Jennifer's Plan

Jennifer’s Plan

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved © 2012 by Don Meyer

Art Direction, Cover Design and Typesetting

Copyright © 2012 by Two Peas Publishing

ISBN: 978-1-938271-11-3

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Historical names and places are used in their context, but are used here fictitiously.

Published by:

Two Peas Publishing

PO Box 1193

Franklin, TN U.S.A.

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www.dpmeyer.com

chapter one

The pickup truck was stopped at the intersection waiting for the light to change. The truck was a big green and white American made model from the sixties. It had been his father’s truck, given to him when his father passed some years back. The old man had driven it ever since.

His left arm rested on the window frame while his left hand gripped the wheel from the side, keeping it steady. The right hand rested on his thigh, but as soon as the light changed the other hand would be back in position on the steering wheel to fight the drift of the wheels.

The local repair shop had quoted five hundred dollars to realign the front end. The garage over in the other county had said six hundred and the dealer wanted seven-fifty, but he felt they were all trying to rip him off and he refused to have it fixed. As long as he kept the truck around fifty miles an hour, he was able to control it. There wasn’t much call for highway driving, with most of his trips around and through town he felt that would be good enough.

The light changed to green and the pickup started forward. Instinctively, the right hand gripped the top of the steering wheel and the knuckles turned white on the left hand as the driver gained control. The pickup truck veered left for a moment as it was apt to do, but was quickly corrected.

On the next block, the driver noticed a small white compact sedan parked along side the drugstore—obviously a rental, because no one from around here would drive something like that. Inside the car was a young woman talking on her cell phone and either looking, writing or handling some papers in her hands. The driver in the pickup couldn’t tell. He slowed down long enough to take a hard look at her, nodded knowingly and pushed down on the accelerator, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

Two blocks up ahead was the privately owned town bank. The pickup was now going forty and the driver slowed to a crawl while he passed the bank. As the pickup drove by, the driver shook his head from side to side and mumbled to himself; how did we ever let those numb-nuts attend our meetings.

The pickup truck accelerated again, picking up speed, blowing through the next light and quickly covering the last three blocks of the town center. Before anyone noticed, the truck was gone.

As he looked through the glass of his office, Gerald Watkins, president, could see the bank’s entire operation.

The bank was usually open until 4:30 pm every day except Saturday. On Saturdays the bank closed at 1:00 pm and was always closed Sundays. It was the only bank in town, a privately owned and operated financial facility and in many ways they made their own rules.

The bank currently employed two other men, Loren Harding and Harvey Mason. Loren Harding acted as the assistant vice-president, even though the bank did not currently have a vice-president. Loren Harding’s title was largely ceremonial. He filled the role of a general clerk more than anything else.

One of Harding’s primary duties was to close the vault every night. He preferred to complete that task before 4:15 everyday. It was 4:10 and he didn’t understand why he couldn’t close it now. No one was in the bank, but the instructions were 4:15 sharp, no sooner, no later. Absently, he stood by the door watching the clock tick, letting his mind drift elsewhere.

Loren Harding was a slight man in his mid fifties. He lived in a rundown two-bedroom house on the outskirts of town. Not a very popular man. Most men knew Harding as a leech and a hanger-on, while the women simply thought of him as a pig.

Harding never simply looked at a woman, but looked her over, top to bottom, making crude remarks. Women usually avoided him when they came into the bank and the other employees tried to keep him away from them as well.

Rumor had it that he was married once, but that was a long time ago. Now the only women that tolerate him are those left in the bar at closing time and those that carry their own credit card reader.

Harvey Mason sat at his desk and shuffled papers, preparing to close up shop. He watched Harding standing by the vault door, waiting for him to close the door signaling the end of business for the day. Harvey Mason served as the bank’s branch manager.

He was in his late forties, trim and fit, married with two children, both in high school. He lived with his family in town in one of the newer homes built with bank financing to rejuvenate the community. A decent hard working family man, he was good at his job and well respected in the community.

Gerald Watkins sat in his office, glasses pushed up on his forehead, reviewing a stack of papers and not paying much attention to the other two men.

At sixty-three, Gerald Watkins was a bit overweight, but carried it well. He was married to his second wife, a former secretary in the bank. He lived in the upscale section of town.

His family had always owned the bank. A third generation Watkins, he took over as president, when his father, Albert, took ill a few years back.

Gerald Watkins had considered retiring on several occasions, but his second wife wouldn’t allow it. Twenty years younger than him, she didn’t want to be considered a retired couple. Instead she kept up a heavy social calendar. With a bank president as her husband, they were invited to just about every event. However, Watkins had set his sights on retirement in two more years, with the daily operations going to Harvey Mason at that time.

The papers in front of Watkins were all checked and prepared by Mason and only required his signature, so his review of them was basically a formality. He slowly looked the papers over, not really reading them, before affixing his signature and placing them on the ready pile.

Harding closed the vault promptly at 4:15, as the men went about their normal duties prior to closing and locking up. Tonight however, they will all be staying late, killing time, waiting at the bank before leaving for the meeting out in Miller’s pasture.

Loren Harding sat back at his desk watching, no, leering, at Lori Beth Colbert, one of two tellers the bank employed. Harding’s desk was positioned so that he could watch her every move.

Lori Beth, seventeen, was a senior in high school, and worked part-time at the bank in the afternoons. Lori Beth is better known as Big Jim Colbert’s daughter.

Big Jim Colbert owned and operated the local contracting and construction business. For all intents and purposes, Big Jim Colbert was the town. As usual, Big Jim Colbert would be conducting tonight’s meeting.

Harding watched Lori Beth close up and pack personal items. Actually, he watched her bend and twist, taking in her features and the movements of her young body. He silently watched as her dress stretched to every movement.

Harding had been lusting after this young girl since she started. If not for the fact that she was Big Jim’s daughter, and Big Jim would rip his head off if he knew Harding was even looking at her, Harding would certainly try to do more. Fortunately for Harding, Lori Beth wasn’t aware of being watched, innocently going about the business of cleaning up her area before leaving.

Lori Beth looked back over at Harding, who was standing behind her and politely said good night. Loren Harding was barely aware she had even spoken. He nodded in response. Just moments before, Lori Beth had changed into her tennis shoes, affording Harding a nice view of her legs and perhaps a glimpse of more.

Lori Beth waved to Mr. Mason as she walked to the front of the teller cages, then waved to Mr. Watkins on her way out. Mason nodded, Watkins let his glasses fall back on his nose, and waved as well.

Mason stepped over to lock the doors behind Lori Beth and, as soon as the door was shut, turned and yelled out to Harding.

You better get your head out of your ass or Big Jim will rip it off and stick it up there for you.

Harding angrily waved him off, but Mason continued.

I’m telling you, leave that girl alone...

Harding interrupted before Mason could finish.

Shut up Mason, she’s probably giving it to every swinging dick in the school, why shouldn’t I think about getting me some?

Because, Mason went on, If Big Jim found out someone was diddling his daughter, he would take him and cut his balls off. You, he would just cut, being you don’t have balls or a dick to cut off.

Fuck you. Harding muttered and walked away.

Gerald Watkins stepped out of his office waving both arms.

All right boys, enough. Don’t you have work to do before tonight?

Mason gave Harding the finger and walked over to Watkins.

How do you put up with a pig like that? The guy is disgusting.

Watkins raised his hand and just shook his head.

Let it be Harv, don’t let him get under your skin. Let’s focus on tonight. Big Jim said that it should be good tonight, a real interesting get together.

Gerald Watkins continued to look over at Harding. He knew what Harding was, always had, but Harding’s dad had worked for old man Watkins and old man Watkins had promised Harding’s dad his son would always have a job at the bank. Gerald Watkins had no choice but to keep Harding on. To his father’s generation, a promise was a promise.

When old man Harding was alive, Loren Harding was a courier, a runner actually, for the bank. He would stop at the businesses in town, pick up their deposits and bring them back to the bank. He was pretty good at it. Even though just about everybody knew what he was doing no one ever bothered him. Rumor had it he carried a gun under his jacket. True or not it made everyone think twice.

Loren Harding was okay back then. It was only after his father took ill, that he started to slide. His marriage quickly disintegrated and he started prowling the bars at night. And once the collections stopped, he was forced to work behind a desk in the bank everyday and that seemed to frustrate him even more.

Watkins looked around and saw Mason sit back at his desk, shaking his head back and forth. He watched as Mason opened a file, made some notes and such, tried to work. Too bad Mason had to pick up the slack for Harding, Watkins thought.

As he glanced back at Harding, Watkins could tell Harding was thumbing through a magazine that was obviously not related to bank business. The lady on the front cover with the big jugs attested to that. He wondered to what degree he had to honor that promise his father had made.

As Watkins stepped back into his office the words pig and fuck you greeted his back. He shook his head and, as an afterthought, closed the door to his office.

chapter two

Jennifer Cerriety, Jaycee for short, with the accent on the ‘Cee, had just crossed over Millham road in her white compact rented car. It was almost 6:30, the sun was setting and she was hopelessly lost.

Back at the gas station, the guy had said to follow this road until she reached Harper Crossing, then turn left at the junction, and the Hotel on Main Street would be about a mile down the road. It had been almost an hour and she still hadn’t seen any signs of Harper Crossing, or a junction for that matter. She stared hopelessly out the front windshield looking for something, anything that might give her a bearing.

Jennifer Cerriety grew up in a suburb just outside of Chicago. She had led a relatively simple life, that is, until her brother died. He was killed on a mission, her parents had said.

She knew he was in the service, or worked for the government, but not much more than that. When she pressed her parents for more details they would always say not now, maybe later. After a time she had stopped asking.

The news came about her brother shortly after she had graduated from high school, and was enjoying the easy life of community college.

During the summer break, from college, her parents received the insurance settlement check for her brother’s death and promptly placed it into a college fund for her. She resisted at first, but they were adamant she start attending a four-year school and continue her education.

Jennifer graduated college in two and a half years and then decided on law school, instead of a master’s degree. She had decided to get the law degree first, then possibly further supplement her education depending on her direction.

After she finished her first year of law school, she was wondering if she had become a professional student and decided to spend the summer in the field, hoping to learn first hand the practice of law, rather than just the teaching of it.

She already had offers to be a summer clerk from several big law firms in Chicago, but thought that would be too sterile. Instead, she yearned to go out into the real world.

She contacted a small law firm in the deep south that could only promise her a chance to work. Salary, or any type of compensation, would be dependent on whether she actually generated billable hours on a client’s case.

Jennifer felt this was a great opportunity to experience real law, as she called it and jumped at the chance. Money was not yet an issue, as her education fund was still holding.

Jennifer Cerriety at twenty-three years old now dressed in a business suit, sported long, light brown hair. She had changed from the jeans and sweatshirt getup she wore through college. Her hair was longer than she usually kept it, but she wanted it to grow out a little over the summer, still not sure about the look she wanted.

The guy she had dated off and on through the last two years of college liked the long hair, but she was beginning to tire of it. It was especially cumbersome in the mornings, getting ready for work. All through college it was a quick wrap into a ponytail and off to class, but now she wore it full and flowing. She thought that maybe a shorter cut would be easier to manage. It probably would go better with her new business suit image.

She was several weeks into her new job, and actually had made some money by helping on research projects. She had even sat in on a couple of trials, gaining a first hand view of the system at work.

While researching one of the cases, she had decided to do some fieldwork. The plan was to visit a couple of towns that had similar incidents in the past and review the case histories. Her firm had agreed and given her a couple of weeks.

As a first year law student new to the southern culture, she had researched several local cases to get a perspective on the law of the land.

Her law professor, at the college near her office, where she was taking a couple of summer courses, had recommended against going out in the field to do research. He told her to just look them up on the internet. She felt she needed to see for herself, though, visit the courtrooms, talk to the people, to understand just how it was done through the south. Visiting a couple of small towns would certainly help.

She had begun by talking to a few people in the last town. They had been very friendly and helpful. She was feeling good about the trip so far.

Tonight, she had arranged a meeting with a retired judge to get his take on the law and had been advised by the court clerk that the judge was old school. She was to dress appropriately, as the judge didn’t subscribe to the casual attire women were wearing these days.

She was dressed in her best business skirt and blouse, including pantyhose, which she hardly ever wore, and heels. The clerk had also mentioned that the judge didn’t appreciate bare legs in his presence, and disliked pants on a woman. Christ, she thought, how old was this guy anyway?

She was also warned that the judge didn’t appreciate women invading his world, and if she had any hope of keeping the judge’s interest she had better dress smart and act it, or the judge would dismiss her as quickly as he would most women.

Jennifer had found it hard to believe, that in this day and age, someone would still harbor that attitude. She had chuckled lightly as she mentioned that to the man instructing her, but he quickly retorted that she wasn’t in this day and age now and hung up. She smiled at his last comment.

She had been parked outside a