Target Market

by
Mark Moehlman

By the same Author:

"You have zero privacy anyway. Get over it."
Scott McNealy, co-founder of Sun Microsystems, 1999

One

He didn’t know Karleen Hitchcock, but he knew everything about her. From the obvious to the obscure, from the ordinary to the eclectic, he was privy to every detail that made up her life. He had never seen her body, but he knew she measured five-foot six-inches tall and weighed one-hundred-twenty pounds. He had never seen her face, but he knew she had blonde hair and blue eyes that needed glasses. He had never seen her car, but he knew she drove a blue 2004 Ford Explorer with vanity license plates that read ‘SNOSHUER’. He had never been in this supermarket parking lot before, but he knew she shopped at Kingman superstore number seven every Sunday on her way home from the hospital. His information was not first hand, and it wasn’t based on observation, nevertheless, it was very good information.
As he crouched down in his car, the blue Explorer turned into the Kingman parking lot. Looking at his watch he saw Karleen was right on time just as he knew she would be. She stepped out of the car and hurried into the supermarket. At the sight he smiled. She was very attractive. The blonde hair was long and the skirt was short. He already knew about the short skirts, he even knew the brand, but the hair length was a pleasant surprise. Maybe he didn’t know quite everything about Karleen, but he knew enough. Maybe he didn’t know what she felt right now, but he knew what she would be feeling very soon.
Fear.
He started his car and drove off toward her neighborhood. No one saw him park his car two blocks from Karleen’s house and stealthily move through the extensive network of shadows. The trees in the area were an unplanned bonus for him. Shadows and cover made his task much easier. After turning up the alley behind Karleen’s block he moved quietly toward her house. The back door screen was slightly ajar, clattering in the light breeze. That door, however, was not his path to entry.
Walking casually, he stepped past the garage door to an alphanumeric entry keypad located on the left of the door. A standard feature in home security, these keypads allowed security conscious homeowners who sometimes forgot their keys a way to open the garage door in case of an emergency.
Soon there would be an emergency.
After looking up and down the alley, he apprehensively punched a numeric sequence into the keypad. Cringing, he waited for an alarm to sound and then relaxed as the door began its upward motion.

Karleen Hitchcock approached the checkout counter pushing a shopping cart overflowing with groceries. She waited her turn in line and silently recounted her weekly list, making sure that all the usual items were present. A wide variety of fresh fish, fruits and vegetables rested on top of the cookies, ice cream, chips and other junk foods that were the staples of her diet. Since the divorce, she no longer needed the seafood and produce required by her ex-husband, the health nut. Even so, she had yet to break the habit of purchasing the nutritious fare. Somehow, buying the food made her feel as if the whole divorce thing wasn’t final.
“Screw it,” Karleen said under her breath as she waited. Why buy all this food that she wouldn’t use? She hurriedly returned to the meat aisle, dropped off all of the fresh mahi-mahi that Jeff used to demand, and replaced it with a prime T-bone steak for good measure. Her ex-husband hadn’t even allowed steak in the house. She was finally going to take some kind of a stand for herself. Starting a new life was going to take some getting used to.
Expertly, she wove in and out of the labyrinth of food aisles and returned to a shorter checkout line. When her turn came up, the checker greeted her warmly.
“Hello, Mrs. Hitchcock, looks like you’ve got enough food to go into hibernation.”
She silently winced at the accuracy of the comment, but the checker had no way of knowing about her divorce or her eating habits. Handing the clerk her discount card, she watched as he swiped the card and began passing her items through the infrared scanner.
After each scan, the item’s name, id number, price, and quantity flashed on the monitor behind the clerk accompanied by the familiar beep. Karleen didn’t know it, but as each scan was completed, the CPU chip built into the computerized register at the checkout station instantaneously transferred the scanned information over the local network at Kingman Superstore Number Seven in Denver. The data updated the store’s daily transaction log file on the PC server located outside the store manager’s office.
Each of the five-hundred Kingman stores nationwide had the identical PC server and network setup and automatically uploaded the transaction data each night to the large, mainframe computers at the home office in L.A. The powerful computers analyzed sales performance and trends at each Kingman store and on over forty-thousand items in stock. Kingman wanted every customer treated as if they were going to the corner grocery in a small town and they used customer data to make it happen. As the clerk scanned the goods, the CPU at checkout cross-referenced each of Karleen’s current food purchases with a data file on the store PC server containing all past purchases from her discount card. The program on the computer identified frequent purchases made by a shopper that may have been overlooked on the current trip. The program found such an occurrence from Karleen’s record and immediately displayed a prompt on the monitor instructing the clerk to inquire about mahi-mahi.
“Mrs. Hitchcock, I noticed that you didn’t buy any of the mahi-mahi today. I know the mahi is one of your favorites and it’s even on special with all of our other heart-healthy foods. Why don’t you go grab some and I’ll get you checked out?”
Karleen was momentarily stunned. She looked at the clerk and instead saw Jeff’s face, demanding to know why she hadn’t bought his fish. She made a supreme effort to avoid the tears she felt approaching from the depths of her chest.
“I don’t want any mahi today thank you,” she managed.
“Okay, but like I said it’s on special.”
“No, I don’t want any,” Karleen sputtered. “Just put the total on my card.”
Abruptly she pulled her cart from the checkout station, whirled past the clerk, and headed for the parking lot with tears streaming down her face. She was familiar with the checker but couldn’t believe he remembered that she often bought mahi-mahi. What a time for a reminder.

Karleen was sweating as she finished loading up the groceries and slammed the rear hatch shut. The sweat quickly evaporated in the dry air of the autumn Denver evening. The low humidity in Denver was one of Karleen’s favorite features of the Mile High City. Her husband Jeff had also loved Denver’s weather. Unfortunately, having the same weather preferences in common was not nearly enough to hold their marriage together.
She took a deep breath and started her Explorer. Accepting the finality of their divorce was obviously going to be harder than she thought. They had only been divorced for two weeks now, and although their separation had lasted months, the brief interludes they shared during the time convinced her they would eventually patch things up. Jeff had taken her completely by surprise when he presented the papers to her. Thank goodness they didn’t have any kids.
As Karleen drove through the fading twilight, she gazed up at the shadowy canopy of tree branches formed by the elms that lined each street in her historic Washington Park neighborhood. The early settlers in Denver planted elm trees in the semi-arid climate of the high plains and amazingly, they had survived and even thrived. The trees gave her community a unique nature and had practically compelled her and Jeff to move to the area. As the years passed, some of the elms succumbed to insect-borne diseases that ravaged the sturdy trees from the inside out. With her and Jeff, the gradual decay of their marriage had been much the same, although the culprit had been indifference.
As darkness fell, Karleen guided the sport utility vehicle into the alley and hit the button for the garage door opener. The Explorer was heavy and sluggish in the turns, but Jeff had wanted to get a four-wheel drive for treks to the mountains. They used to make frequent trips to the high country together to go hiking in the summer and snowshoeing in the winter. She had never really enjoyed the trips and eventually he stopped bringing her. He gave up the SUV in the divorce and although she didn’t like the car’s feel, it had a great stereo system.
Why did she keep thinking about Jeff? Screw him. It was high time to start looking ahead, getting on with her life.
A smile tugged at her lips. She had almost forgotten about her date. In a couple of days, she was meeting an old boyfriend who was in town. An old boyfriend she had once loved with all her heart. Who knows? Maybe they could rekindle their feelings from college. Maybe everything was going to turn out fine.
Karleen slid the Explorer into park and turned off the ignition while Natalie Merchant’s voice sang, “these are days …” and faded into the night.
Funny, she thought, the garage light had not come on. She stepped down off of the running board and tried the light switch on the wall to no avail. Sighing, she put her hands on her hips; a perfect ending to a perfect day. Gathering all the groceries she could carry, Karleen stepped into the house and set the bags on the floor. She opened the refrigerator expecting the interior light to penetrate the dark room, but there was no illumination forthcoming.
“Hello, Karleen,” an unfamiliar voice whispered from behind an unseen smile.
“Did you get any mahi-mahi today?”
It was over before she could finish inhaling to scream.

***

Ten

The woman hurried across the parking lot toting a large gym bag over her shoulder. She had been waiting all day for this moment and now it was here. This was her time. No deadline, no meeting, no crisis, no report ever kept her away from these two hours every evening. Although she didn’t always arrive at the same time, she made sure she always arrived. She walked briskly through the door at the Always On Health Club and slid her membership card through the reader. The turnstile at the club entrance automatically unlocked and she slid through gingerly, taking care not to catch her skirt.
“Don’t you ever miss a day?” said the front desk attendant as he tossed the woman a towel.
“Not this year, knock on wood,” replied Gail Cheever.
Gail continued past the front desk to the women’s locker room. She changed out of her business suit as quickly as possible. The sooner she started her workout, the sooner she could begin to forget the stress of her day. The sports bra, Lycra stretch pants, and headband she donned were all black, but she didn’t need to wear the color for its slimming effect. The outfit clung to her taut body like a wetsuit. She thought black made her look serious, and for her working out was serious business. Unlike some of the other women at Always On, Gail wasn’t here to meet Romeo in Spandex. She was here to pump some iron and in the process pump up her ego to face the challenges of the next day.
As the first female vice president at ColoBank, there were always challenges to face. Banking wasn’t exactly the easiest place for a woman to shine. The notoriously conservative First National boy’s clubs of the past had lost some of their grip on banking, but even though the rest of the world now embraced diversity and casual clothes, banking was still a male-dominated enterprise. Gail had to go the extra mile every minute of every day just to be perceived as equal. Too bad she couldn’t drag some of her fat ass bosses down here to the gym. Then she would show them some equality. She could probably bench press more than any of them.
Gail walked from the locker room and sat down in front of one of the full-length mirrors for her ten minute stretching routine. Satisfied she wasn’t going to pull anything; she walked over to the leg press machine, the first station in her circuit. Today was back and lower body. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday were upper body and arms.
Gail took out her membership card and swiped it through the reader on the leg press. Every fitness machine at Always On had a card reader attached to it. The reader identified each member through the magnetic strip on the membership card. After a swipe, the reader kept track of all repetitions and resistance levels used by the member on that machine and transmitted them to the club’s central computer.
Every month, each of the nation’s fifty Always On Health Clubs relayed the workout data to the mainframe computer at corporate headquarters. The billing system in the computer cross-referenced the workout data, matched it to the monthly bills, and compiled it into a Frequent Workout Point Program. Members could earn Frequent Workout points based on the number of times they went to the club, the number of reps they did on certain machines and the strength increases they showed. The points could be redeemed for discounts on monthly fees, free T-shirts, or guest passes. If certain levels of progress were reached, a member could gain a spot on the monthly ‘Iron Person’ list that was posted on the bulletin board. The Frequent Workout Program had made Always On Health Clubs into an industry leader. Membership sales had jumped since the program was implemented and plans were in place to expand to twenty new markets.
Gail wasn’t interested in earning the Frequent Workout points or being on any “Iron Person” list, but she loved how Always On kept track of her workouts. She looked forward to the report the health club sent her each month which summarized her previous month’s workouts. The reports let her compare her current workouts with previous sessions so she could chart her progress. Being a banker, she appreciated the ability to quantify her performance. As she sat down on the leg press machine, Gail remembered last month’s report showed she registered a personal best of five hundred and two leg presses at resistance level five in September. She planned on beating the record this month.
The entire circuit took Gail almost an hour. Sweat glistened on her tanned, bare midriff as she left the fitness machines and walked toward the stationary bikes. The club wasn’t very crowded since the numbers usually dropped off in the fall. Plenty of people hit the gym to look good during the summer, but as winter approached, only the diehards like Gail kept it going.
She loved the time between October and the end of the year. Plenty of space in the gym, no waiting to use the equipment, and no crowds of gawking wannabes checking out the flesh. The fickle fitness crowd would be back in January with fresh resolutions to work off holiday pounds. The momentum from the New Year would sustain the newcomers for about a month, then the numbers would again dwindle. Once spring arrived, the club would come alive with bodies mounting a desperate effort to gain back muscle definition for the swimsuit season.
Gail chose her favorite stationary bike, and swiped her card. She preferred this particular bike since it stood near the wall, reducing her chances of being bothered by someone who wanted to chat. She set the bike’s variable resistance controls to simulate a thirty-minute ride through the mountains and began pedaling.
From her perch, she simultaneously watched herself in the mirror and the local news on the television. During commercials, she flipped through the latest Cosmo. Another issue, another ten ways to drive your lover crazy in bed. Given her current status on the relationship front, this advice was not really helpful.
Gail was drenched with perspiration as she neared the top of the final hill climb on her simulated bike ride. A deep voice to her right broke her concentration.
“Watcha readin’?”
Gail glanced sideways and saw the source of the voice. A large man wearing a baseball hat, white T-shirt and blue polyester coaches’ shorts had climbed onto the neighboring bike. Just perfect. If the guy had a whistle hanging around his neck he could have passed for her eighth-grade gym teacher. Still, she would be polite.
“This month’s Cosmo. Here, check it out. I’m done with my ride anyway.” Gail climbed off her bike and handed the magazine to the man. She hurried away toward the locker room before he could reply. She hated to cut her workout short, but she was in no mood for fending off ‘Coach’. Might as well shower, get home, make some dinner and get ready for the next day at the salt mines.

Gail stopped off at the Kingman supermarket on her way home. She knew the store well and moved swiftly, picking up some bow tie pasta, olive oil, and a bunch of fresh vegetables. She liked to buy what she needed day-by-day to minimize food spoilage. Gail never knew when she might need to miss meals because of her job or her workouts. For her, a good workout took precedence over a meal. When she did have time for a meal, she made an effort to create something flavorful and healthy. She wasn’t quite a vegetarian, but the bulk of her diet consisted of fruits, vegetables, breads, and pastas. The Kingman store had a great selection of fresh produce and was right on her way home.
The sun was gone by the time Gail pulled her car up to the curb in front of her small bungalow near Congress Park. The radio in her Saab was blaring Tracy Chapman: “Leave tonight or live and …”
She turned off the ignition cutting off the clear, powerful voice in mid-sentence. Gail usually parked in the garage, but today she decided to park in front so she could check her mailbox on the way in. She grabbed the stack of mail before bounding up the stairs to her front porch. Flipping through the mail in the moonlight, she quickly separated the wheat from the chaff. The numerous credit card offers and home equity loan deals found their way to the small trashcan on her porch. She stuffed a couple of bills, her Sunset magazine and a Nordstrom’s catalog into her purse for later perusal. She pulled out her Garfield key chain, opened the screen door, and unlocked the deadbolt on the front door.
The darkness of the house greeted her with silence. Just once, she would like to get home while it was still light outside. Gail shut the front door behind her and fumbled for the light switch. As she flipped the switch, she felt a gloved hand clamp tightly over her mouth. She tried to scream, but couldn’t. The light hadn’t come on.
“Hello, Gail. What’s for dinner tonight?”
Gail didn’t recognize the male voice. She amazed herself by not panicking. The man held her right arm behind her back, inches from breaking it.
“I’ll bet we’re having lots of fresh veggies. You love veggies don’t you, Gail?”
The man’s voice was very steady, very sure of itself. Gail knew she wouldn’t get too many chances and decided that now was the time to take one. She gently lifted the heel on her patent leather pump onto the man’s foot. When she felt the heel was in position, she drove her leg downward as hard as she could and thrust herself forward. The man’s grip didn’t loosen in the slightest.
“Steel-toed boots, Gail. Sorry. Couldn’t take any chances, I know how much you work out. I understand you did five-hundred-and-two leg presses last month. Very impressive.”
Now Gail was losing her bravado. Who the hell was this creep and how did he know so much about her? She started shaking all over.
“Relax, Gail. It’s almost over. I just wish I could get a better look at you. It’s hard to see in the dark. Brown hair, brown eyes, one-hundred-and-fifteen pounds. You must be a hottie. I’ll bet you’re a real Cosmo girl.”
Suddenly, the man shoved her face first onto the hardwood floor. She turned her head and started to scream as she saw the silver blade of the large, double-edged hunting knife glinting in the moonlight. The scream came to an instant halt.