PART I - CHAPTER 13: WITH ONE STONE

Chapter 13

With One Stone
(Ó 2007)

Eighteen minutes afterwards, a late model black Jaguar XJ6 stopped at the gate of the Bartholomew estate. The gate was a high brick archway, with a wrought iron gate. The archway had a nine-foot high ivy covered brick fence spreading on either side of it.

The luster on the automobile was so exceptional that if you were to take it from where there were any streetlights, you just may see the stars themselves reflecting from the body. The silver rims shone so that it seemed that they did not need any light whatsoever to be seen at night.

Two figures sat in the front seat of the Jaguar, that of an adult and the other a young boy. The window of the drivers side rolled down and the man behind the wheel reach over and pressed the signaling button of the intercom system that would alert whoever was in the large house letting them know that someone was at the front gate. The driver waited for about thirty seconds, then pressed the button again.

At the exact same moment, unknown to the driver, Jared Bartholomew heard the buzzer inside his home. He was still laying face down and motionless. He believed that the man who had attacked him was still standing directly behind him, just choosing to remain silent to torment him. However, his attacker had left him alone as soon as he stood up. Jared tried to say something to the man whom he believed was still behind him, but the pain he was experiencing caused him to remain quiet.

Jared knew it was the “Ice Cream Man” with his “treat” at the front gate. Normally he would press the intercom button to confirm that it was he, and then press the remote button to open the gates. However, this evening was far from normal. He lie there still, with his arms out to his sides, with his legs and feet together. Looking like some mock crucifixion. Not only could he not move, but also was too frightened too.

He heard the buzzer go off for a third time. He began to feel himself cry. Assistance for him was so close, yet he could do nothing to obtain it.

He heard the buzzer go off for a fourth time; he knew the “Ice Cream Man” would be persistent, after all the “treat” that he had for him was going to cost Jared twenty thousand dollars cash upon delivery.

Jared heard the buzzer go off again for what would be the last time - - -

- - - He stood there, now outside, across from and slightly down the street of the Bartholomew estate. He was frozen in his position, totally absorbed and blended into the darkness of the shadows of Sheridan Road. He watched the man in the drivers seat of the Jaguar that was now parked at the gate of the Bartholomew estate through a small and powerful hand held monocular. It was a skill that he had learned well, able to conceal himself anywhere in any situation, and conduct surveillance. He observed as the drivers displeasure began to build after the second time he reached through the drivers side window, rang the intercom system and then would receive no answer.

He watched as the driver reached out of the window for the third time in his effort to summon Jared Bartholomew, who was at that moment lying motionless in the backyard of the estate. The driver seemed agitated now and opened the door of the Jaguar and stepped out.

Now he focused his monocular on the driver. Now he saw the drivers face, who he was, and what he looked like. He was about five foot ten inches, shoulder length blond hair and a dark beard that was neatly groomed around his jaw line and upper lip. He was wearing a silk black suit with a black silk shirt open at the collar. He stepped over to the wrought iron gate and peered through it, looking towards the sizeable home.
 

He now focused the monocular to the passenger of the Jaguar. It was a young boy, around eleven or twelve years of age. He also had blond hair, cut and combed neatly as if he had just came from a barber shop. He appeared to be wearing a dark jacket with a white shirt opened to his chest. He had light colored eyes and by the expression on his face he seemed to be anxious.
 

He turned his monocular now back to the driver, he paced in the entranceway, looking to the house, then to his wristwatch. The driver would step out on to the street to nervously look in both directions and then he would step to the gate to look to the house again. He continued with this cycle over the next two minutes. He then stepped over and pressed the button to the intercom system for the fourth time, and waited again for an answer that would never come. The driver’s agitation grew, and both his hands closed into fists. The boy in the passenger seat remained silent and still.

In another few seconds he observed as the driver angrily stepped to the intercom system for the fifth and now final time and pushed down aggressively on the signal button, as if this would bring the results he sought. Still no answer from the home. The driver then stepped back to the open door of the Jaguar. The driver sat back down behind the steering wheel, glaring towards the enormous house. The driver then reached to the area of the transmission stick shift that was between the seats, where there was a mobile phone.  

He heard the sound of the boys voice asking the driver something. The boy seemed to be asking what the problem may be. “Shut the fuck up”, he heard the driver say to the boy with a deep accent. He recognized it as a Slovakian accent. He made a mental note of it.

He saw the dim light from keyboard of the mobile phone. The driver began to press the buttons, however he only pressed in three numbers. The driver hesitated, looked as if he had second thoughts, then turned the mobile phone off and replaced it to its stand. The driver then stared towards the house again, then sat back fiercely against the drivers seat. The driver appeared to be trying to access the situation and to make a decision. Finally, he reached to door of the Jaguar, grabbed it firmly and slammed it shut. As the driver started the engine, he could hear the driver swearing “asshole, that fucking asshole“, to the boy. The boy just looked at the driver and remained totally still.

The window on the drivers side rolled up, the Jaguar slowly moved backwards onto Sheridan Road. The rear of the Jaguar was now in full view of him, and he focused the monocular onto the license plate. He saw the plate number, a vanity plate, which made it much easier for him to memorize. 

ICM CHGO

He watched as the Jaguar then drove away southbound on Sheridan Road, until it disappeared from his view. He waited for another half a minute, then stepped out from his camouflage of the darkness and onto the sidewalk of Sheridan Road. He then thought to himself, ‘two birds, one stone’.

He then began to walk southward on Sheridan Road, blending in with all the darkened scenery, confident he would not be detected. He looked around himself and was amazed how quiet and serene everything was. It was as silent as it was dark, almost like they both were as one.

He glanced quickly to the Bartholomew estate from across the street and then looked forward. ‘These people’, he thought as he briskly walked passed.