The Murder Option (The Murder Collection) by Richter Watkins

Author:Richter Watkins
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw
Tags: The Murder Option
Publisher: Pryde Multimedia, LLC
Published: 2013-06-09T06:00:00+00:00

3

Sunday afternoon, nobody at the office yet, I went in and “stole” my company’s cash. I had no idea that much money, all hundreds and twenties, would be so damn heavy. It filled the backpack and had to weigh at least seventy or eighty pounds.

Like any thief, I made sure no cars were out back. I’d parked right next to the back door. The security cameras were positioned on the outside lots, and I knew how to avoid them.

I hadn’t even gotten back to the cabin when Snyder called me on the throwaway. “He’s been driving nonstop. He’ll be here about ten tonight. I told him we’ll meet him up there. You get what you need?”

“Yes. You get money?”

“I will. I’m getting it tonight. My cousin. Meet me at Mel’s at nine, then we’ll go up.”

His cousin owned Mel’s Place, down by the river. It was one of those nondescript local bars that did minimal business but had two pool tables and dedicated locals.

***

It was Sunday, and Mel’s was closed. When I pulled into the back of the bar, Snyder’s car was there. I didn’t see any sign of his cousin’s car. I sat and waited.

Fifteen minutes went by, and I was wondering if I should call him on the throwaway, but then the back door opened and Snyder came out with a backpack. He nodded to me, then popped open the trunk of his car, threw the backpack in, and shut the trunk.

“Where’s Mel?”

“He’s inside. His wife dropped him off. He’s working on the books.”

I nodded toward the bar. “He know what’s going on?”

“No. No questions asked. That’s how he is. He just wants it back tonight.”

Snyder worked for his cousin both in high school and later. I wondered if Mel was really inside. Maybe, like me, he knew the safe combination and just took the money.

“It’s like we’re fucking drug dealers,” I said.

“Yeah, but you do what you have to. Freddie’s already here. He’s up there waiting for us. He says he got a couple hours sleep at a rest stop. Other than that, he drove straight through.”

This was all happening so much faster than I’d expected. Because it was settled—it was going to happen unless Freddie could be talked out of it, and that didn’t seem promising. And it didn’t look like Snyder was going to play around.

The best laid plans, I thought with a darkening fatalism as we pulled out. I followed Snyder back across town and up the side of the mountain. Sunday night after six or seven, the whole valley just shuts down.

We parked at the same spot, but weren’t alone. A black 300 Chrysler with heavily tinted windows was there ahead of us. Vegas plates.

We took the backpacks out of our trunks.

“I brought some lubrication for the festivities,” Snyder said. He showed me a bottle of Grey Goose Vodka, some plastic cups, the deck of cards, and the tiny lamp. “Like old times,” he said.

We hiked through the woods, then went past the old cross and down to the cliffs.

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