Read Online Blackbirds by Chuck Wendig - Free Book Online Page A

going to stab you in the neck with my fork."
      Ashley snaps his fingers. "Or, alternate scenario: I call the police."
      Her eyes snap open. She watches him. He grins, the middle of his bottom lip bisected by a dark scabby line. So smug. So satisfied.
      "You won't. You're road scum just like me. They won't believe you."
      "Maybe," he says. "But they'll believe pictures. That's right – I got photos. And the coincidences will seem more than a little strange, won't they? Since Richmond, you've been, what, at the scene of three different deaths?"
      Her jaw tightens. "I didn't kill those men."
      "All of them conveniently missing the cash from their wallets. And I'm sure if someone were to do a little bit of digging, they'd find the credit cards missing, too. Credit cards that sometimes get used, then thrown in trash cans or ditches. Digging even deeper, they'd find a trail of the dead, wouldn't they? With your footprints walking them backward through time. They'd find your diary. They'd find your weird little datebook."
      Miriam's guts go cold. She feels trapped. Cornered. A butterfly pinned to a corkboard. For a second, she genuinely considers sticking her fork in Ashley Gaynes's neck and bolting.
      "I didn't kill them," she says.
      Ashley watches her. "I know. I read enough of the diary."
      "But you don't believe it."
      "I maybe do," he says. "My mother was into all kinds of mystical blah-blah. Crystal gazing, psychic phone line, all that. I figured it for garbage, but sometimes, I wasn't so sure. I always wanted to believe.
      "Plus, these three I've seen, they each died in different ways, didn't they? The bike courier in Richmond – the black kid? Traffic accident. Hard to call that murder, though you are a crafty little cunt, aren't you?"
      "Nice. You go down on your mother with that mouth?"
      Ashley visibly tenses. His grin doesn't fade, but he damn sure isn't happy.
      "Don't talk about my mother," he says. He continues: "The most recent appears to have choked on his own tongue after a particularly severe epileptic fit. Again, could've been murder, but the guy had a history of epilepsy, right? The one from Raleigh, the old man, what was his name? Benson. Craig Benson. I'm actually not sure how he died. Company bigwig, had lots of security and cops and the like; I couldn't get close. But you did. Was he just old?"
      Miriam pushes aside her plate. She's no longer hungry.
      "His dick killed him," she says.
      "His dick."
      "His erection, more specifically."
      "You banged CEO Grandpa?"
      "Jesus, no. I did flash him a tit, though. He was so pumped fill of dick pills – and not prescribed stuff, but shit from, like, some village in China – that it killed him. My chest isn't exactly impressive, but I guess it's enough to kill an old man."
      "So him you did kill."
      "Bull."
      "Gun or tit, you were the one firing the weapon."
      She waves him off. "Whatever."
      The waitress comes by – skinny up top, but a big round bottom that Miriam can't help but think of as "birthing hips"– and asks Ashley what he wants. He orders coffee.
      "So, you've been following me for two months now?"
      He tells her just about, yeah.
      "How? How'd you find me?"
      The waitress comes, pours him a coffee, tops off Miriam's, too. "The bike courier. I saw you picking the corpse's pockets. I had the same idea."
      "You just happened to be there?"
      "Nah. I'd been working the courier for a week. He was dirty. Delivering packages for all kinds of shady types. I was running a scheme, trying to convince him that he and I could take one of those packages and offer it to a higher bidder, but really, I was just going to take the package and run." He sips noisily at his coffee. "Obviously, you came and fucked that up."
      "You're a con-man, then."
      "I prefer con- artist ."
      " I'm a dancer, not a stripper . Keep saying it, see if it magically becomes true." She