Rain Dance Chapter One

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Elliot C. Bellows sat in an armchair in the reception room of his long-time friend, U.S. Senator Robert T. Forceworth, and anxiously flipped the pages of the National Geographic, as he waited to see the senator. Bellows, a land developer, was a short, corpulent man in his sixties. He believed that every developer should have a senator to back him up, to help, to persuade heads of state agencies about planning and zoning matters. Forceworth was more than a friend, Bellows mused with an inward smile. More like . . . a business partner.
For a kid growing up in the slums of New York, abandoned by his parents, changing institutions and foster parents as often as changing shoe sizes, he, Bellows, had done well, thanks to his street-smart mentality. When he was fed up with institutions and foster parents, he hit the streets and never looked back. He became a petty thief, a pick-pocket artist, and by the age of fifteen he knew more about the value of drugs and money than most businessmen knew about their business. He put himself through school, and chose very carefully his new friends. When he met Forceworth and Kirkland, he knew that he had hit the jackpot. Their parents were very rich and powerful. After some extensive research on the conservative, but extremely profitable background of the families, he envisioned that his new friends were going places. Places he had no desire to climb. He liked his obscure, behind the scenes background which he revealed to no one. His philosophy about life was very simple: Stay low, look honest, befriend with powerful people, learn their dark secrets or create one for them, and harness some of their future power to his advantage.
An enigmatic smile loomed on his lips as his mind took him back to his college years, to Forceworth and Paul M. Kirkland. The setup was much easier than he’d originally anticipated.
They almost had a heart attack when the drunken girl they had picked up at a crowded bar stopped breathing. They paced around her dead body and cursed aloud for an hour, as if they were completely out of their minds. Just the way Bellows thought they’d react. Calling the police was out of the question. They had raped a girl, and now she was dead. How would they justify it? What would happen to their dreams? What would they say to their parents? How would they survive in jail?
They shook their heads and in unison said, “No!” Then Forceworth said, “We should make it look as if she’s been raped by a maniacal psychopath.” They’d agreed to carve her body with knives, cut her throat, burn her clothes, and dump her in a river with a heavy stone attached to her body. And as they proceeded with their plan, they’d felt an exhilarating excitement, a feverish delirium invading the fibers of their minds. Their first kill was a success. As far as they knew, the dead girl’s body had never been discovered.
They were utterly consumed by this new godlike power. “We are destiny itself,” they declared when everything was over and done with. Then . . . there were others. Nameless young faces became a toy of rejuvenating joy for them. The very thought of slicing their first victim’s throat and carving her body seemed to reverberate a thrilling joy in Bellow’s flesh, sending pulses of youthful, tingling excitement through his body.
Yes! Definitely more than just friends.
Bellows tossed the magazine on the coffee table, leaned back, and looked around.
Behind the antique reception desk, three picture windows let ample light into the room. Across from him a solid oak door opened into the private office of the senator. The walls were covered with bookshelves stocked meticulously with books on social science, political science, and law.
Bellows watched the senator’s pretty young secretary. Her long fingers punched rhythmically the keyboard of her computer. He thought of the young interns who had sat in this office. They had been full of dreams and fresh ideas, eager to learn the inner workings of the government. They came, learned, left, then were replaced by others.
He scrutinized Forceworth’s security guard and chauffeur, Ben Edenburg. Ben sat in somber silence, arms crossed, in his chair beside the entrance door. Bellows had known Ben since the day he’d been hired as Forceworth’s bodyguard. Ben was a tall man with broad shoulders. He wore his usual outfit – dark gray suit, white shirt, ash-gray tie, black shoes. He had served the senator diligently for the past fifteen years; he was willing to throw his body in the path of a bullet to save the senator’s life. Ben’s high cheekbones cast shadows on his square face as his gray eyes observed the gathering dark clouds through the windows.
“It looks like rain,” Ben said confidently, looking at Bellows.
Bellows stared at Ben and turned his open palms up, as if asking himself, Why is he telling me this? Why should he care if it rains or not? He wasn’t here to predict the weather. He felt sorry for Ben. Today’s conference with the senator was a must. Millions of dollars could be gained or lost. Why should he care about the gathering clouds? Ben, simple-minded Ben.
“Yes, Ben. It sure looks like it.” Bellows cracked a smile as he glanced at his watch. “I hope this will not be a long wait.” He frowned.
Ben smiled. “Soon enough that door will open,” he assured him, with a thin smile. “I can tell.”
The door of the senator’s office opened, and a lady in her upper thirties walked out and closed the door behind her. Ben’s face flooded with pride at the correctness of his prediction, and stood up.
“You have a pleasant day, Mrs. Kenter,” he said politely and shut the door when she was gone. Ben’s eyes rested on Bellows. “It will not be too long now, Mr. Bellows,” he said.
Bellows nodded and stared anxiously at the closed door of the senator’s private office.

Forceworth’s mansion stood alone among the vast live oak trees. The Spanish moss on their long branches hung and hovered like a band of ghosts from long ago as they slowly swayed back and forth in the late afternoon breeze.
Rain Dance rang the doorbell, took a step backward on the brick porch, and waited for Maria, Forceworth’s housekeeper, to answer the door. Before leaving her motel room Rain Dance had looked at her reflection in the mirror one last time and thoroughly examined the miracle of makeup. A handsome young man dressed in dark blue suit, wearing a man’s brown wig, was staring at her with his brown eyes. She was very pleased with her transformation.
She rang the doorbell again. Images of utter desperation flooded her mind, and vivid visions of unrelenting horror choked her spirit. Her breath rushed through her clogged throat in short, violent gasps that set her jaws quivering as if she were out in an icy storm. She jerked her head to tame her wrath, uncurled her fingers, and as she looked at her trembling hands her spirit expanded. She took a paper napkin out of her pocket, felt its calming softness on her fingers, and carefully wiped her fingerprints from the doorbell.
Hanging by its chains, a porch swing was waiting patiently for someone to sit and enjoy its soothing motion. Soundlessly Rain Dance stepped close to the wall, avoiding the lens of the security camera mounted a foot above the door. She sat on the swing, holding her briefcase on her lap. With her feet touching the brick floor, she pushed herself forward just enough to avoid the lens, and lifted her feet. Free from any resistance, the swing moved back and forth for some time. When its motion slowed, she set her feet firmly on the bricks, bringing the swing to a standstill. She smiled and looked around.
Flowers in ceramic pots of different sizes and shapes had been placed at the edges of the porch. Colorful plants in flower beds lay below the porch. She could hear the music of the wind chimes as the light breeze moved through them. Low on the horizon, clouds moved hurriedly against the descending sun.
Pigeons and crows flew around and landed on the grass. Blue jays, red cardinals, and sparrows chirped merrily in the trees. The birds were telling her their secret messages. She had been taught to know and to recognize approaching enemies by the way they flew; the patterns in their flights, their sudden silence, their constant chirping or their screeching. The spirits of the birds in the trees and on the green grass were at peace today.
Yes. Everything seemed to be very peaceful, very relaxing. A tiny smile appeared on her face, but instantly she dismissed the pleasurable emotions that had skidded into her mind. Her smile turned to a dreadful grin. “That’s too bad,” she muttered angrily, gazing at nowhere. Shaking, she held her briefcase tightly against her body, forcing herself to be calm. She had to conquer the anger that threatened to poison her mind. She knew she had to be in total control of her emotions, precise, methodical, and stealthy. She had no time for sentimental mistakes. Not now. Not tonight. She had waited for this moment for a long time; she had calculated today’s final outcome hundreds of times. A wave of malicious anger shook her again. She took a long meditative breath, held the air in her lungs as long as she could, and let it out slowly.
She had spied on the mansion dozens of times, making herself familiar with the friendly shadows of the trees and the flowering plants scattered in shapely clusters among them – her escape route.
Maria, the housekeeper, would do her chores in and around the mansion. When Mr. or Mrs. Forceworth arrived, she would stay for an hour longer, and then leave. The routine was always the same. Rain Dance looked at her watch. Eight o’clock. She shook her head and sighed deeply. Her face was now calm and handsome. Her eyes glittered with anticipation.
Manicured to an inch above the ground, the well-cared-for grass grew green and healthy. Separated by strips of green grass, the large white stepping stones leading to the back of the manor looked like a chain of sparkling white islands on an emerald green ocean. Avoiding the surveillance camera, she walked quietly toward the back of the mansion, smelled the moist air, and looked up at the sky. Thick clouds moved hurriedly, gathering strength. She knew the night was going to be violent, a night like no other. A debt had to be paid.

“I thought I saw a movement at Forceworth’s mansion,” Andy at Orion Security Systems said, looking at one of the monitors, “but it’s probably nothing.”
“Yeah, most likely nothing,” Rick said lazily. “It’s time for Maria to tend her flowers at the back yard. She is so predictable.”
“I should rotate the tape back and look at it anyway, just to be sure it’s nothing. But first, I have to make some hot chamomile tea. These one day cold, next day hot-as-hell spring days are killing my throat,” Andy said hoarsely.
“I feel the same way. The bug is everywhere. Andy, why don’t you make that two?”
“False alarm. I don’t have to roll the tape back after all,” Andy said, still looking at the screen.
“Why not?” Rick asked and turned his head toward the same monitor Andy’s eyes were glued on. “Oh, hell, I see why. Damn birds. What else is new?” He saw flocks of pigeons and crows landing on the front lawn of Forceworth’s mansion. He read the digital time at the top of the screen: 7:58 p.m.