Read Online Mr. Mercedes by Stephen King - Free Book Online Page B

one?”
    The waiter looks insulted. “Yes, sir. Always.”
    â€œI’ll have a piece of that. And coffee. Pete?”
    â€œI’ll settle for the last of the beer.” So saying, he pours it out of the pitcher. “You sure about that cake, Billy? You look like you’ve put on a few pounds since I saw you last.”
    It’s true. Hodges eats heartily in retirement, but only for the last couple of days has food tasted good to him. “I’m thinking about Weight Watchers.”
    Pete nods. “Yeah? I’m thinking about the priesthood.”
    â€œFuck you. What about the Mercedes Killer?”
    â€œWe’re still canvassing the Trelawney neighborhood—in fact, that’s where Isabelle is right now—but I’d be shocked if she or anyone else comes up with a live lead. Izzy’s not knocking on any doors that haven’t been knocked on half a dozen times before. The guy stole Trelawney’s luxury sled, drove out of the fog, did his thing, drove back into the fog, dumped it, and . . . nothing. Never mind Monsewer YA Titties, it’s the Mercedes guy who really had the luck of the devil. If he’d tried that stunt even an hour later, there would have been cops there. For crowd control.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œDo you think he knew, Billy?”
    Hodges tilts a hand back and forth to indicate it’s hard to say. Maybe, if he and Mr. Mercedes should strike up a conversation on that Blue Umbrella website, he’ll ask.
    â€œThe murdering prick could have lost control when he started hitting people and crashed, but he didn’t. German engineering, best in the world, that’s what Isabelle says. Someone could have jumped on the hood and blocked his vision, but no one did. One of the posts holding up the DO NOT CROSS tape could have bounced under the car and gotten hung up there, but that didn’t happen, either. And someone could have seen him when he parked behind that warehouse and got out with his mask off, but no one did.”
    â€œIt was five-twenty in the morning,” Hodges points out, “and even at noon that area would have been almost as deserted.”
    â€œBecause of the recession,” Pete Huntley says moodily. “Yeah, yeah. Probably half the people who used to work in those warehouses were at City Center, waiting for the frigging job fair to start. Have some irony, it’s good for your blood.”
    â€œSo you’ve got nothing.”
    â€œDead in the water.”
    Hodges’s cake comes. It smells good and tastes better.
    When the waiter’s gone, Pete leans across the table. “My nightmare is that he’ll do it again. That another fog will come rolling in off the lake and he’ll do it again.”
    He says he won’t, Hodges thinks, conveying another forkload of the delicious cake into his mouth. He says he has absolutely no urge . He says once was enough .
    â€œThat or something else,” Hodges says.
    â€œI got into a big fight with my daughter back in March,” Pete says. “ Monster fight. I didn’t see her once in April. She skipped all her weekends.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œUh-huh. She wanted to go see a cheerleading competition. Bring the Funk, I think it was called. Practically every school in the state was in it. You remember how crazy Candy always was about cheerleaders?”
    â€œYeah,” Hodges says. He doesn’t.
    â€œHad a little pleated skirt when she was four or six or something, we couldn’t get her out of it. Two of the moms said they’d take the girls. And I told Candy no. You know why?”
    Sure he does.
    â€œBecause the competition was at City Center, that’s why. In my mind’s eye I could see about a thousand tweenyboppers and their moms milling around outside, waiting for the doors to open, dusk instead of dawn, but you know the fog comes in off the lake then, too. I could see that cocksucker running