Journals of Journeys Journals of Spiritual, Emotional and Life-Altering Journeys

The Death of a Scene

The following is a scene cut from my current Work in Progress, title to be revealed later (because the agent I met with loved it tremendously and I'm just not willing to let anyone else snatch it up first). Enjoy! Feedback always appreciated. I'll upload virtual home baked cookies to all who do. 

The deep idle of the Charger's engine rocked the seat beneath J.T. in a way that on any other day of the week, any other hour, he would have spent those moments dreaming about the next restoration project he'd undertake. Instead, he kept his eyes focused on the slate-gray roof of the small house just beyond the elms that obscured his full view of the building.

He had watched the rental car, a non-descript Taurus, circle the block a few times. It was all he could do to keep from bursting out with laughter. Who was that clown? Did he seriously think he was being discrete? Or was he on something and didn't notice or care? Not that it mattered. In less than an hour and hopefully much less than that, none of it would matter. History, at least that belonging to the nit-wit, was in the making. J.T.'s only regret was that Lisa wouldn't be there to see it. She would have rather enjoyed it, he thought. It might bring her the peace she seemed to need.

Rearranging himself on the vinyl covered seats that groaned like a cop's utility belt, J.T. began mentally cataloguing each second that ticked off. If Lisa couldn't be there to see it, why not give her the full play-by-play version and let her enjoy the picture he'd draw in her head. Okay, that wasn't it. Their game plan was clear; she'd fake to the right, he'd fade back. Mr. Taurus would go for the pass. Lisa was on her way south and would vanish for good. It was too risky ever connecting again. So what if he wanted to remember every detail? That didn't make him some sort of psycho, did it?

Where was Mr. Taurus anyway? It'd been a few minutes since the last pass. Had he left? Or had he parked somewhere further down the street and walked back, sneaking in through the gated yard behind the house? No, he wouldn't have snuck in, the neighbor's dog would be going ape if he had. Shoot, maybe that wasn't the guy after all. J.T. was itching to flip open his cell phone and check to see what time the call came in alerting him to Edward Cahill's, a.k.a. Mr. Taurus', arrival, but the back-light on the phone would give him away. Like the engine wouldn't. Thinking himself as a complete idiot, he started to pat down his pockets in search of the phone when he caught a glimpse of a man, whom he assumed was Cahill, walking quickly towards the house before disappearing. J.T. peered through the branches, waiting to catch one more glimpse of him just before he entered the house.

The Charger rocked a little bit harder, more than the pistons under the hood could have done with the speedometer's needle shaking under the "0" mark. A smile spread across J.T.'s face like Grandma's butter on a fresh, warm biscuit. A fireball shot up into the sky, the dark cloud of smoke, nicely contrasting with the gray roof, exploded above it. J.T. started to count to ten, got to eight and watched as another fireball, even bigger than the first, rocketed out of the house. He could even see a bright yellowish-orange light flash behind a few of the windows. And they say watching the shuttle being sent up into space is cool.

As the fire engulfed the building, crackling and popping like a homecoming bon-fire, J.T. decided to time how long it would take for the fire department to arrive. It was less than a couple of minutes when the first engine appeared followed by a squad car with sirens wailing in the distance. He backed out and cruised away. "Goodbye and farewell, Lisa," he said as he rumbled along towards westbound I-94 towards Kalamazoo.