The Sleeping Cab by Daniel Koehler

Author:Daniel Koehler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fbi, serial killer, revenge, female protagonist, cop thriller
Publisher: Daniel Koehler

Chapter 19

The next morning Jolene rose early. Despite having slept in her hooker outfit, she felt fresh as a daisy.

Was the beautiful summer day outside responsible for her zest, or was it her adventure last night at the Yellow Rose Motel?

Smoking a cigarette, she sat browsing the web at her home computer for any mention of The Atonement Killer. The story seemed to have dropped off the media’s radar ever since the rash of killings in the spring had stopped cold.

He’s laying low. He knows I can identify him.

Then a terrible thought leapt into her mind.

Or maybe he’s just biding his time before coming after me.

She admonished herself.

Don’t be ridiculous. He has no idea who I am.

Her right foot tapped continuously on the kitchen floor while her finger drummed an incessant paradiddle on the tabletop.

Despite her pregnancy, she had neither gained weight nor experienced any real morning sickness. Her face had an alien, obsessed aspect to it, her eyes hooded and her skin taut as if shrink-wrapped to her cheekbones. The leather mini-dress still fit her comfortably, albeit slightly snug in the midsection, and her midterm baby bump was only visible if she unzipped the leather jacket she wore constantly.

She caught a glimpse of her black leather-clad figure in the hall mirror.

Oh, God, I look like a model for maternity clothes for sadomasochists.

The ring of the telephone broke her meditation.

“Hello.”

“Jolene, I got some real go-oo-d news. Don’t hang up.”

Crap. Dale again.

In the last few weeks, she had ignored his calls. She was hip to his ploys to get her to talk on the phone. This time, though, an irresistible retort popped into her mind.

“What’s up, Rip Van Winkle?”

“Huh? No, listen, I been hittin’ a lot of truck stops and bars ‘round town, askin’ about your guy and, well—”

“Oh, that’s top-notch police work, Dale. Hitting the bars.”

“Let me finish. See, I met a trucker who remembered him.”

“Big deal.”

“Well, it’s a lead. Listen, this guy said—”

“Don’t bother to talk to me about truckers, Dale. I can’t stand the sight of any of those bastards. I just want to hurt all—”

She stopped short, remembering the trucker she assaulted last night.

“Lord, I don’t blame you,” Dale said. “But my source thinks your guy comes from a place called the Arizona Strip. Ever hear of it?

“No.”

“He says your trucker dresses real neat and likes to preach at truck stops along I-40.”

“Yeah, yeah.” she sighed. “The FBI is already on it.”

“Does the FBI know about the storefront preachin’?”

Jolene paused. “I don’t think so.”

“Then we’re ahead of ‘em on that, baby,” Dale said, obvious pride in his voice. “What else did the FBI tell you?”

She sighed. “Oh, Joe Mac said the truck is registered to a weird church in St. George, Utah.” She unplugged the Taser sitting on the kitchen counter recharging.

“What? You get a name?”

“Dream Mine Church of the Prophet.” She picked up the Taser and sighted down the barrel.

“That’s great news, baby. I’m comin’ right over. What was that church’s name again? Dreamin’ of the Prophet?”

“Hold your horses, cowboy.

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