The Bag Lady The little old lady gingerly stepped off the curb, her capacious bag banging against the other pedestrians’ knees as they tried to cross the busy street. The tall, gaunt stranger leaned down and said, “Hey ‘mom’, can I give you a hand with that? It looks awfully heavy.” She looked up at him, her tired face transformed by the most angelic smile---and those eyes...large deep-set hazel eyes. Reminded one of an innocent calf and had the most disconcerting affect on a person. He could tell from a glance that she must have been quite a woman in her youth. As a detective, one is trained to notice these things. And Dan Jordan was one---par excellence! He had risen through the ranks the hard way. No silver spoon in his mouth. He had worked his way through school doing all sorts of odd jobs and met all sorts of ‘odd’ people along the way. Starting as a beat cop in the seediest and deadliest sections of downtown Waring, he had risen through the ranks from vice to homicide. Because of his smooth handling of very delicate cases in that Wary City---as it was affectionately dubbed, Dan was now known as the go-to- cop, when potentially volatile issues arose in both the high profile and political arenas. Yes, Dan was considered the best of the best. Nothing was missed by those keen steel-blue eyes! Thugs both petty and big time knew better than to mess with Dan and pity the perp who did. Legend had it that no professional worth his salt would even think of planning a hit when Dan was around. Dan had just been heading over to the DA’s office when he encountered the sweet old girl with the remarkable eyes. There she was, struggling with a bag that was almost half her size. He had seen a lot of old ladies in this part of Waring, known as “Retirement Row.” All carrying the same signature bags---great big ones in a myriad of colors. Each satchel seemed to hold their worldly belongings in it and they all held on to them for dear life, as if it could be ripped out of trembling hands at any moment. This particular bag was a large, beat-up simulated leather one, almost bursting at the seams. Dan couldn’t for the life of him figure why this specific old dear had made such an impression on him. Maybe it was the way she carried herself with a kind of tired dignity; as if to say, “I’ve seen it all, but I’m here and there’s still some life in the old girl yet… or maybe it was those compelling eyes, that held one in their spell. He mentally shook himself and gently repeated his offer. She thanked him for his kind offer and handed over her unwieldy burden. Picking it up almost effortlessly, he slung it over his shoulder. Whistling softly, he murmured, “Feels like a load of bricks. I’m surprised you managed to get this far with it,” he continued as he gallantly offered her his arm. “Needs must.” she replied, looking at him with those melting eyes. Then, like a young girl at her first debutante ball, she gently tucked her plump little hand through his as they proceeded to cross the street. Traffic whizzed by from all directions. This being Waring, Rhode Island, drivers had their own set of rules of the road. On reaching the sidewalk, the little old lady thanked the detective in a very soft, cultured voice with a trace of Boston and something else he didn’t recognize. She reached out with a tremulous hand to secure her “precious cargo.” “Are you sure you can handle this by yourself?”, Dan asked. Tittering delightedly, as some old ladies do, and with a flutter of her long silvery lashes, she replied, “You have been very kind to an old woman. As a matter of fact, you remind me of my son back east…such a good boy...” she added wistfully. “Don’t worry, young man, I’ll be just fine. I only have a short way to go. I’m sure you have better things to do than trot around after an old lady, like an errand boy. Now you just go ahead and leave me here. As a matter of fact, I think I’ll just sit down on this bench and catch my bearings while I wait for the bus. It should be here any time now. Thank you, again,“ she said, offering him her hand, “And bless you for showing kindness to an old lady.” Dan, blushed and began to stammer like a school boy. “Well, if you’re sure…I do have an important appointment. But if you’re still here when I get back, I’ll be happy to give you a hand. And don’t worry, you’ll be perfectly safe, since I’m a cop. Oh, by the way, Detective Dan Jordan at your service, ma’am, he saluted executing a quick bow.” “Oh my. A detective, no less.” she said, her little hands fluttering to her mouth. Your mother must be very proud of you. I guess I really am in good hands. My name is Esme, Esme Fox. I live right near that beautiful outdoor mall downtown. Very convenient for someone who doesn’t drive. Well, Detective Jordan, I mustn’t keep you from your work. ”Well, if you’re sure…I’d better make tracks. The boss will be wondering what happened.” With that, he gave a self-conscious wave and took off back across the street. As soon as the young policeman had gone, the little old lady hailed a cab and headed toward the Town Hall. She paid the driver and stepped out in front of a very old three story apartment house. Built of the classic brownstone, which had faded with time, it had seen better days. The driver, a transplanted New Yorker, hefted her bag out of his cab and eased it gently onto the sidewalk. “Hey lady, whaddya got in here, a ton of bricks?” he asked, in his heavy Brooklyn accent. “Need any help luggin’ this stuff into the building? I got a couple of minutes and I wouldn’t want a little lady like yerself to get hoit.” “That’s very kind of you, sir. If you can just bring it into the lobby, someone will help me take it from there.” “You got it." he replied, pushing open the double doors for the lady and depositing her bag in the lobby. Doffing his cap, he said.“Have a good day!” “And you as well.” she called as he headed back toward the door. The old woman watched as the cab took off, then slowly lifted her precious cargo, and proceeded toward a rickety elevator at the back of the lobby. Placing her cumbersome load on the floor she pressed the call button, patiently waiting as it groaned to a halt. Gingerly picking up her bag, Esme stepped onto the cracked, faded, black and blue linoleum and pressed the equally cracked button for the third floor. The elevator crept upward, finally lurching to a stop. Carefully stepping off, she maintained a tight hold on her bag. Pulling out a somewhat antiquated key from the pocket of her shabby coat, she unlocked the door. Upon entering the apartment, Esme Fox turned and carefully relocked the door. She walked through a tiny entranceway leading to what appeared to be a small sewing room, the machines and furniture all covered in dusty plastic and faded muslin sheets. Next she went over to the one window in the room and drew closed the dark, dusty velveteen curtains leaving just three inches open. Sighing, the sweet old lady laid her burden on a small, beat up, solid maple table right below the grimy window sill. Opening her satchel, she slowly removed a newspaper wrapped package. She carefully unwrapped the item, gingerly removed a shiny blue-black object from its papery cocoon and gently placed it to the side of the bag. Next she lifted out a longer package; this one wrapped in paper and fine bubble wrap. Carefully, she unwrapped this too and laid it next to the first. Lastly, she pulled out a much smaller metal object and attached it to the longer piece. This done, Esme Fox stepped over to the window, opened it and with a tiny glass cutter punched a hole in the screen. Next, she pulled a tripod out from the corner of the room and lined it up to the hole in the screen. With everything in place, the little lady again took up the pieces and proceeded to assemble the object. Hefting it up with some effort she carried it over to the tripod and attached a brand new M15 rifle---complete with silencer. Once more she reached into her capacious bag and pulled out an old brown velvet bag with the initials of a famous jeweler imprinted on it in gold letters. Untying the bag and turning it upside down, she spilled two shiny bullets into her little hand. Loading them into the rifle, she prepared to take aim. Across the street, the door to the Town Courthouse was just opening and two men emerged. One was a tall, fit, distinguished looking gentleman, wearing a very expensive charcoal-gray three-piece suit, a conservative blue tie and a self-satisfied smile on his handsome face. The other, a bulky bruiser, sported a black pinstriped suit with a rather loud tie. Looking like he’d be more at home in prison garb than gabardine, he wore a contemptuous sneer on his pockmarked face. The two were accompanied by that nice young man who had gallantly helped her across the street. Sighing she murmured, “We meet again.” As young Detective Jordan stepped out of her line of fire, the little old lady took aim. The two racketeers went down as the stunned detective looked on.