Read Online SERIAL UNCUT by Blake Crouch, Jack Kilborn J.A. Konrath - Free Book Online
Authors: Blake Crouch, Jack Kilborn J.A. Konrath
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stare.
" Look, buddy. I just want to eat in
peace. No offense. I've been on the road for a long
time."
" No offense taken," the fat man said.
He finished his coffee, then signaled the waitress for a refill.
"Just telling you the showers are good. Be sure to get some
quarters. They've got a machine, sells soap. Useful for washing off
blood."
All of Taylor's senses went on high alert,
and he felt himself flush. This guy didn't look like a cop--Taylor
could usually spot cops. He wore baggy jeans, a plaid shirt, a
Timex. On the counter next to his empty cup was a baseball cap
without any logo. A few days' worth of beard graced his double
chin.
No, he wasn't law. And he wasn't cruising
him, either.
So what the hell does he want?
" What do you mean?" Taylor asked,
keeping his tone neutral.
" Drop of blood on your shirt. Another
spot on your collar. Some under your fingernails as well. You wiped
them with ether, but it didn't completely dissolve. Did you know
that ether was first used as a surgical anesthetic back in 1842?
Before that, taking a knife to a person meant screaming and
thrashing around." The man held a beefy hand to his mouth and
belched. "'Course, some people might like the screaming and thrashing around part."
Taylor bunched his fists, then forced
himself to relax. Had this guy seen him somehow? Did he know about
Candi in the sleeper?
No. He couldn't have. Tinted windows on his
cab. No windows at all in the sleeping compartment.
He took a casual glance around, trying to
spot anyone else watching. No one seemed to be paying either of
them any attention.
Taylor dropped his hand, slowly reaching for
the folding knife clipped to his belt. He considered sliding it
between this guy's ribs right there and getting the hell out. But
first Taylor needed to know what Grandpa knew. Maybe he could lead
him to the bathroom, get him into a stall...
Taylor froze. His knife was missing.
" Take it easy, my friend," said the
old, fat man. "I'll give you your knife back when we're
through."
Taylor wasn't sure what to say, but he
believed everyone had an angle. This guy knew more than he should
have. But what was he going to do with his information?
" Who are you?" Taylor
asked.
" Name's Donaldson. And you probably
meant to ask What are you? You've probably figured out I'm not a cop, not a Fed. Thanks,
Donna." He nodded at the waitress as she refilled his coffee.
"Actually, I'm just a fellow traveler. Enjoying the country. The
sites. The people ." Donaldson
winked at him. "Same as you are."
" Same as me, huh?"
Donaldson nodded. "A bit older and wiser,
perhaps. At least wise enough to not use that awful ether anymore.
Where do you even get that these days? I thought ether and
chloroform were controlled substances."
" Starter fluid," Taylor said. This
conversation was getting surreal.
" Clever."
" So what is it exactly you do,
Donaldson?"
" For work? Or do you mean with the
people I encounter? I'm a courier, that's my job. I travel all
around, delivering things to people who need them faster than
overnight. As for the other--well, that's sort of personal, don't
you think? We just met, and you want me to reveal intimate details
of my antisocial activities? Shouldn't we work up to
that?"
So far, Donaldson had been the embodiment of
calm. He didn't seem threatening in the least. They might have been
talking about sports.
" And you spotted me because of the
blood and the ether smell?"
" Initially. But the give-away was the
look in your eyes."
" And what sort of look do my eyes
have, Donaldson?"
" This one." Donaldson turned and
looked at Taylor. "The eyes of a predator. No pity. No remorse. No
humanity."
Taylor stared hard, then grinned. "I don't
see anything but regular old eyes."
Donaldson held the intense gaze a moment
longer, then chuckled. "Okay. You caught me. The eyes don't tell
anything. But I caught you casing the place before you walked in.
Looking for cops, for trouble, for exits. A man that careful
" Look, buddy. I just want to eat in
peace. No offense. I've been on the road for a long
time."
" No offense taken," the fat man said.
He finished his coffee, then signaled the waitress for a refill.
"Just telling you the showers are good. Be sure to get some
quarters. They've got a machine, sells soap. Useful for washing off
blood."
All of Taylor's senses went on high alert,
and he felt himself flush. This guy didn't look like a cop--Taylor
could usually spot cops. He wore baggy jeans, a plaid shirt, a
Timex. On the counter next to his empty cup was a baseball cap
without any logo. A few days' worth of beard graced his double
chin.
No, he wasn't law. And he wasn't cruising
him, either.
So what the hell does he want?
" What do you mean?" Taylor asked,
keeping his tone neutral.
" Drop of blood on your shirt. Another
spot on your collar. Some under your fingernails as well. You wiped
them with ether, but it didn't completely dissolve. Did you know
that ether was first used as a surgical anesthetic back in 1842?
Before that, taking a knife to a person meant screaming and
thrashing around." The man held a beefy hand to his mouth and
belched. "'Course, some people might like the screaming and thrashing around part."
Taylor bunched his fists, then forced
himself to relax. Had this guy seen him somehow? Did he know about
Candi in the sleeper?
No. He couldn't have. Tinted windows on his
cab. No windows at all in the sleeping compartment.
He took a casual glance around, trying to
spot anyone else watching. No one seemed to be paying either of
them any attention.
Taylor dropped his hand, slowly reaching for
the folding knife clipped to his belt. He considered sliding it
between this guy's ribs right there and getting the hell out. But
first Taylor needed to know what Grandpa knew. Maybe he could lead
him to the bathroom, get him into a stall...
Taylor froze. His knife was missing.
" Take it easy, my friend," said the
old, fat man. "I'll give you your knife back when we're
through."
Taylor wasn't sure what to say, but he
believed everyone had an angle. This guy knew more than he should
have. But what was he going to do with his information?
" Who are you?" Taylor
asked.
" Name's Donaldson. And you probably
meant to ask What are you? You've probably figured out I'm not a cop, not a Fed. Thanks,
Donna." He nodded at the waitress as she refilled his coffee.
"Actually, I'm just a fellow traveler. Enjoying the country. The
sites. The people ." Donaldson
winked at him. "Same as you are."
" Same as me, huh?"
Donaldson nodded. "A bit older and wiser,
perhaps. At least wise enough to not use that awful ether anymore.
Where do you even get that these days? I thought ether and
chloroform were controlled substances."
" Starter fluid," Taylor said. This
conversation was getting surreal.
" Clever."
" So what is it exactly you do,
Donaldson?"
" For work? Or do you mean with the
people I encounter? I'm a courier, that's my job. I travel all
around, delivering things to people who need them faster than
overnight. As for the other--well, that's sort of personal, don't
you think? We just met, and you want me to reveal intimate details
of my antisocial activities? Shouldn't we work up to
that?"
So far, Donaldson had been the embodiment of
calm. He didn't seem threatening in the least. They might have been
talking about sports.
" And you spotted me because of the
blood and the ether smell?"
" Initially. But the give-away was the
look in your eyes."
" And what sort of look do my eyes
have, Donaldson?"
" This one." Donaldson turned and
looked at Taylor. "The eyes of a predator. No pity. No remorse. No
humanity."
Taylor stared hard, then grinned. "I don't
see anything but regular old eyes."
Donaldson held the intense gaze a moment
longer, then chuckled. "Okay. You caught me. The eyes don't tell
anything. But I caught you casing the place before you walked in.
Looking for cops, for trouble, for exits. A man that careful
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