Read Online Anatomy of a Killer by Peter Rabe - Free Book Online

slowly like everything else, and let the piece drop out of his mouth and into his palm. He put the doughnut into his pocket and left his hand there, too. The doughnut was still dry like a stone but the inside of his hand was wet, and his face.
    “It’s awful hot here,” said the girl and put the fresh coffee down in front of him.
    Jordan’s shoulder and arm hurt and he would soon have to take his hand out of the pocket.
    “Here,” she said. “Here’s a napkin.”
    “What?”
    “Here’s a napkin. Wipe your face.”
    She put it next to his cup and left. Jordan felt upset with gratefulness for the napkin she had offered, and for leaving him. He got weak, which relaxed him.
    Then he took a deep breath. It was not good and deep but better than before, sitting with his hand in his pocket. It was much better now and in a moment I’ll look at the man in the next seat and then leave.
    The man next to him lit a cigarette and sighed the smoke out of his lungs. When he had chewed up the hamburger he had sighed the same way, to show how good it was. Jordan leaned away a little and looked.
    This was Kemp. Same man as in the photo. Jordan looked at him as if he were a photo. The hair was coarse and tight-curled, one wire hair over the next wire hair. The temples were gray and white, but nothing distinguished. Creases ran out from Kemp’s eyes, as if he were squinting into the sun, or were laughing. Jordan did not look at anything else. Kemp was too close.
    “Does Paul want anything?” asked the girl.
    Kemp turned on his stool and his face swung past Jordan. “Anything for you?” said Kemp.
    There was a man in the booth behind and he answered, “No. I’m fine.”
    Somebody went by and out the door, and Jordan used that to turn and let his eyes go past the man in the booth.
    The one in the booth looked at Jordan as if he had been looking at him all the time. Jordan swiveled back and stared into his coffee.
    That was Kemp’s man. Jordan knew this without any thought, wasted no questions on it. And that blank look had been intentional. He looks that way to cover, or because he is waiting to be provoked….
    “You aren’t sick, are you?” said the girl. “The way your face is wet.”
    “No,” he said. “I’m not sick.”
    “Maybe it’s the coffee. You been drinking a lot of coffee today?”
    “Yes. A lot,” said Jordan.
    “Listen,” said Kemp. He leaned closer so that his elbow touched Jordan. “There’s no hangover that’s been took care of with coffee yet,” and he looked into Jordan’s face and smiled.
    “I just drank too much coffee,” said Jordan. He put his hand into his pocket to pay.
    “Or you might have something coming on,” said Kemp. “All those things feel the same, when they first come on.”
    “Nothing,” said Jordan. “I’m all right.”
    “But like that doughnut,” Kemp kept at it. “Something does ail you, I figured. You spat it out, didn’t you?”
    When I kill him, thought Jordan, I’ll kill him for this.
    Just the drunk was left now, and Kemp with his man in the booth.
    “You been driving all day?” asked Kemp.
    “Yes.”
    “I thought so. I thought you looked like it. Salesman?”
    “Yes. Traveling salesman.”
    “What you selling?”
    “I have various lines,” said Jordan.
    “Like what?”
    “Buttons.”
    The drunk down the counter laughed. “I couldn’t help hearing that,” he said. “Did I hear buttons?”
    “Yeah, he said buttons,” said Kemp across Jordan’s face. “You got something against buttons?”
    The drunk just laughed.
    “You know something?” Kemp said to Jordan. “If there’s anything I can’t abide it’s a bastard like that laughing like that.”
    “Now you hush up,” said the girl to the drunk.
    “I don’t care what a man’s doing,” said Kemp, “long as he does his job right and is good at it. That’s how I feel.”
    The drunk laughed again.
    “Listen,” said Kemp close to Jordan’s face. “Go over there and clip him