I watched Earl Tatom pat the shapely bottom of his current bimbo. He said something that sent her scurrying around the Olympic-size pool. She crossed the wide patio and entered through glass doors into the 12,000 square-foot mansion.
Disgust filled me as the seventy-year-old lecher grinned and eyed the sparsely-clad figure's retreat. It took all my self-control to stay put. Forcing myself to be patient, I waited for Tatom to settle onto a heavy, wooden lounge chair. He swept his still thick hair away from his forehead, stretched out and closed his eyes.
Again I fought my urge to rush at the man. “No,” I said to myself. “This one must be exactly right.”
I heard the throaty purr of the girl's red Corvette and knew Earl Tatom was finally alone. My time had come.
Without a sound, I slipped behind Tatom and covered his mouth and nose with a rag I'd soaked in chloroform. He struggled as I knew he would. However, his thrashing around caused him to suck in deeper breaths, thus putting himself out in a more timely fashion.
The chloroform would not keep him unconscious for long. I quickly strapped his legs and arms to the wooden lounge chair with strips of duct tape. As he started to stir, I wrapped the sticky, gray tape three times around his hirsute torso. One final strip across his bewhiskered face and I was done.
The thought came to me how painful it would be should someone rip the lengths of tape from his hairy body. I'm not into torture, however. Simple justice is my motivator.
My heart pounded in my chest as I waited for him to fully awake. I wouldn't make the same mistake I had made with Roger Eastman. This time I would make certain my victim not only recognized me, but I would remind him why he was doomed to die.
Earl Tatom grunted, squirmed, then began to struggle in earnest. I stepped to the foot of the lounger, giving him a clear view of my face. He froze seconds before his eyes widened in disbelief. I laughed.
“No, it's not Lee back from an early grave. Remember Lee had a baby son – Lee Junior?”
Tatom muttered behind the duct tape.
“Your chance for talking is past. You've had forty-five years to come clean, to confess. You've had plenty of time to make restitution for your cowardly behavior.”
“...eas...ou...af...t...aw”
“What was that? I can have it all? How generous.”
Tatom gave an affirmative nod of his head, all the while pulling and tugging against his restraints.
I fingered the peppermint carnation boutonnière in my hand, drawing out the moment, giving the so-and-so a taste of hope. “No...I don't think so. I don't want or need your wealth. I want what you stole from me...a father. You cheated him and me...you stole his life.”
With a short piece of tape I affixed the boutonnière to his chest. Then, I picked up the stem of bluebells and carefully placed it in his lap.
“Le Bouquet!”
You'd have thought I placed hot coals on the man the way he squirmed and struggled.
“Bluebells – a symbol of loyalty. You perverted your LOYALTY for the sake of greed and selfishness.”
Suddenly I was fed up. Tired of the hate eating my soul. Exhausted from the pressures of planning and implementing seven executions. I had no more patience and simply wanted it to be done, over, finished, completed.
Stepping to the back of the lounger, I pushed with all my might until the chair met the lip of the pool. With a final shove, Earl Tatom and the heavy chair shot over the edge and into the clear, blue water. Bubbles broke the surface as chair and occupant settled to the bottom.
“Le Bouquet!” I whispered reverently.