Read Online SERIAL UNCUT by Blake Crouch, Jack Kilborn J.A. Konrath - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Blake Crouch, Jack Kilborn J.A. Konrath
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should
have noticed some spots of blood on his shirt."
" Maybe I cut myself
shaving."
" And the ether smell?"
" Maybe the rig was giving me some
trouble, so I cleaned out the carburetor."
" No grease or oil under your nails.
Just dried blood."
Taylor leaned in close, speaking just above
a whisper.
" Give me one good reason I shouldn't
kill you, Donaldson."
" Other than the fact I have your
knife? Because you should consider this a golden opportunity, my
friend. You and I, we're solitary creatures. We don't ever talk
about our secret lives. We never share stories of our exploits with
anyone. I've been doing this for over thirty years, and I've only
met one other person like us. I've run across a few wannabes. More
than a few crazies. But never another hunter. Like we are. Don't
you think this is a unique chance?"
The meatloaf came, steaming hot. But Taylor
wasn't hungry anymore. He was intrigued. If Donaldson was what he
claimed to be, the fat man was one hundred percent correct. Taylor
had never talked about his lifestyle with anyone, other than his
victims. And then, it was only to terrify them even more.
Sometimes, Taylor had fantasies of getting
caught. Not because he harbored any guilt, and not because he
wanted to be locked up. But because it would be nice, just once, to
be open and honest about his habits with the whole world. To let a
fellow human being know how clever he'd been all these years. Maybe
have some shrink interview him and write a bestselling book.
How interesting it would be to talk shop
with someone as exceptional as he was.
" So you want to swap stories? Trade
tactics? Is that it, Donaldson?"
" I can think of duller ways to kill
some time at a truck stop."
Taylor cut the meatloaf with his fork,
shoved some into his mouth. It was good.
" Fine. You go first. You said you
don't like ether. So how do you make your--" Taylor reached for the
right words "-- guests compliant."
" Blunt force trauma."
" Using what?"
" Trade secret."
" And what if you're too... aggressive ... with your use of blunt
force?"
" An unfortunate side-effect. Just
happened to me, in fact. I recently picked up a tasty little
morsel, but her lights went out before I could have any fun with
her."
" Picked up? Hitcher?"
Donaldson sipped more coffee and grinned.
"Didn't you know about the dangers of hitchhiking, son? Lots of
psychos out there."
Taylor shoved more meatloaf into his mouth,
and followed it up with some mashed potatoes. "Hitchers might be
missed."
" So could truck stop
snatch."
Taylor paused in mid-bite.
" Your fly is open. And I saw how you
were measuring the resident pimp." Donaldson raised an eyebrow.
"Have you relieved him of one of his steady sources of
income?"
Now it was Taylor's turn to grin. "Not yet.
She'll be dessert when I'm done with this meatloaf."
" And once you're finished with
her?"
Taylor zipped up his fly. "I like rivers.
Water takes care of any trace evidence, and it's tough for the law
to pinpoint the location where they were dumped in. You?"
" Gas and a match. First a nice spritz
with bleach. Bleach destroys DNA, you know."
" I do. Got a few bottles in the
truck."
Taylor still couldn't assess what sort of
threat Donaldson posed. But he had to admit, this was fun.
" Who was your first?" Donaldson
asked.
" Dad. Fucker had it
coming."
" How'd you do it?"
Taylor ate more potatoes. "Ran him over. He
fucked up one of my shocks, too. Bones caught up under the
suspension, did a real number on a tie rod end."
The older man chuckled. "That's not
something you can take to your local mechanic."
" Hell, no. Fixed it myself. Took three
car washes and a rainstorm before that car stopped dripping blood.
How about you?"
Donaldson tipped his coffee cup. "Dad."
" No shit?"
" I guess exceptional people like us
think alike."
Exceptional. Taylor liked that term.
" So how did dear old Dad meet his
unfortunate end?"
" Baseball bat."
" Never tried it. Fun?"
" Yeah. But too hard to clean.
have noticed some spots of blood on his shirt."
" Maybe I cut myself
shaving."
" And the ether smell?"
" Maybe the rig was giving me some
trouble, so I cleaned out the carburetor."
" No grease or oil under your nails.
Just dried blood."
Taylor leaned in close, speaking just above
a whisper.
" Give me one good reason I shouldn't
kill you, Donaldson."
" Other than the fact I have your
knife? Because you should consider this a golden opportunity, my
friend. You and I, we're solitary creatures. We don't ever talk
about our secret lives. We never share stories of our exploits with
anyone. I've been doing this for over thirty years, and I've only
met one other person like us. I've run across a few wannabes. More
than a few crazies. But never another hunter. Like we are. Don't
you think this is a unique chance?"
The meatloaf came, steaming hot. But Taylor
wasn't hungry anymore. He was intrigued. If Donaldson was what he
claimed to be, the fat man was one hundred percent correct. Taylor
had never talked about his lifestyle with anyone, other than his
victims. And then, it was only to terrify them even more.
Sometimes, Taylor had fantasies of getting
caught. Not because he harbored any guilt, and not because he
wanted to be locked up. But because it would be nice, just once, to
be open and honest about his habits with the whole world. To let a
fellow human being know how clever he'd been all these years. Maybe
have some shrink interview him and write a bestselling book.
How interesting it would be to talk shop
with someone as exceptional as he was.
" So you want to swap stories? Trade
tactics? Is that it, Donaldson?"
" I can think of duller ways to kill
some time at a truck stop."
Taylor cut the meatloaf with his fork,
shoved some into his mouth. It was good.
" Fine. You go first. You said you
don't like ether. So how do you make your--" Taylor reached for the
right words "-- guests compliant."
" Blunt force trauma."
" Using what?"
" Trade secret."
" And what if you're too... aggressive ... with your use of blunt
force?"
" An unfortunate side-effect. Just
happened to me, in fact. I recently picked up a tasty little
morsel, but her lights went out before I could have any fun with
her."
" Picked up? Hitcher?"
Donaldson sipped more coffee and grinned.
"Didn't you know about the dangers of hitchhiking, son? Lots of
psychos out there."
Taylor shoved more meatloaf into his mouth,
and followed it up with some mashed potatoes. "Hitchers might be
missed."
" So could truck stop
snatch."
Taylor paused in mid-bite.
" Your fly is open. And I saw how you
were measuring the resident pimp." Donaldson raised an eyebrow.
"Have you relieved him of one of his steady sources of
income?"
Now it was Taylor's turn to grin. "Not yet.
She'll be dessert when I'm done with this meatloaf."
" And once you're finished with
her?"
Taylor zipped up his fly. "I like rivers.
Water takes care of any trace evidence, and it's tough for the law
to pinpoint the location where they were dumped in. You?"
" Gas and a match. First a nice spritz
with bleach. Bleach destroys DNA, you know."
" I do. Got a few bottles in the
truck."
Taylor still couldn't assess what sort of
threat Donaldson posed. But he had to admit, this was fun.
" Who was your first?" Donaldson
asked.
" Dad. Fucker had it
coming."
" How'd you do it?"
Taylor ate more potatoes. "Ran him over. He
fucked up one of my shocks, too. Bones caught up under the
suspension, did a real number on a tie rod end."
The older man chuckled. "That's not
something you can take to your local mechanic."
" Hell, no. Fixed it myself. Took three
car washes and a rainstorm before that car stopped dripping blood.
How about you?"
Donaldson tipped his coffee cup. "Dad."
" No shit?"
" I guess exceptional people like us
think alike."
Exceptional. Taylor liked that term.
" So how did dear old Dad meet his
unfortunate end?"
" Baseball bat."
" Never tried it. Fun?"
" Yeah. But too hard to clean.
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