Book 2 - Part 4: Binding Evil - Chapter Six
2356 Cranston Way
UPS Special Delivery – 2:44 p.m.
The doorbell rang.
Alexandria peeked out from behind a lace curtain and saw a large truck with the letters, UPS, on it.
She saw a young man, perhaps early twenties, standing at the front door with a crate on a small carry all.
She turned to call for Ronald.
When she explained to him who it was, he simply said, “Open the blasted door and sign for the package, girl.”
She did.
The young man wanted to know where she wanted him to drop off the crate, when Ronald entered the room and said, “Follow me.”
Straight through the living room, then to the right of the overly large kitchen that led into a back room, where just to the inside right, was a screened patio room attached. He told the driver to drop it off inside the patio room.
“If you like sir, I have the tools available in the truck to cut and remove the bands for you, and jack open the boards as well.”
“No, that isn’t necessary. I can do that myself. Thank you.”
He reached out to shake the deliveryman’s hand, and when he pulled away, he left a folded fifty-dollar bill in the young man’s hand.
“Sorry, sir, but I’m not allowed to receive tips.”
“Tips? What tips? Alexandria? Do you see any tips running around in here?”
To be somewhat brazen for a moment, her hands casually fell across both of her breasts to rest seductively on each nipple.
“Oh, I’m sorry. You said tips. My mistake. No, I don’t see any tips in here at all.”
As Ronald walked the young man to the door, he said, “Have a wonderful holiday, and good day to you.”
As the young man got back in his truck to head for his next delivery, with only six more to follow, he spoke quietly while backing the truck onto the street.
“Hell, that was easy enough. He ain’t gonna call the company, and I’m not about to come clean on the fifty. That guy in there sure seemed like a strange enough bird, but I’m not gonna complain. That guy’s old lady, man, what a stacked chick she is. Lucky dude.”
In the next minute, he was down the street and around the corner and out of sight.
Inside the house, Ronald brought out his own cutting tool, along with a hammer to peel back the nailed boards.
Once fully opened, he pulled away all the packing material before he spied what he was after. All the essentials they would need to complete their mission as Alexandria saw it. It was a contract hit as Ronald saw it. Payday.
Two especially designed, high-powered .451 Magnum-Plum Spencer rifles. Both were molded from the original Spencer from over a hundred-fifty years ago, but with far more incredible accuracy. Only ten of these rifles even exist.
Maximum range: 4,000 yards. But for complete accuracy, 3,000 was ideal. For what their task entailed, 1,500 would be more than enough for Alexandria. Ronald would make the kill shot at around 3,000 yards.
Tomorrow, they would begin the assembly and disassembly of the Spencer, until they could do it in their sleep. Ronald already could. But Ronald (really Timothy Braden), always plays out his plans close to the vest.
He almost felt bad for what was going to happen to Alexandria.
Almost.
She knew the alternate plan.
Twenty-one days to countdown.
9:25 p.m.
The day, like the weekend, went without incident.
The park was crowded as people watched and waited for the first of the fireworks to appear as if by magic in the night sky.
Cars were lined up and down the city streets, and people could be found sitting or standing on the hoods waiting for the first flash of brilliant light to appear and light up the night.
A few of the older folks would sit on their front porches with what they considered to be the best view of all. Others just opened their windows and peered out into a black sky with billions and billions of small twinkling stars and a somewhat out of focus half-moon, and then 9:30 came.
The first barrage of colored lights burst in wide arcs blocking the view of the stars.
One of the bands on stage started playing, ‘America the Beautiful,’ as rocket after rocket were fired into the air and thunderous explosions in reds and greens, blues, yellows, and oranges; or they would explode all at once, fanning outward as if to cover the entire city.
Then came the multiply firings, up to ten at a time, and when they went off, the entire downtown was covered in light for a good twenty seconds.
The Star-Spangled Banner could be heard playing as more fireworks pummeled the evening sky, but an amazing thing happened.
Everyone took up the song and began to sing. By the time they finished, “o’er the land and of the free, and the home, of the, brave,” every bit of remaining rockets and shooters available assailed the night sky, and with a resounding reverberation never felt before; it left you in awe of perhaps a rare and incredibly special moment.
Of course, the following Tuesday would mark the eleventh anniversary of 911.
Most people that Labor Day night would tell you they remembered the families and friends, and those unsung heroes that fell on that tragic day.
One older man was heard to say as the crowd broke up and people headed home, “Eleven years. Seems like it just happened.”