Disclaimer: See previous chapters


Chapter 7


While Jacob McIntyre served his time in prison, he had applied for admission into the long distance learning program at the University of Minnesota in order to complete his degree in psychology. With his application, he included a grant proposal to pay for his tuition and a contract to participate in a work program at the university when he is released from prison.

After seven years behind bars, McIntyre was as an exemplary prisoner. That combined with the credits he earned before he was incarcerated and his impressive proposal led administrators in the psychology department to give the prisoner an chance, if he agreed to psychological testing and participation in a case study conducted by members of the department.

McIntyre agreed wholeheartedly.

The state of Minnesota granted him parole in 2002 after he served 15 years. He still needed a few more credits for his bachelor's degree in psychology with a minor in ethics. While working his campus job, his program mentor, Ruben Espinosa, invited him to attend an a seminar on forensic anthropology. McIntyre thought, what the hell.

The seminar was somewhat interesting, but not due to the subject matter. The speaker intrigued McIntyre's psychological mind because he found Terri Miller to be immensely in love with the sound of her own voice. While he deemed her to be highly intelligent, he thought perhaps her arrogance might be her downfall.

Although her lecture bored him at times, there was a point during the question and answer session that truly held McIntyre's attention.

A question had been posed that dealt with correlation between forensic anthropology and forensic entomology, to which Terri Miller smiled and said, in a smokey voice, "Oh, I believe you are referring to a recent journal article by a very good friend of mine, Dr. Gil Grissom, the forensic entomologist with the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

The name alone made McIntyre's heart race and blood boil.

After the Q&A, McIntyre asked Espinosa if he minded if he asked Dr. Miller a question. "Sure, Jacob, I'll wait outside."

With Espinosa no longer watching him, McIntyre descended the stairs to the podium. His gait was much more measured than usual, and had a suggestion of a feminine sway. He smiled at those who passed him. Stopping near the podium, he casually folded his arms across his chest and waited for Terri Miller to finish talking with two young studs.

When they conclued their questions, McIntyre gave the men a flirtatious eyebrow wag, as he affected a homosexual stance. He took a step toward Miller with an outstretched hand. "Hello, my name is Dale Danley, I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your lecture."

His voice pattern, his stance, his gentle hand grip and his gait led Miller to think what McIntyre hoped she would. She smiled and gave his hand a gentle squeeze before she removed it. "Thank you, Dale."

McIntyre turned around cheekedly before continuing, "So, if you don't mind me asking, how is Dr. Grissom doing these days?"

Miller laughed. "I suppose Vegas is treating him well."

"I'm sure that blistering sun is doing wonders for him. Dr. Grissom with a tan... yum," McIntyre said, let his hand give Miller's forearm a friendly squeeze. "I met him fifteen years ago in Minnesota when I was an undergraduate. I'm not ashamed to say this, but I have always hoped I could be a very good friend of his."

Again, McIntyre emphasized his point with a flirtatious eyebrow wag, leading the most professional chuckle to escape from Miller's mouth. She couldn't help but be giddy about this subject. Grissom with a male suitor, it boggled her mind because as well as she knew Gil Grissom, the thought of him being gay made her laugh; it was almost too funny.

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but I have first hand knowledge that your attentions in that direction may be unwelcome. After all, Gil and I have dated."

"Ohhhh, you go, girl. Successful anthropologist being courted by a successful entomologist. I'm sure you led him around with just your little pinky finger and a smile."

"He understands where I stand, although I'm not one to kiss and tell... "

"I would expect nothing else from a lady of your intelligence and caliber," McIntyre said with a mock bow. "Well, thank you so much for your time. I hope I hear you lecture sometime in the future."

Miller took out a card that simply had her name and Web site. "If you go online to my website, you can find the schedule of events where I'm scheduled to speak."

"Oh, thank you, doctor," McIntyre said. "I'll be sure to keep my eyes open for you."

And he did. When she left for a month-long excursion to Guatemala just two weeks ago, she was surprised when Mr. Dale Danley picked her up at the airport.

But not as surprised as when he took control of her life in that small hotel room.


"DUDE!"

McIntyre woke with a start. The lull of the car ride, along with the pain of his injuries and the pure exhaustion from the weekend, caused him to fall sleep with his gun still clutched in his left hand. As he woke, he straightened up a bit and put his gun at ready.

"Easy, dude. We just stopped for gas. We're going inside to pay and grab some stuff. You need anything?"

McIntyre looked outside at the pumps and the deteriorating exterior of the curb store. He checked his watch and saw it was 1:30 am. "Here," McIntyre said, taking out a wallet from his rear pocket and retrieving a $100 bill. "Use this."

The stoner smiled and was about to snatch the bill, but the look the driver of the care made gave the stoner pause.

"Why so generous?" the driver asked.

"You're welcome to use it or not." Despite the friendly connotation of the words, McIntyre's tone matched the driver's intensity.

The driver simply opened his door and got out, leading the stoner to grab the c-note and leave the car enthusiastically. As the driver talked to the stoner outside the car, McIntyre recalled his dream. While Grissom reacted to the killing of Terri Miller in the video, he was not nearly as devastated by the sight as he was when he witnessed his mother's death or that of who he thought was Sara Sidle. Terri Miller, that arrogant bitch, McIntyre thought, she had me thinking she'd made Grissom her boy toy.

The thought only made McIntyre more upset about his predicament. He looked out the car window to see the driver leaning against the car near its gas tank waiting for the passenger to return from paying for the gas inside. If McIntyre had paid attention to the road better, he could have been back at Grissom's house sleeping in that luxurious king sized bed and been refreshed enough to slit Sara Sidle's throat for real; instead of the slut he'd used in her stead in the first place. After he raped her, repeatedly, with malice and spite, and with little mercy. Right before the eyes of Grissom. Hahaha.

But instead, McIntyre was stuck in the back of a couple of ex-con's car going who knows where with a seriously messed up arm. It seemed bad, and the pain was really getting to him. He was spying the stoner's knapsack on the floorboards of the front seat when he heard the trunk open. Using his still gloved left hand, McIntyre grabbed the remaining cash in the wallet and two cards and put it in his side cargo-pant pocket. He left the wallet back on the seat next to him.

The stoner returned and put some items in the truck while the driver pumped the gas. The stoner then opened the passenger door and entered the car with a couple of bags. "Booze or bubbles? Sweet or salty."

"Just give me a few chocolate bars and a pop," McIntyre said with disinterest.

The stoner obliged, and handed McIntyre the candy bars and an energy bar, along with a can of soda.

"I think you forgot something," McIntyre said, again with his hand on the gun. "The change?"

"What the hell you think you're going do, dude?" the stoner asked with some bravado. "We're in a fucking gas station."

McIntyre laughed. "You're a tough guy, fer sure. Tell you what. Keep the rest of the money if you got something that can help with my sore arm."

The stoner eyeballed him. But, hell, handing over a few pilfered Vicodin wouldn't kill him. He reached into his bag and pulled out six pills. Without a word, he gave them to McIntyre who immediately downed two pills with a swig of cold cola and put the four bars in the side pocket of his cargo pants. McIntyre noticed the stoner lit up again and was barely coherent after this third drag.

The driver finished filling the gas tank and knocked on the window. McIntyre rolled it down as the driver spoke to him quietly. "We're about an hour away from Barstow. We're going farther, but you want to stop there?"

California, McIntyre thought. He hadn't been there in years, but he figured the two men were probably on their way to Los Angeles, and McIntyre had no desire to go that far. "I just need a place to go to take care of my arm. You know a someplace like that in Barstow?"

"Yeah. I do."

"They gotta bus station there?"

"Yeah."

"Works for me."

They drove for another hour and a half before dropping McIntyre off at a strip mall in Barstow that included StatCare Clinic. McIntyre grunted a couple words of thanks, gave the driver some cash, got out of the car and went on his way.

The stoner passenger woke up when McIntyre closed the door. He turned to watch McIntyre out the rear window as they drove off. McIntyre walked toward an all-night lounge instead of the medical clinic. "Dude, I had some booze here in the car, wonder why he went in there?"

"He's not looking for booze, asshole," the driver said. "He's probably looking to score some funds."

As McIntyre watched them drive off, he concealed his gun in his pants and took out his cotton, ski mask. He stood waiting in the shadows as inebriated patrons left the bar. A pair of couples holding hands. Five drunken frat boys singing their school's fight song, one of them began puking before he got seven steps out of the bar. A business man in a crumpled suit, said goodbye to another gang of business men and walked to his car alone. He was smoking a cigarette and laughing to himself over some insipid joke he'd heard before leaving the bar.

The man made his way to his vehicle, a company car with the name Amydysis emblazoned on the door. He completely caught off guard when he heard a tap on the driver's side window. He saw a smiling man lifted up his left hand to say "Hello." The driver put the key in the ignition just to get the battery strength to roll down the window. "What do you want?"

"Hey," the man said, as he rubbed the discreetly rolled-up cotton hat upon his head. "I just wanted to warn you, if you drive down that street, there's always a cop looking to nail one of drinking folks to the wall. So, be careful. I got burned a month ago and now I have to hoof it home. Damn cops."

The driver noticeably relaxed and smiled. "Hey, man, thanks for the tip."

"Hate to break a guy's good buzz..."

"No, I probably needed to sober up a bit," the driver chuckled.

"Oh yeah?" the man said as he swiftly pulled the wool cap over his face and took a gun out of the back of his pants. Before the man could react, McIntyre firmly planted the muzzle of the gun against the driver's head. "I betcha this might sober you up."

A noticeable stain formed on the driver's pants, which made McIntyre chuckle. "OK, I need your cash. Don't hold out on me, or this car will be a mess of blood and brain matter. I want the cash from your wallet and any money clips. And give me yer jacket."

The man did as he was told. The threat and the tone of Jacob's voice made a profound effect on the now sobering business man who complied without a word. McIntyre kept his eye trained for any stragglers coming out of the bar.

"Now... what?" The man stuttered.

"Now? I'm not sure if I trust you to drive away and not stop till you get to your hotel?"

"I'm... I'm fine. I'll dri.. dri... drive away," the driver said.

McIntyre placed the muzzle upon the man's head, which made him whimper and close his eyes. "Drive off. Slowly. Don'tcha be thinkin' of stopping, you understand there?"

"Ye...Yes."

McIntyre took two steps back but kept his gun trained on the car. "Go. Slowly."

After the car pulled off, McIntyre put his gun away, took off his mask and shoved it in his pants. He grabbed the jacket off the ground and walk a bit to a park bench. He checked the wallet and found $67 in loose bills and two money clips, emblazoned with Amydysis, each with $250 a piece.

Not too bad, for a one-armed robber, McIntyre thought. He gingerly put on the jacket and made his way back to the bar where he would call for a cab to take him to the nearest, cheap motel. Tomorrow, I'll get my arm looked over.


TBC


A/N: The next update will be soon. Perhaps tomorrow night or Saturday. Thanks so much for reading :-)