Roger Stelljes - Deadly Stillwater

DEADLY STILLWATER

By

Roger Stelljes

DEADLY STILLWATER

By Roger Stelljes

Copyright 2010 Roger Stelljes. SmashwordsEdition. All rights reserved, including the right to reproducethis book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this textmay be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverseengineered, or stored in or or introduced into any informationstorage retreival system, in any form or by any means, whetherelectronic or mechanical without the express written permission ofthe author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this bookvia the Internet or via other means without permission of thepublisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase onlyauthorized electronic editions, and do not participate in orencourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

This book is a work of the author'sexperience and opinion. Names, characters, places and incidents arethe product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actualevents or locales is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is is licensed for your peronalenjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away toother people. If you would like to share this book with anotherperson, please purchase an additional copy for each person youshare it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it,or it was purchased for your use only, then you should return itand purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard workof the author.

The publisher and author does not have anycontrol over and does not assume responsibility for third-partywebsites or their content.

Ebook cover designed by: Carole Sauers

Published by: Roger Stelljes

Visit the author website at:www.RogerStelljes.com

ISBN 978-0-9835758-0-1 (ebook)

ISBN 10: 1-59298-307-3

ISBN 13: 978-1-59298-307-0

First paper printing: 2009

Ebook version 2011.10.17

Other books by the award winning author RogerStelljes:

The St. Paul Conspiracy

Acknowledgments

The process of publishing a book starts withthe authors written word. However, only with the help of manyothers does a book ultimately see print. I am indebted to a numberof people who helped make this second book possible. Id like tothank friends and family for assistance in editing, cover design,marketing, and technical assistance. I cant thank you all enoughfor your time, thoughts, and encouragement. I hope you enjoy thefinished product as much as you did the rough one. Finally, Idlike to thank my wife and children for their infinite patience asDad pursues his dream.

Fifteen Seconds

SUNDAY, JULY 1ST

Dictionary definitions vary, butretribution is typically defined as punishment imposed forpurposes of repayment or revenge for the wrong committed. ForSmith, retribution simply meant payback. Hed waited sixteen yearsfor it, and now he was three hours away from starting to getit.

Smith turned the panel van left into thealley and pulled three-quarters of the way down toward WesternAvenue. He stopped and then backed in behind a small officebuilding housing an accounting office with a storefront facingWestern. From this position, the back of the caf was visible at aforty-five-degree angle to the right. Smith had watched the areaand this parking spot in particular every Sunday for the lastmonth. Nobody ever came to the building or parked in the back on aSunday afternoon. He expected this day would be no different.

His watch said 2:03PM. The office buildingsparking lot was elevated two feet above that of the restaurantacross the alley. This allowed for a somewhat unobstructed view ofthe restaurants back patio, which was surrounded by asix-foot-high wood fence. He could only see the tops of heads orupper torsos of patrons and staff from his position. Nonetheless,the spot provided a needed clear view of the cafs small parkinglot outside the fence. The targets car, a new Prius, occupied thesecond to last space in the back of the lot, located close toWestern.

Smith set his gaze on the back of therestaurant, Cels Caf, a little bistro on the corner of Westernand Selby avenues. The caf was a busy hub in St. Pauls CathedralHill neighborhood, an area of turn-of-the-century Victorian homesencircling the majestic Cathedral of Saint Paul. The statelymansions of Summit Avenue lay a mere three blocks away. The cafwas a busy post-church lunching spot. By the mid-to-late afternoon,it changed over to a light crowd of book or newspaper readers,drinking coffee, iced tea, and, for those living on the edge, maybea bloody mary. Cels also employed a young waitress named ShannonHisle, the daughter of St. Pauls wealthiest and most prominentlawyer.

Smith pulled black leather gloves tight overhis hands and turned to the back of the van where two large men,brothers Dean and David, fiddled with duct tape, masks, and glovesof their own. There was also a gas-filled plastic milk carton witha detonator taped on the side for later. Each had a .45 lying onthe floor. Smith turned his attention to the passenger seat and thepolice scanner, which reported little activity on this sleepysummer afternoon.

Smith had spent fifteen years in LeavenworthFederal Penitentiary. Because of who he was, the beatings startedhis first day. He had fought, but he didnt have a fighting chance.Those first few years, he suffered broken ribs, fingers, and wristsmore than once. In one of the last and most brutal of the assaults,he suffered a broken nose that left him with a large and permanentbulbous knot just below the bridge and a shattered eye socket thatblurred the peripheral vision in his left eye. He spent long toursin the infirmary, recovering from the abuse, only to be put backinto the general population to be unmercifully beaten again andagain. He had no allies, no protection, and no hope in those earlyyears.

If it wasnt for the arrival of the twohulking brothers in the back of the van, he wouldnt have made it.Three years into Smiths sentence, David who was six-foot-three and240 pounds of bulging muscles, moved into a neighboring cell. Davidsaw firsthand the results of the beatings. He didnt like what hesaw. Along with his equally large and skilled brother Dean, threecells further down, David used skills honed in the Golden Gloves toput a stop to it.

David and Dean had saved his life. Smithwould do anything for his two friends. It was one of the reasonswhy he now sat behind the wheel and had masterminded what was aboutto take place. Before he could get his, Dean and David needed toget theirs.

* * * * *

Monica sat at her table at the front of thebistro, sipping her iced tea, alternately reading her Harlequinnovel, watching the target, and making calls on her cell phone.

Dressed in a frumpy floral blouse, fadedblack spandex pants, and black heels, sporting a 1960s bouffant wigof black hair, she had the look of a mid-forties woman whose sociallife revolved around reading about romances she would never have.It was far from her normal, stylish look, but it was the look shewanted for today. She had used it the previous three weeks when shecame in on Sunday afternoons to scout the movements of ShannonHisle. The mark was sitting at the bar now, closing out her tables,sipping a Diet Coke. She would be leaving soon.

Taking one last sip of her iced tea, Monicaput the receipt in her purse, popped a complimentary mint in hermouth, and discreetly wiped down the table and the arms of herchair. Shed never been arrested nor had her prints taken, but shedidnt want to take a chance.

Hisle finished the last of her tabs andhanded them to her manager, who gave them a quick look andapproval. Monica checked her watch 4:56 PM and placed a call asHisle put her purse over her shoulder. Smith picked up on the firstring.

Fifteen seconds.

As Hisle pushed the back door open, Monicaslung her purse over her shoulder, walked out the front door andturned right, casually strolling east along Selby Avenue and awayfrom the action beginning to unfold.