Read Online SERIAL UNCUT by Blake Crouch, Jack Kilborn J.A. Konrath - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Blake Crouch, Jack Kilborn J.A. Konrath
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Even the
aluminum models. Not even bleach can get those stains out. And not
east to ditch in an emergency."
Taylor finished up the last bite of
meatloaf. It was good. A loose grind, so you could taste all the
little parts that went into it. Taylor loved texture. Mouth-feel
was even better than taste.
" Had many emergencies?" he asked
Donaldson.
" A few close calls. Once I was even
pulled in for a line up. But no arrests. You?"
Taylor grinned. "I'm a law-abiding citizen.
Worst thing on my record is a speeding ticket."
Donaldson slurped more coffee. "Never got a
speeding ticket. Was pulled over for a broken taillight once. Had a
guest in the trunk, and the little bitch kicked it out."
" She was in there when the cop stopped
you?"
" Indeed. And let me tell you, that
will get your heart pumping."
Taylor had no doubt. "What'd you do?"
" I turned around, shot her three times
through the back seat, hoping it didn't go through the trunk or
that the cop saw me. Then I cranked open the windows to get the
gunpowder smell out, pulled onto the shoulder, and hoped he didn't
notice the bullet holes in my upholstery. He didn't. Let me off
with a warning."
" Would you have killed the pig or let
him take you in?"
" I would have killed him," Donaldson
said. "I don't like pigs."
" You and me both, brother."
" So, here's the ten-thousand dollar
question," Donaldson asked. "How many are you up to?"
Taylor wiped some gravy off his mouth with a
paper napkin. "So that's where we stand? Whipping out our dicks and
seeing whose is bigger?"
" I've been at this a very long time."
Donaldson belched again. "Probably since before you were born. I've
a lot read about others like us; I love those true crime
audiobooks. They help pass the time on long trips. I collect
regular books, too. Movies. Newspaper articles. If you've done the
same research I have, then you know none of our American peers can
prove more than forty-eight. That's the key. Prove. Some boast high numbers, but there isn't
proof to back it up."
" So are you asking me how many I've
done, or how many I can prove?"
" Both."
Taylor shrugged. "I lost count after
forty-eight. Once I had one in every state, it became less about
quantity and more about quality."
" You're lying," Donaldson said.
"You're too young for that many."
" One in every state in the lower
forty-eight, old man."
" Can you prove it?"
" I kept driver's licenses, those that
had them. Probably don't have more than twenty, though. Not many
whores carry ID."
" No pictures? Trophies?
Souvenirs?"
Taylor wasn't going to share something that
personal with a stranger. He pretended to sneer. "Taking a trophy
is like asking to get caught. I don't plan on getting caught."
" True. But it is nice to relive the
moment. Traveling is lonely, and memories unfortunately fade. If it
wasn't so dangerous, I'd love to videotape a few."
That would be nice, Taylor thought, finishing the last bit of meatloaf. But my trophy box will have to
suffice.
" So how many are you up to,
Grandpa?"
" A hundred twenty-seven."
Taylor snorted. "Bullshit."
" I agree with you about the danger of
keeping souvenirs, but I have Polaroids from a lot of my early
ones."
" Dangerous to carry those around with
you."
" I've got them well hidden." Donaldson
stared at him, his eyes twinkling. "Would you be interested in
seeing them?"
" What do you mean? One of those I'll show you mine if you show me yours deals?"
" No. Well, not exactly. I'm not
interested in seeing your driver's license collection. But I would
be interested in paying a little visit to your current
guest."
Taylor frowned. "I'm not big on sharing. Or
sloppy seconds."
Donaldson slowly spread out his hands. "I
understand. It's just that... you know how it is, when you get all
worked up, and then they quit on you."
Taylor nodded. Having a victim die too soon
felt like having something precious stolen from him.
" You don't seem like the shy type,"
Donaldson continued. "I thought,
aluminum models. Not even bleach can get those stains out. And not
east to ditch in an emergency."
Taylor finished up the last bite of
meatloaf. It was good. A loose grind, so you could taste all the
little parts that went into it. Taylor loved texture. Mouth-feel
was even better than taste.
" Had many emergencies?" he asked
Donaldson.
" A few close calls. Once I was even
pulled in for a line up. But no arrests. You?"
Taylor grinned. "I'm a law-abiding citizen.
Worst thing on my record is a speeding ticket."
Donaldson slurped more coffee. "Never got a
speeding ticket. Was pulled over for a broken taillight once. Had a
guest in the trunk, and the little bitch kicked it out."
" She was in there when the cop stopped
you?"
" Indeed. And let me tell you, that
will get your heart pumping."
Taylor had no doubt. "What'd you do?"
" I turned around, shot her three times
through the back seat, hoping it didn't go through the trunk or
that the cop saw me. Then I cranked open the windows to get the
gunpowder smell out, pulled onto the shoulder, and hoped he didn't
notice the bullet holes in my upholstery. He didn't. Let me off
with a warning."
" Would you have killed the pig or let
him take you in?"
" I would have killed him," Donaldson
said. "I don't like pigs."
" You and me both, brother."
" So, here's the ten-thousand dollar
question," Donaldson asked. "How many are you up to?"
Taylor wiped some gravy off his mouth with a
paper napkin. "So that's where we stand? Whipping out our dicks and
seeing whose is bigger?"
" I've been at this a very long time."
Donaldson belched again. "Probably since before you were born. I've
a lot read about others like us; I love those true crime
audiobooks. They help pass the time on long trips. I collect
regular books, too. Movies. Newspaper articles. If you've done the
same research I have, then you know none of our American peers can
prove more than forty-eight. That's the key. Prove. Some boast high numbers, but there isn't
proof to back it up."
" So are you asking me how many I've
done, or how many I can prove?"
" Both."
Taylor shrugged. "I lost count after
forty-eight. Once I had one in every state, it became less about
quantity and more about quality."
" You're lying," Donaldson said.
"You're too young for that many."
" One in every state in the lower
forty-eight, old man."
" Can you prove it?"
" I kept driver's licenses, those that
had them. Probably don't have more than twenty, though. Not many
whores carry ID."
" No pictures? Trophies?
Souvenirs?"
Taylor wasn't going to share something that
personal with a stranger. He pretended to sneer. "Taking a trophy
is like asking to get caught. I don't plan on getting caught."
" True. But it is nice to relive the
moment. Traveling is lonely, and memories unfortunately fade. If it
wasn't so dangerous, I'd love to videotape a few."
That would be nice, Taylor thought, finishing the last bit of meatloaf. But my trophy box will have to
suffice.
" So how many are you up to,
Grandpa?"
" A hundred twenty-seven."
Taylor snorted. "Bullshit."
" I agree with you about the danger of
keeping souvenirs, but I have Polaroids from a lot of my early
ones."
" Dangerous to carry those around with
you."
" I've got them well hidden." Donaldson
stared at him, his eyes twinkling. "Would you be interested in
seeing them?"
" What do you mean? One of those I'll show you mine if you show me yours deals?"
" No. Well, not exactly. I'm not
interested in seeing your driver's license collection. But I would
be interested in paying a little visit to your current
guest."
Taylor frowned. "I'm not big on sharing. Or
sloppy seconds."
Donaldson slowly spread out his hands. "I
understand. It's just that... you know how it is, when you get all
worked up, and then they quit on you."
Taylor nodded. Having a victim die too soon
felt like having something precious stolen from him.
" You don't seem like the shy type,"
Donaldson continued. "I thought,
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