Serial Uncut by Blake Crouch & J. A. Konrath & Jack Kilborn

Author:Blake Crouch & J. A. Konrath & Jack Kilborn [Crouch, Blake & Konrath, J. A. & Kilborn, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror, Fiction, Hitchhiking
ISBN: 9781456401580
Publisher: CreateSpace
Published: 2010-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

9

Fran the waitress was happy to flip a coin for the two gentlemen who had tipped her so well.

“Tails,” Taylor called.

Fran caught the quarter, slapped it against her wrist.

“Tails it is. Congrats, handsome.”

Taylor gave her a polite nod, then turned to judge Donaldson’s reaction. There wasn’t one. The fat man’s face was blank. Taylor left the diner, his cohort in tow. It was still hot and muggy outside, and the lot was still almost full, but there weren’t any people around.

“Are we cool?” Taylor asked as they walked to his truck.

“Yeah. Fair is fair. You’ll let me watch?”

Taylor shrugged like it didn’t matter, but secretly he was thrilled at the idea of an audience.

“Sure.”

“And you’ll let me do her face?”

“Her face is all yours.”

“You should try it once. The face. You peel enough of the flesh away, you can see the skull underneath. I bet Jack Daniels has a beautiful skull.”

Taylor stopped and stared at him. “You’ve really got a hard-on for this cop, don’t you?”

“I’d marry her if she’d have me. But I’ll settle for a bloody blowjob after I knock her teeth out. Do you still have Jack’s phone?”

Taylor had pocketed her phone and wallet. He tugged the cell out.

“Does Officer Donaldson want to inform the next of kin?” Taylor grinned as he handed it over.

“That’s a possibility. Might also be fun to call up her loved ones while you’re working on her, let them hear her screams.”

“You’ve got a sick mind, my friend.”

“Thank you, kindly. Let’s see who our favorite cop talked to last. The winner is… Latham. And less than an hour ago. Shall we see if Latham is still up?”

“Put it on speaker.”

The phone rang twice, and a man answered.

“Jack? I was worried.”

“And you have good reason to be,” Donaldson said. “Is this Latham?”

“Who is this?”

“I’m the man about to murder Jack Daniels. She’s going to die in terrible pain. How do you feel about that?”

There was silence.

“What’s wrong, Latham? Don’t you care that…” Donaldson squinted at the phone. “Dammit, lost the signal.”

Donaldson hit redial. The call didn’t go through.

They stood there for a moment, neither of them saying anything.

“I hate dropped calls,” Taylor finally offered. “Drives me nuts.”

“Cops.”

“I hate cops, too.”

“Behind you.”

Taylor spun around and froze. A Wisconsin squad car rolled up next to them. Its lights weren’t on, but the driver’s side window was open and a pig was leaning out. White male, fat, had something on his upper lip that an optimist might call a mustache.

“Did you men happen to witness a disturbance in the diner earlier?”

Taylor thought fast. But apparently so did Donaldson, because he spoke first.

“What disturbance?”

“Seems an Illinois cop got into a tussle with one of the locals.”

“We’re just passing through,” Donaldson said. “Didn’t see anything.”

The pig nodded, then pulled up next to the diner. He let his fellow cop out, then began to circle the parking lot.

“I had to lie,” Donaldson said, “or else we’d have to give statements. I don’t want my name in any police report.”

“I’m with you.

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