. It’s because my IQ is, shall we say, higher than average?”
Roland laughed and said, “There it goes again. If you pull open your shirt and there’s a bodysuit, I’ll finance your crime fighting capers.”
Tommy laughed genuinely and shook his head. “I’m not a superhero, and if I was looking for your money, it would be to fund my mad scientist work. That’s the other side of the law, so you’ll want to find a superhero to fight me.”
Roland looked like he wanted to say something else, but Tommy leaned down to offer Manny his hand. “We should go ahead and pack this meeting up. Manny is taking all the fun out it.”
“Would you like to come back to my home for lunch?”
Tommy shrugged. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.”
Roland smirked, and a look of skepticism filled his grey eyes. “Do you always try to come off as so smooth and charming?”
Shaking his head, Tommy declared, “No, I only do this for people who pay my annual membership dues to a private club.”
... I write dark fiction in a variety of genres. My blog contains my rants and rambles, and some short fiction that can only be found here.
I can be pretty fucking offensive, so viewer discretion is advised.
Yep Tommy is one sneaky little devil, and looks like the sinker has been swallowed now.
Not quite, but this too is part of the scam. ;^)