Harmless by Ernie Lindsey

Author:Ernie Lindsey [Lindsey, Ernie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Retail, Romance, Suspense
ISBN: 9781490496856
Amazon: B00DFDZK9A
Barnesnoble: B00DFDZK9A
Publisher: Createspace
Published: 2013-06-28T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

Thomas and I stood at the back of Strout’s room, each holding a duffle bag weighing approximately twenty-two pounds, full of hundred-dollar bills.

Yes, those.

The ones that had been in my basement earlier that evening—the reason Strout was late to our rendezvous in the park. With DeShazo looking on, held in place by the threatening revolver, demanding to know who we were while Strout waved him off like a pestering fly, Strout explained how, during our first encounter—when I shouted at him from my window—a short trail of dirt leading from the edge of Kerry’s garden to my house had made him suspicious. They weren’t muddy footprints, since it hadn’t rained, rather more of a “scatter pattern,” he said, where the clumps of dirt had fallen away from my shoes.

Not to mention the fact that I’d been absentminded enough to leave the decapitated three-wood shaft lying nearby. Lack of sleep and the incomprehensibility of holding two million dollars can lead to some mistakes.

Later that day, while Thomas and I were visiting with Clarence, he’d gone back to inspect things again. A trace of a trail and a modified club was enough to lead him to my shed, where he’d discovered the hacksaw, the three-wood head, and a hint that I’d been up to something.

I still haven’t forgiven myself for that boneheaded misstep. And I need to get better about locking things that are designed to be locked for a reason.

The most insane thing about it was, we’d gotten back earlier than he’d expected and when he’d called and narrated every move I made, the traitorous bastard was inside my house, calling me from the upstairs bedroom where he’d been hiding in my closet and waiting for a chance to escape. He’d made it out just as I went back inside. “Too close for comfort,” he said.

He hadn’t found the money yet—he hadn’t had time to search the whole place but absolutely knew that I was keeping it in there somewhere—and used the secret, “I have information you want” meeting as sort of a loss leader to get me out of the house again.

Once we’d left for the park, he’d returned for the third time, found the money in the basement in a couple of minutes (I should’ve hidden it better—did I mention I’m guilty of not thinking things through?), dropped it off at the hotel, and then met us by the statue.

As he talked, something occurred to me: earlier that night when he’d suggested we all had something in common, that we were on all three sides of the law—right, wrong, and victim—it hadn’t made any sense. Yet he was alluding to the fact that I’d been a victim of a B and E.

This is what Thomas called it. I had no idea what a B and E actually meant until he explained it—you’d think with all the crime shows I watch, I would’ve figured it out, but no. It could’ve just as easily been bacon and eggs.

Breaking and entering.

But not exactly theft, since he stole something that didn’t belong to me.

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