Something Wicked

Dennis pulled himself to his feet with a grunt and pretended to stretch. He watched her make her way to the top of the beach and hesitated. She could be heading for the parking lot or she might be coming out to the pier for a bite to eat at one of the many restaurants that lined the sand. He waited. She walked toward the parking lot, a swing in her step, long hair waving about her shoulders. As he picked up his pace, a peculiar swishing sound accompanied him. His massive thighs, gelatinous in texture and always raw, rubbed against each other, wrinkling his pants. He rounded the corner just in time to see her get into a bright yellow Mazda Miata. She backed out of the slot and hesitated, as though giving him the chance to read the license. He snickered. LAKATY. A personalized plate. They were all easy to trace, but this was a piece of cake. He pulled his cell from his pocket and started dialing. He watched her turn onto 66 and merge into traffic. She was his. Now or later, but soon. Very soon. He headed for a blue Lexus sedan.