2.
Two weeks later, Smith again took his vantage point to watch Molly’s husband leave the house at his appointed time. As he did, Smith slid the cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the number scrawled on the paper in his shirt pocket. The phone was answered on the third ring.
“Gardner Mountain...Chuck speaking.” answered the young-sounding fellow over the warehouse noise behind him.
“Hey, Chuck!” Smith replied cheerfully. “Don Cardillo, over on Hampton Court.”
“Hey Mr Cardillo,” Chuck replied in greeting. “How are you doing?”
“Good, thanks.” Smith answered. “Hey, Chuck...I almost forgot to call. We’re going to be away few days, so we won’t need the delivery today.” Smith heard Chuck shuffle through a stack of papers, doubtless the day’s delivery manifest.
“Sure thing, Mr Cardillo.” Chuck said. “Put you back on for next week?”
“That sounds, good.” Smith answered. “Thanks, Chuck. Okay, take care.”
Smith put his cell phone away and drove to his rented outdoor storage unit, a larger unit with both a pull-down and a regular door...the kind used by landscapers to house their trailers and lawn machinery. Entering the door, Smith walked to a late-model white van and opened the back doors. From the back of the van, Smith pulled out the two magnetic signs that he had made earlier in the week. Taken from the company’s website and printed on magnetic backing on Smith’s own color printer, they were almost indistinguishable from the real thing. Anyone who looked at the van would be immediately convinced the otherwise unremarkable white van was part of the Gardner Mountain delivery fleet.
Smith stripped naked and changed into his outfit. First, he put on a skimpy G-string that snapped on the sides. It was basically a thin strip of fabric on the sides and down the back. A flimsy square of fabric in front was left with the burden of barely containing Smith’s large cock and full testicles and it did so grudgingly. Panty was probably too generous a term for this article. It was basically a glorified dick-bag. Next, he pulled on the blue canvas pants that also snapped all the way up the sides. The light blue polo shirt with the Gardner Springs logo, again printed from his own printer onto transfer paper and hot-ironed onto the polo, finished the outfit. The dark blue ball-cap was the clincher. To all appearances, he was a driver on his rounds. Nobody would pay an ounce of attention to this nondescript delivery man. He was, for all intents and purposes, invisible.
Smith sat in the van for about an hour waiting and relaxing, reading the newspaper with the radio playing quietly. He was nothing if not extremely patient. Although he was already aroused with anticipation, Smith had ingested a Viagra pill a half hour earlier to enhance his performance, and it was now slowly starting to take hold. In another half hour, its effect would be unstoppable. He pulled the white van out of the locker stall and pulled his red Mustang inside, lowered the pull-down door and locked it securely. As he eased past the gates of the storage facility and merged into morning traffic, nobody so much as gave him a glance. The Gardner Mountain truck was on its route, and it had only one delivery to make today.
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