Lethal Invitation Page 5

  “Welcome, welcome.” Carl sat next to a stainless steel bar-b-que grill wearing a chef’s hat and holding a spatula. His grin was wide and genuine.

  Demetrius smiled while escorting his wife to the professor’s side. “You’re not going to burn the hamburgers again, are you?” He wasn’t much of a teaser but couldn’t resist.

  Carl waved the spatula toward his friend. “You’d best show a little respect or I’ll have to pin your ears.” He laughed, reached for a handshake then turned for Wanda to bend and receive the customary peck on the cheek. “Lucinda’s in the kitchen fixing the salad if you can tear yourself away from this big oaf. I swear if he had half as much brain as he has brawn he’d be the Chief by now.”

  Demetrius smiled at the playful banter and remembered his wife telling of her first impression so many years earlier. Demetrius had been anxious to introduce his fiancé to his mentor, but as they approached, the man was studying a book with a serious and dour expression. She later told her soon-to-be husband that her first impression was of a serious and possibly even a bitter shell of a man, but as they became acquainted, she acknowledged she’d been mistaken. Over the years she’d mentioned many times the love she felt for this man.

  She joined in the teasing. “Great. I was hoping for some civilized company I’m sure I won’t get out here. You two stay out of trouble.” She turned toward the house just as Demetrius noticed the burgers on the grill with fire swirling around them as the dripping grease caught fire.

  Carl followed his gaze. “Ahhh!” He expertly maneuvered the chair in an attempt to save the meal.

  ◆◆◆

  Wanda knocked lightly on the glass pane of the back door to the house, then without waiting for a response, opened the door to step inside. Lucinda smiled at her entrance, but the smile was forced. She quickly dabbed at her eyes with a Kleenex.

  “Darn onions.”

  Wanda stepped to her side, knowing the onions were not the cause of the tears. “What is it?” She reached for the hand of her good friend.

  ◆◆◆

  The burgers were placed on the warming tray of the grill while the men lounged with sodas in their hands waiting for the women to join them. Demetrius actually preferred beer with his burgers but his hosts were Mormon so that was out of the question. The root beer was cold though and tasted good in the lingering warmth of fall.

  He studied the professor for any sign of what the sudden invitation to dinner was all about. They had dined with the Smallwoods countless times, but the invitation always allowed at least a week. Carl returned his gaze with a serene expression and a hint of a smile.

  “What is it? Lucinda said you needed some help. What’s going on?”

  The smile on the professor’s face changed and his eyes temporarily lost their appearance of calm. He took a deep breath and looked down at the soda bottle in his hand and absently played with the condensation. A full minute went by before he turned to Demetrius. The serenity had returned.

  “We got some test results back yesterday and had a consultation with the doctor today.” He stopped to let his friend assimilate his words.

  Demetrius sat forward in his chair, anxiously waiting in vain for the man to continue. “And?”

  Dr. Smallwood placed his soda on one of the brick retaining walls. He studied the greenery for a moment then focused on his friend. “It’s pretty bad. I’ve got cancer growing inside that has progressed beyond the point where anything could be done. The doctor says I have at most six months to live.”

  Demetrius was shocked. “Can’t be. You look the same as you did when I first met you.”

  Carl’s smile was resigned. “It is what it is. The doctor said that many times when people get cancers in their organs, they know it from the pain, and sometimes it’s early enough to aggressively fight it. In my case, there was obviously no pain.”

  “But, there has to be something they can do.”

  Carl shook his head, then graced his young friend with a smile. “It’s okay, Demetrius. Really, it’s okay.”

  The big man sat in stunned silence. He thought of the first meeting in Carl’s office and was immediately grateful he had accepted the offer of help. Where would he be now if he’d rejected the wise advice? He stood and turned to look through the trees toward the crimson sunset in the west, all the while thinking of the time they’d been able to spend together. At last, he turned back to his mentor. “Is there anything I can do?”

  A genuine smile came easily to his friend. “As a matter of fact, there is. I’m working with a student who reminds me a lot of you when we first got acquainted. He plays ball and I’ve been trying to work with him so he gets his degree before he leaves. I was wondering if maybe you could take him under your wing? You know, keep reminding him that one of his highest priorities should be a degree.” He smiled more broadly. “Seems to me we both know someone who was in the same boat.”

  Demetrius nodded, remembering the frequent pep talks that kept him motivated to continue his schooling, then was ashamed he needed them on those occasions. “I’d be glad to. But is there anything I can do for you?” He turned as the chair rolled to his side.

  Carl gazed at the standing man and nodded slightly. “Our kids are scattered from Oregon to West Virginia so we don’t have any family close by. Maybe you could watch out for Lucinda. She’s taking it pretty hard. Would you be willing to do that?”

  Demetrius placed his hand on the shoulder of his surrogate father. The love he felt for this man intensified at the touch. “Of course I would. I’m honored you’d ask.”

  Both men turned as the kitchen door opened and each could see the red-rimmed eyes of the women as they approached with a bowl of salad and a plate of condiments.

  “Then let’s eat,” chirped Carl in a blatant attempt to lighten the mood, but no one was hungry.

  Chapter 6

  Edward pulled the flashy, red Mustang convertible into the Walmart parking lot next to the gun shop on the far east side of town. He’d chosen this particular firearms store because it was the largest in the city and he was hoping no one would remember a visit from a young man asking about a handgun. He was also reasonably certain the gun store employees would not be able to connect him with his very noticeable car, especially if he parked so far away.

  To his knowledge, he had never even been in the same room with someone in possession of a gun and he’d never personally held one. He’d spent the previous day researching the internet so he could ask reasonable questions. Still, he had no intention of buying a gun at the store. His sole purpose this day was to familiarize himself with the different makes and models so when he found an individual with a gun for sale, he would know what to look for.

  A quick glance in the rearview mirror verified that his red and blue University of Arizona cap and dark sunglasses hid most of his face. With a deep breath, he opened the door and slid out. He first walked into the Walmart in case anyone might have been paying attention and thought it odd that he would park then walk two hundred feet when it would have been easier to park directly in front of the store. After five minutes in the oversized retailer, he strolled out the side door at the auto department and nonchalantly made his way to the sidewalk and eventually to the gun shop.

  LARRY’S GUNS AND AMMO was painted in gold, block letters in a semicircle on each of the double glass entrance doors. Edward pushed through and stopped, staring in amazement at the hundreds of rifles lining the wall immediately to the rear of the long, glass sales counter. At least five employees talked with customers at the counter. Rifles and pistols being considered by the potential buyers were placed carefully on cloth, counter protectors. More than a few people browsed, at their leisure, the hunting gear and clothes displayed throughout the rest of the big store.

  Edward was shocked at the sheer number of firearms available. He’d never been in a place that sold guns. Well, maybe Walmart, but he had never had an interest in that part of the facility. He suddenly realized his staring might attr
act attention, so with practiced indifference he walked to the rack with bright orange vests to thumb through the selection. He chose one, held it up for size, then in case anyone was watching, frowned as he glanced at the price tag.

  Slowly he made his way to the glass, sales counter to stand next to a man and woman being shown a small pistol. The salesman was explaining all the ways she could carry it as a concealed weapon. Edward listened intently while studying the multitude of pistols inside the case.

  As the couple showed more interest, the salesman started explaining additional details about the gun.

  “It’s a .22 double action and will shoot shorts, longs and long rifle ammo. My wife has this exact model and I’m glad she does for the protection it provides. It’s only fourteen ounces so you won’t feel like you’re carrying a cannon in your purse.” He smiled and glanced at the husband. “It may not have the stopping power of a .38 or a nine-millimeter, but up close and personal, it’ll do the trick.” He pushed the pistol into the woman’s hands.

  Edward found himself mesmerized by the gun and was staring at it when he noticed the salesman watching him. He quickly returned his gaze to the guns under the glass, then trying to be as unnoticed as possible, moved away from the counter toward the back of the store.

  As he browsed the camouflage accessories, he glanced furtively at the store clerk. The young man was helping the same couple fill out the paperwork necessary to buy the gun but he looked up just in time to see Edward staring his direction. The instinctive reaction was instantaneous. Edward focused his attention quickly down to the table with neatly stacked long-johns and stocking caps.

  What was he doing? The cool, calm and composed he attempted to appear, and the more he tried not to draw attention to himself, the more the clerk seemed to be interested. Deciding to leave before any suspicions were raised, he started to step into the aisle for his escape. At the same time, a different store clerk approached from the rear.

  “Are you finding what you’re looking for?”

  Edward jumped at the sudden, unnoticed appearance of the man. He quickly regained his composure and at the spur of the moment, decided to go through with his plan to gather information. Using all his composure, he grinned and nodded.

  “Actually, I’m looking for a pistol. Something I can use for protection, you know. There are too many crazies out nowadays.”

  The clerk returned the grin. “Ain’t that the truth? Come on over to the counter and let’s see what we can find.”

  Edward stood in front while the employee walked toward the end of the display and into an opening which allowed him access to the back side of the case.

  “Have you seen the new Glocks?”

  Edward shook his head. He didn’t know what a Glock was.

  “They’re the best if you’re man enough to shoot one.” The clerk grinned as he bent and reached through the sliding back doors of the case to retrieve a thick, heavy looking pistol which he carefully placed on a piece of thin foam in front of the college student.

  “Semi-auto. Shoots as fast as you can pull the trigger.”

  Edward stared at the black pistol and slowly became aware of the same feeling of power he had felt on the sidewalk as he looked up at Dr. Smallwood’s office window on the fourth floor of the chemistry building. “Tell me about it,” he requested hungrily.

  The clerk, obviously excited a sale was possible, explained in detail the specifics of the weapon. Edward listened, soaking the information into his brain.

  As the employee finished his sales presentation, he pushed the gun into the customer’s hands exactly as the first salesman had pushed the gun into the lady’s hand fifteen minutes earlier. Edward was surprised it wasn’t as heavy as it looked. He reverently rubbed the shiny, black barrel and looked up.

  The salesman nodded and confidently smiled. “That’s the gun for you. I can tell. It sure looks good in your hands.”

  Edward blinked slowly as he reveled in the praise. He hefted the gun once again, testing the weight. “It does have a good feel to it. How much?”

  The salesman studied Edward’s face, at least as much as he could see. “This particular model is only five-hundred ninety-five dollars. If you’ll bring your dad in sometime we can do the paperwork and you can pick it up right after the background check.”

  The boy frowned at the mention of his father. “Why can’t you just sell it to me? This has nothing to do with my dad.”

  The clerk, obviously happy that the price didn’t seem to be the issue, shrugged. “Sorry. Can’t sell to minors. It’s the law.”

  Edward stood straighter. “I’m twenty-one years old.”

  The clerk blinked and cocked his head. “No kidding? Sorry.” Then with renewed enthusiasm, he pushed for the close. “Tell you what, if you buy it today, I’ll throw in a box of shells.”

  Edward grinned sadistically. He only needed one bullet, then the gun would wind up in the bottom of the lake next to Reid Park Zoo. “I’m just looking today. I’ll come back when I have the cash.”

  ◆◆◆

  Demetrius exited his Ford Explorer six blocks from campus. It was the closest free street parking he could find. Any closer and the traffic control guys would write him a ticket for sure. He waved good-naturedly to an elderly man in knee-length shorts and no shirt rolling a plastic trash container to the roadside, then walked toward his scheduled meeting in the old chemistry building. The morning was cool with a pleasant breeze blowing his tie over the shoulder of his white shirt.

  He arrived at the building and walked up the stairs to the fourth floor. When time permitted, he always used the stairs for the exercise. As a young married couple, he and Wanda had joined a health club to stay in shape. One morning he complained that the only available parking spot was too far from the club. Wanda poked him in the ribs. “So you’re coming to exercise but don’t want to use up any energy getting to the club?” From that time on, he used stairs when practical and never complained again about the parking lot walks into stores or movies or anywhere else he went. The extra effort, as well as the thrice-weekly trips to the gym, continued to pay dividends and he was proud of his fitness and endurance because of it.

  The echo of the slamming door from the stairwell to the fourth floor coupled with the clackity-clack of his hard-soled shoes reverberated through the old, empty hall with office doors on either side. He smiled as the creaking floor reminded him of his first visit to his mentor’s office, but the remembrance was soon smothered by the heavy feeling of loss. He could hardly believe it. Dr. Smallwood seemed every bit as fit as he had been on that first day. Demetrius quickly imagined with high hopes the diagnosis was a mistake and Carl would live on, but just as quickly as it had surfaced, the thought left and the hurting heart returned.

  Demetrius approached to see the man sitting patiently, hands on his lap, in front of his office door. “Hello, Carl.”

  “Hi, Demetrius. Thank you for coming. Marcus will be here shortly. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help. I’ve only been working with him for a couple of weeks, but he seems to be a good boy. He reminds me of you in a lot of ways.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by a ding coming from the elevator half-way down the otherwise empty hall. The men waited silently for the doors to open. When they finally did, the young man inside stepped lively in their direction with a pleasant smile.

  Demetrius was surprised. He’d been expecting an inner-city, broad and muscular kid. The approaching boy was white, only six feet tall and relatively thin by college football player standards. He frowned at the realization that his mental picture had been so wrong, then frowned more deeply as he thought of the stereotype of the rebellious, black, inner-city kid. With instant shame, he realized he, too, had things to learn about preconceived ideas and prejudice.

  As the youngster approached, Carl rolled slightly forward for greeting and introductions. “Demetrius,” Carl gestured toward the youngster, “this is Marcus Swanson. Marcus, I’d like y
ou to meet Demetrius Crown, tailback, ninety-two to ninety-five.”

  “Very happy to meet you.” The boy’s handshake was firm. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Is it true you once ran the wrong way and had to be tackled by your own teammates?”

  Demetrius hung his head, then glanced with a grimace at the professor. The huge grin was contagious. He gave a rueful chuckle. “Yes, I did. I suppose I’ll never live it down if Dr. Big Mouth keeps telling everyone he meets about it.”

  Carl laughed out loud. “Go ahead, tell the whole story.”

  Chapter 7

  Demetrius looked at the youngster and was encouraged by the pleasant, expectant expression. He shrugged then looked at his feet in embarrassment. “I was a sophomore filling in at the end of a game for our first team tailback. He had gotten a workout and we were ahead by four touchdowns. It was really nothing more than a mop-up assignment to run out the clock and get out of town.” He glanced up, shaking his head. “I hit the hole hard and ran smack dab into the starting nose guard and got my bell rung. I was still on my feet and instinctively did a spin move before I was hit again. Somehow I bounced off and the next thing I knew the field in front of me was wide open. I did what I’d been trained to do, I ran.”

  Dr. Smallwood laughed hysterically, pounding the armrests of the wheelchair in glee. Before long, Demetrius and Marcus joined in, but their laughing was cut short when the professor started coughing uncontrollably.

  The man pulled a handkerchief from the side of the chair and held it to his lips. Finally, the coughing subsided but Demetrius could plainly see the blood on the cloth.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” The professor quickly hid the handkerchief, but his breathing was labored and he appeared weak. As his breathing returned to normal, he bravely chuckled again before speaking to the detective. “Don’t hold the question against Marcus. I made him promise to ask it because I get such a kick out of hearing it. Thanks for telling it again.”