bizarre. This will go nowhere.
One last thing he might do is to check on Mrs. Elizabeth Garner’s beneficiaries.
LONG ISLAND
1.
Saffron, now safely back from San Francisco, is driving her near-new Maserati GranTurismoon Interstate 495 E into the heartland of Long Island. The sat-nav computer informed her that the drive would be about ninety minutes from JFK Airport, New York City to her home.
Living in Port Jefferson, on the North-West Shore of Long Island is a treat. Not as snobbish as the Hamptons where she and her parents once lived and not that ribald as to make downtown evenings unsavory. Port Jeff is a charming, yet calm place to live. Her father and mother, deceased when she was twenty-three, were rich. Very rich. Millions in the bank, due to their combined efforts operating an exclusive real estate business in Long Island for over two decades. Saffron had inherited the lot.
Following the death of her parents, which occurred while she was living away studying a Masters in Biological Science at M.I.T. Boston, she soon sold their home and purchased a stunning four bedroom Victorian original 19thCentury old world charmer with all the modern amenities of today. Situated on upmarket Oakes Street and about five minutes drive to picturesque Port Jefferson Harbor, shopping centers and restaurants. A nice spot to be. In the heart of the village.
She had furnished her two-story home with exquisite antique furniture in every room. The previous owners had done a remarkable job in renovating the home, whilst keeping all the beautiful wood adornments. The magnificent original oak staircase, bannister, doors, yellow pine floors, hand carved gas fireplace and rounded ten-foot tray ceilings were maintained in place.
The Maserati drove up her driveway towards the detached matching double garage that sat alongside the white painted weatherboard home with its light grey shingle roof. She pressed the remote and the double door opened up and glided back into the ceiling area of the garage roof. She drove her car in and got out.
Within minutes she was at the front door, unlocked it and walked in with her luggage rolling behind her.
‘Phew’, she thinks to herself, time for a quick gin and tonic before I pick up Caviar.
Saffron is pleased with her assignment in San Francisco and now looked forward to a few weeks of relaxing around her home with her menagerie.
Later she drives into the Village to pick up her Birman. She thought of her mother’s love of Birman’s and that is why she bought one. Whenever she thought of her parents she got sad, but always smiled, as she knew she had done them proud. In many ways, actually. Completing her Masters degree at M.I.T. was a challenge following their death, however she had persevered and reached her goal.
2.
Her parents had been killed by a booze and drug fueled young man, named Warren Clapper. He tee-boned them as they drove home one night after a friend’s anniversary party. Clapper had lost the plot and was doing three times the speed limit when he smashed into their Mercedes at a road intersection. Have you ever seen the Merc that Lady Diana died in? Her parent’s Merc looked the same. Utterly destroyed with no chance for the two occupants. Yes, people do die in Mercs’ and Volvos for that matter. How Clapper survived was a miracle. Maybe because he was in a large truck owned by his father’s business. He suffered only cracked ribs and a broken wrist.
Saffron spoke to Clapper only once. That was four years following her parents’ death. Clapper had been convicted of involuntary manslaughter and was sentenced to only six years jail. He was a rich Hampton kid and his influential parents hired the best defense attorneys and they did their job. There were no witnesses to the crash and Saffron’s father, who was driving, was found to have alcohol in his body. So, mitigating factors were introduced and twisted in Clapper’s favor. Warren Clapper served only two and half years at a go-easy prison farm in Connecticut.
He had been out of prison a year or so when he ran into Saffron. She waited for him in an old beat-up white clunker in a car park opposite Clapper’s favorite tavern. She had done her homework and knew that Clapper would arrive soon, which he did. He parked in the same car park, some distance from her. She watched him slide out of his blue BMW Sports and head toward the tavern; with that loping snaky gait she had observed before many times.
Saffron waits a few minutes and then goes in after him. She sees him already knocking back a shot followed by a beer chaser. Her stomach churns.
He drank alone and Saffron walked over to him.
“Hello,” she smiles, “Is that your blue Beemer parked over the road?”
Clapper grins, “Sure is. You like it?”
“Sure do,” Saffron smiles back then changes from being demure, “There are two guys looking inside it. Looks a bit suss to me.”
“It happens all the time,” Clapper shakes off the warning. “It’s a high performance M5 Beemer, and goes like a rocket. Most dudes around here don’t see that many. You want to take a ride in it later?”
Saffron laughs, “I would, but I’m working late tonight. Maybe next week. You come here often?”
“Sure do. How about next Wednesday? Suit you?”
This time Saffron gave out a girly giggle, “OK, you’re on,” and gently scraped her fingernails over his hand. “Got to go now, see you then, rich boy.”
Saffron walks away, looks back to see Clapper checking her out, smiles at him and walks out the door, which banged shut behind her.
After three more shots and beers to follow, Clapper decides to take a visit to the john. As he handles his dick, he thinks, ‘I’m going to do some banging at the Viper Room tonight.’
Not bothering to wash his hands, he returns to his stool at the bar to down the last of his beer and looks for his car keys. He is sure he left them on the bar. He searches though his pockets and swears, “Fuck,” out loud. No one notices.
“Must have dropped them, as I know I locked the fucker,” he mutters as he leaves the tavern.
He looks anxiously on the ground as he walks to his BMW, which is still parked, much to his relief. As he approaches his car, he still has not found his car key. He pulls on the door handle and the door opens. Surprised, he looks down into the illuminated driver’s floor well and sees his key.
Even Warren Clapper is no meathead. How could that happen? He thinks for a while. The car is not supposed to lock with the key inside. Crazy. Clapper brushes it aside as a tech malfunction to be looked at by the local dealer. He has a bellyful of grog and now a desire to fuck a whore.
He sits into the seat, closes the door, but does not notice a greased movement around the brake pedal. He fastens his seat belt and with the interior lights still on, he now does see a movement! He looks closer. A pair of shining dark eyes in an arrow pointed head slides out from the darkness. Its forked tongue flicks out each second. Clapper stiffens and tries to unfasten his seat belt.
He screams, “What the fuck!”
Fear overtook coordination, but finally his belt comes free. Too late, as the serpent lunges into his inner thigh, repeatedly biting it with vicious venom. Warren stiffens and knows he is in deep shit. He attempts to open
