Herb Tulliver: Adrenaline
“I have to take a copy of this to my heart doctor for a follow-up.” Herb excused himself from the relieved eyes of his coworker Devon.
“Well, I’m glad to see you! Ask that Doc when you can come back.”
Herb went to his storage facility and flopped on the cot. He suddenly felt very tired. This cat and mouse game was about over. Though he should give his target time to feel at ease in her surroundings, he just wanted to cut the phone and power lines to the house and get it all over with. Years of planning and toiling and fire setting and research all boiled down to one glorious moment of voodoo doll bliss. No blood on his hands, perfect alibi, he’d be free.
Herb nodded off. When he woke, it was already evening. Startled at his lapse, he jumped from the cot and with adrenaline, drove a stolen moped to the jewelers. He was supposed to be there hours ago!
“Pickup for Deep Pockets,” he wheezed at the counter as if he’d jogged there.
“You’re late.” The old man scowled, his wrinkles deepened.