The Predator
Chapter One
It was a new town. I had worn out my welcome in the last one. Well, okay, the last one's son had chased me out of town with a shotgun in his hand. I had jumped into my little car, which much to my surprise had actually started and headed west, from Pueblo. I had the money in my pocket, a few hundred dollars in my CitiBank account, and that duffel of my clothes, shaving gear, toothbrush, and my Colt Defender, that I always kept in the trunk.
So here I was, Salida, Colorado, a beautiful mountain town with 14,000 feet peaks (the Collegiate Peaks if it matters) and some of the most spectacular views in a spectacular state. I checked into a motel, not one on Highway 50, the main street, but off the beaten path where the rates dropped like a stone falcon. My money wouldn't last long.
So I was on the hunt. I stopped by the Senior Center, usually a good hunting ground. I looked at the calendar, posted on the bulletin board as they always were. And there were two likely hits in the next two days. There would be a bunco game tonight, well, at 7:00. That was a possibility and I'd certainly drop by. But the better shot would be tomorrow, the Friday Night Dance with a live band (The Mountaineers). I'd try the bunco game, but the dance would truly be a target-rich environment.
I stopped by the local grocery store and bought a loaf of bread, a pound of bologna, some mayonnaise (I never developed a taste for salad dressing), a twelve-pack of ginger ale, and a big package of double stuff Oreos. I needed to husband my money, so I went back to the motel and turned on the television. I caught the news, happy to see no mention of my unfortunate exit from Pueblo. Then I found reruns of "That 70s Show" and laid back to relax.
I napped.
The clock in my head woke me at 6:00 and I showered and made myself a sandwich. Hair carefully combed, face shaved, wearing my cougar hunting costume, a button-down Oxford cloth shirt, white with blue pencil stripes, white denim Levi's, white socks, and loafers I was ready to go. My shirt was slightly threadbare, just a hint of fraying at the collar and cuffs. In the same way, the hem at the bottom of the jeans legs was just slightly frayed, a few stray threads peeking out. I wanted to look a little down on my luck but not so far down as to be dangerous. I had found, over the years, that women of a certain age found this look, combined with my, well, my "boyish good looks" to be a little immodest about it, worked in Senior Centers and since I'm lazy, and those were usually full of easy pickings, it's what I had on tonight.
One final check in the mirror and I headed out to see what the herd might look like.
There was a good crowd for Bunco. For those of you who don't know, the game involves teams of 12 players keeping score in some odd system that involves dice. I had a basic understanding of the game, as I did for Euchre, Pinochle, Canasta, any of a half dozen games involving dominoes, and even Bridge. If you spend much time in Senior Centers you learn them.
It took a while to sort out who was who. It's easier at a dance, but this way I would have some information to work with tomorrow. In the end, though, this group ran true to form.
First off, there were twice as many women as men. While it's true that women outlive men, it's also true that women tend to get out more. In my experience, it is especially true of men once they retire and a condition I call Terminal Sedentariness sets in. It's a condition that has kept my own bed warm, well, the bed of whatever motel I'm living in at the time, more than once.
At a dance, with a distinct floor and tables, it's easy to spot my target in a new town. First, you find the Queen Bee. At a dance, she will inevitably be at a table on the edge of the floor. Then you find her punching bag. That will, without fail, be the woman sitting to her left. While not as reliable a predictor, you can still pretty much count on the punching bag being just as attractive as the Queen Bee and the opposite body type. If the Queen Bee is thin, the punching bag will be plump. If the Queen Bee is thick, and there are plenty of beautiful heavy women in the world, the punching bag will be thin.
But it's harder on a game night since there is no specific table to spot.
Here in Salida, I got lucky. As people moved around the Queen Bee was easy to spot. She was holding court whenever there was a break in the action. She was striking, that's for sure. She was tall, for one thing. She was attractive rather than pretty, with a halo of that silvery grey hair that can never come out of a bottle. She had deep-set eyes and a largish nose giving her a regal look.
Spotting her punching bag turned out to be easy too. And she ran true to form. She was a short, round, butterball of a woman. Probably no more than 5' 2" tall and easily over 200 pounds. And so cute I just stared when I picked her out. When our eyes met for an instant I smiled but then looked away as if I was just surveying the room.
I waited, kind of walking around the room. I read once, in a Stephen King novel as it happened, that the way to avoid being noticed when you were trying to watch someone in the same room was to keep moving. I don't know if there was any validity to that in terms of being a real theory of police work or stakeout science (if there is such a thing), but I had found it worked for me. So I picked up one of the complimentary glasses of iced tea and kept moving, circulating, waiting for my chance to make my first pitch.
Finally, it came. I had been there for about a half-hour and was about to bag the whole project. When you're in your 20s, and look like you need to be carded before you get a beer, people get suspicious if you just hang around the Senior Center too much. So I was about to call it a night when she went to the drink table, doubtless sent to fetch the Queen Bee something.
I headed for the same table and threw my paper cup away. The movement and the little noise drew her attention.
I put on my best boyish grin, the one I practice at least ten minutes a day in the mirror, and said, "excuse me, can I ask you something?"
She smiled back. My Grin has that effect. "Sure," she said.
"I'm new in town," I started, "and I was wondering if it would be okay for me to put a little sign up on the bulletin board. I need work. I'm a pretty good handyman, know my way around a lawnmower, and work hard."
She smiled, "Oh," she said, and the way she was smiling I could tell she was enjoying my attention, "I don't think that would be a problem. There are lots of signs on the board. Would you like a tip?"
"Sure," I said, the Grin at full wattage.
"Use some colored paper," she said, "the board is about covered in white."
"Well thank you," and I paused, "I'd say your name but I don't know it."
She actually giggled a little at that.
"I am Doris," she said, holding out her hand.
"And I am David," I said, taking her hand but not just shaking it. I held her eyes while I bent and kissed it. It was a soft, pudgy hand. I liked it.
She giggled at that, a full-on giggle making her jiggle a bit. I liked it.
"Very pleased to meet you," I said.
She was actually blushing a little when she said "and you."
"Thank you, Doris," I said, making a point of saying her name.
"Oh, you're welcome," she said.
"Now I think your friend is wanting you," I said, and the Queen Bee was waving at her.
"Well," she said, obviously reluctant to leave the attention, "I'd better get over there."
"Thanks again," I said and watched her leave. I'm pretty sure she put a little extra swing in her hips.
I thought about stopping by a bar I had seen that also featured a live band but on second thought I went back to my room. I didn't want to be seen in bars at this point in a new, and very small, town.
The next day I spent sightseeing. And there were a LOT of sights to see. I hadn't been in Colorado long and was still learning just how spectacular it was. I drove up Monarch Pass to see the ski area of the same name and had lunch in the lodge. No skiing in September. The neighboring town of Buena Vista was another jewel set in a beautiful valley. The tiny burg of Poncha Springs wasn't much. What WAS nice were the hot springs and I relaxed in them for a solid hour, feeling completely relaxed and spent when I headed back to my room for another nap. I was hoping the night would involve some serious exercise. I had noticed that Doris did NOT have a wedding ring.
I got up, having overslept. It was 4:30 and the office supply store I had spotted would probably be closing at 5:00. So I got up, moving, went to the store, and had a bright yellow sign made up. Nothing special, just "General Handyman. Good Work. Reliable. Honest. Reasonable Prices." And my cell phone number.
I made another sandwich and drank a Coke I had splurged on.
I waited until about 7:30 before going over to the dance. First, the lights would be low. Second, I just didn't want to be too obvious.
