To become notorious Norman had to commit a lot of different crimes.
His personal goals called for two counts arson, industrial and residential. It called for a armed robbery. He had to use two sets of guns legal and illegal. He had to use ropes to bind victims hands. Steal from the rich and the poor. Evade police pursuit in a high speed chase, Rape. And Assault. And theft. And personal threats, and carry out hits. And steal cars. And all of these had to be marked by his own personal calling card, xxxxxx
All these crimes never seen by anyone past the victims or Norman own eyes - no witness, ever.
The perfect situation doesn’t come easy, you have to have patients then, one night, life seemed to hand Norman a victim wrapped in a bow. Maybe if he was not so greedy, maybe if he took a few nights rest, but being notorious never came without sacrifices.
The patchouli incense first drew in his attention in followed by the rhythmic blinking of the half moon that hung above the door way, every time the moon lit up the electricity flowed and seemed to cry out like an electric fly trap buzzing each time it claimed another victim. Above that in neon blue, the words Wit and Wisdom Tarot readers.
Norman turned on his heals to face this new business. He cocked his head to the side wrapping his fingers around his chin and mouth and played with his nine o’ clock shadow of a beard. The way the thinker statue might if he was alive.
Some buildings changed and evolved at a pace that no normal man could keep up with. This building in years past once a used book store and then French cafe’ and then a clothing outlet now changed again to a tarot reader and by this time next week it will had become something new- Chinese take out perhaps. But tonight it was the location of Norman’s next hit.
He had to make sure he was alone, that was crucial. He glanced both ways. You could see all the way down the road as far as the movie house to one side and the mall to the other and not see another human. No doubt they were all hiding around the corners or in the dumpsters waiting to jump out and point their fingers at him. Or worse, the police were waiting inside, ready to pull their guns and haul him off to prison.
No - these street were deserted. Norman would be the lone customer, prying on a lone victim. He wrapped his cold hands around the antique door handle, pushed it down until the click and then pulled it open. The dark, musky-earthy aroma greeted him followed by the ding of the small golden bell the hung above the door announced his presents. “I’ll be right with you.” A voice called out from behind the beaded curtains. By the time Norman scanned the room twice she appeared.
She walked through the beaded curtains and waved one hand past her face clearing the patchouli incense from her eyes, green eyes (like dusty emeralds), before she smiled “Welcome, what brings you here this evening?”
Norman returned the smile, cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Ahh,the names Norman, I’m just looking for some clarity.” Years of criminal life have weathered his body and soul but left this mind sharp and fast. “Been going through hard time, you know?”
“Hello Norman, I’m Jenny.” She extended her right hand out.
Norman extends his hand, places it palm to palm with her and shakes her hand. He instinctively begins pricing the emerald jewels on her rings. Whatever she has on her necklace hangs to low for Norman to price out… Soon enough.
“Shall we get started?” Jenny said jesting towards the table and chairs off in the corner. They both sit down opposite of each other.
TK - Norman reached up with his right hand and placed it on his chest, over his heart. The beats, like a tease from a drummer to the fans, slow at first but with force and promise for more before pulling back to a normal rhythm.
Norman opens his mouth wide and breaths in deep filling his lungs with the dark, musky aroma. He focuses on reclaiming control of himself. He had a job to do here. Soon the drummer boy returns to a normal beat, Norman raises his head toward Jenny and tries to play off the sudden heart issue. Norman pounds his fist against his hear twice. “Well, guess I better lay off those late night tacos.” He smile, his mask to cover his fear.
Jenny does not react. Motionless. A smile the Mona Lisa would question. “Are we ready - Norman”
Underneath the table Normans places one hand over the other cracking each knuckle on the hand before switching and repeating on the other hand. “Oh we’re ready jenny.” Norman came in here without a plan, something unusual for him but, not totally unheard of. Improvisation is a must in his line of work after all. What will it be? No doubt she would recognize his face or at the very least describe him to a sketch artist.
“Tell me Norman - What kind of clarity you seek?”