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Description
It was a "nothing special" day with a stray
cloud hovering here or there, a breeze so slight and
melodies dancing on Henry's mind.
Regular bus was to arrive in a few minutes
as he approached the stop with a few
others lingering about; a gentleman smoking to his
left, a young group of tween something girls
giggling and showing pictures on cell phones,
an older woman with canvas tote, so environmentally
sound and... a wad of cash sitting
right in the middle of the lot of them.

Henry approached the wad of cash carefully,
looking at the group of people suspiciously.
Didn't they see this? Didn't they see the money laying
so openly right there in the street??
Standing directly above it, a clearer view,
Franklins, at least seven or eight thick stacks
bound together. He wasn't a man in dire
straits. Things were good for his life. But things
could always be better. Always.

Knelt and stuffed the whole into his bag quickly.
The people acted like he wasn't doing anything
out of the ordinary. Maybe one of these dropped
it, didn't know about it. Granny,, he thought.
Did you lose your life's savings, Granny? Canvas
lady looked away when she caught his sight.
The smoker wasn't concerned with anything else but
the bus coming around that bend, he was sure of
it. The girls, they just yapped away. It was his.
All his. But then he saw him. Across the street, his
cabana white hat and shades, Hawaiian shirt and
white linen pants just staring. Did he see him pick it
up? Is it his?

The bus pulled up, blocking his view and Henry got
out of there, ran down the street, took a different way home.
Counting the bills, it ran towards the million mark
easy; Henry couldn't contain himself. This was
his break. Life wasn't hard, and times never were
tough, but he would make sure he'd live like
the star he should have been. He felt it in his loins,
and he would get that burning sensation fixed first, too.

The movers came quickly and took everything so orderly
to the new house outside of the city. The bushes even
spoke words of elegance and sophistication.
He would be as trendy as his mind always knew he was.
But that man was there, at the old house and then there, here
at the new one, one time looking directly at him, the other
time, profile, but the cabana hat and sunglasses were so
odd. This was Milwaukee! November and cold. But he
seemed impervious to the cold, to people. No one
saw him but Henry and that was the beginning of the
maddening.

In his study, surrounded with his riches transferred to
material gains, he looked out his window to the tree
across from his yard, and there he squatted, staring,
on one of the branches, motionless and empty
in his method understood by no one,
hands hanging from his stiff form,
the slight of hair jutting from his chin.
Henry had tried to simply ignore him, thinking
he was just seeing things. But this everyday affair
was getting to be too immoral for him.
It was one particular gray afternoon he had
opened his bay windows, leant out and shouted,
What do you want, huh?! What do you want from
me? You wanna fight? C'mon punk! I can take you!

He had walked off that time, but he saw him again,
indelibly, in the pharmacy, in the beer shop,
at the grocery store, at the fish market and
local Wal-Mart. He even stopped the greeter
at Wal-Mart one time and asked, Do you see him?
pointing erratically, frantically towards the man,
standing fifty feet away, staring.
See who? was his only reply before Henry
backed away, dumbstruck, feeling sick to the core.
Poor Stanley, Wal-Mart greeter. The cataracts
always were getting worse for him.

The police did nothing, what could they do?
What did he do? Observing, looking.
No crime in that. Henry cursed them for their
lack of trying, they shoved him out the station.

Henry brought a gun, thinking if the freak
saw him with his firearm, he would begin to see
this was no game. But the frequency of sights
simply increased. Three to five times in a day.
He started seeing him in mirror reflections
inside his house, or those black penny
loafers, with a penny facing tails behind some curtains
through a shadow. There was never anything
there, just a figment of his imagination,
he assured himself. Be easy ol boy, he said.

But why was he watching him? All the time?
Never saying anything, just watching.
Who does that? Beyond the thought of it being
rude, it just wasn't normal. At all. This was borderline
psychotic. Henry was a good man, never harming
anyone. There should have been no reason for such
a stalker. He would throw bits of trash, acorns,
balls of paper, anything he could find while
walking down the street, in his house, in his yard.

There must have been something that he did.
Quite awful so long ago. But what was it?
This man knew about it. He was after him.
Not a gesture was ever expressed, his eyes never
revealing a detail, but Henry knew. He knew it all.
If he got the chance, when that day came, cabana
man would torture him. He knew it. Oh, he knew it!
Then some dismemberment. It would be an
awful and slow death.

Henry was honorable. He wouldn't allow that.
Never that. The gun, the glock he brought, he took out.
Walked to the window and there he was, staring again.
Always staring, never saying, never gesturing.
Nothing, just the stare of black glasses.
He cocked the gun.
Just nothing ever ever ever, just staring.
Raised it to his head and the trigger pulled easily.

Cabana man took out a cell phone, looking at the spray
of blood on the window, dialed, spoke,
It was incredibly easy.
As it should be, a voice on the receiver responded.
People will always go to extremes when fear
grips them. Such an easy thing to exploit.
Who's next, Cabana man asked.
Katherine Jennings. You'll see her in a
department store. Just leave the wad of
cash on the floor near the woman's changing
room at 19:47. Our crowd dummies will be in place.
Okay, Cabana man said, hanging up the phone.