SERIAL UNCUT (13 page)

"
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. But now we've got a big
problem. One of them is going to talk to our waitress, and she'll
mention us. The other is taking down plate numbers. He'll find
Jack's car, realize she's still here, and start searching for
her."

"
We need to move our vehicles. Right
now."

Taylor nodded. "There's an oasis thirty
miles north on 39. I'll meet you there in half an hour. You've got
the whore's phone, right?"

"
Yeah."

"
Give me the cop's," Taylor said.
"We'll exchange numbers if we need to get in touch."

After programming their phones, Donaldson
offered his hand. Taylor shook it.

"
See you soon, fellow
traveler."

Then they parted.

Taylor hustled into his cab, started the
engine, and pulled out of Murray's parking lot. He smiled. While he
still didn't fully trust Donaldson, Taylor was really starting to
enjoy their partnership. Maybe they could somehow extend it into
something fulltime. Teamwork made this all so much more
exciting.

Taylor was heading for the cloverleaf when
he saw the light begin to flash on the dashboard.

It was the fire alarm. The smoke detector in
the overhead sleeper was going off.

What the hell?

Taylor pulled onto the shoulder, set the
brake, and tugged his sawed-off shotgun out from under the
passenger seat. Then he headed for the trap door to see what was
going on with those bitches.

-10-

The moment the cab jiggled, I began to
gather up bungee cords and hook them to the handle on the trap
door, pulling them taut and attaching them to the foot stock. When
that door opened, I wanted it to stay open.

Then the truck went into gear, knocking me
onto my ass. Moving wasn't going to help our situation. At least at
Murray's we were surrounded by people. If Taylor took us someplace
secluded, our chances would get even worse.

I looked around the sleeper again, and my
eyes locked on the overhead light. Next to it, on the ceiling, was
a smoke alarm. I doubted it would be heard through all the
soundproofing, but there was a good chance it signaled the driver
somehow.

"
Candi! Press the test button on the
alarm up there!"

She steadied herself, then reached up to
press it. The high-pitched beeping was loud enough to hurt my ears.
But would Taylor even be aware of it?

Apparently so, because a few seconds later,
the truck stopped.

I reached for the Tupperware container and a
broken slat from the chest, and crawled over to the side of the
trap door. Then I waited.

I didn't have to wait long. The trap door
opened up and the bungee cords worked as predicted, tearing it out
of Taylor's grasp. The barrel of a shotgun jutted up through the
doorway. I kicked that aside and threw a big handful of salt in
Taylor's eyes. He screamed, and I followed up with the wooden slat,
smacking him in the nose, forcing him to lose his footing on the
stepladder.

As he fell, I dove, snaking face-first down
the opening on top of him, landing on his chest and pinning the
shotgun between us.

He pushed up against me, strong as hell, but
I had gravity on my side and I was fighting for my life. My knee
honed in on his balls like it lived there, and the first kick
worked so well I did it three more times.

He moaned, trying to keep his legs together
and twist away. I grabbed the shotgun stock and jerked. He suddenly
let go of the weapon, and I tumbled backwards off of him, the gun
in my hands, and my back slammed into the step ladder. The wind
burst out of me, and my diaphragm spasmed. I tried to suck in a
breath and couldn't.

Taylor got to his knees, snarling, and
lunged. I raised the gun, my fingers seeking the trigger, but he
easily knocked it away. Then he was straddling me, and I still
couldn't breathe--a task that became even more difficult when his
hands found my throat.

"
You're gonna set a world fucking
record on how long it takes to die."

Then Candi dropped onto his back.

Taylor immediately released his grip, trying
to reach around and get her off. But Candi clung on like a monkey,
one hand around his neck, the other pressing a wet paper towel to
his face.

He fell on all fours and bucked rodeo
bull-style. Candi held tight. I blinked away the stars and managed
to suck in some air, my hands seeking out the dropped shotgun. It
was too dangerous to shoot him with Candi so close, so I held it by
the short barrel, took aim, and cracked him in the temple with the
wooden stock.

Taylor crumpled.

I gasped for oxygen, my heart threatening to
break through my ribs because it was beating so hard. Candi kept
the rag on Taylor's face, and part of me wanted to let her keep it
there, let her kill him. But my better judgment took over.

"
Candi." I lightly touched her
shoulder. "It's over."

"
It'll be over when I bite one of his
goddamn toes off."

I shook my head. "Give me the rag, Candi.
He's going away for the rest of his life. Depending on the
jurisdictions, he might even get the death penalty."

She looked at me. Then she handed over the
rag and burst into tears.

That's when Donaldson stepped into the cab.
He took a quick look around, then pointed my gun at me.

"
Well what do we have here? How about
you drop that shotgun, Lieutenant."

I looked at him, and then got a ridiculously
big grin on my face.

"
You gave him the bullets,
asshole."

Donaldson's eyes got comically wide, and I
brought up the shotgun and fired just as he was diving backward out
the door. The dashboard exploded, and the sound was a force that
punched me in my ears. Candi slapped her hands to the sides of her
head. I ignored the ringing and pumped another slug into the
chamber, already moving after him.

Something stopped me.

Taylor. Grabbing my leg.

Candi pounced on him, tangled her fingers in
his hair, and bounced his head against the floor until he released
his grip.

I stumbled out of the cab, stepping onto the
pavement. My .38 was on the road, discarded. I looked left, then
right, then under the truck.

Donaldson was gone.

A few seconds later, I saw a police car
tearing up the highway, lights flashing, coming our way.

-11-

"
Thank you, honey."

I took the offered wine glass and Latham
climbed into bed next to me. The fireplace was roaring, the
chardonnay was cold, and when Latham slipped his hand around my
waist I sighed. For a moment, at least, everything was right with
the world. Candi had been reunited with her children. Taylor was
eagerly confessing to a string of murders going back fifteen years,
and ten states were fighting to have first crack at prosecuting
him. No charges were filed against me for my attack on the pimp,
because Fran the waitress had sworn he shoved me first. My various
aches and pains were all healing nicely, and I even got all of my
things back, including my missing shoe. It was five days into my
vacation, and I was feeling positively glorious.

The only loose end was Donaldson. But he'd
get his, eventually. It was only a matter of time until someone
picked him up.

"
You know, technically, you never
thanked me for saving your life," Latham said.

"
Is that what you did?" I asked,
giving him a playful poke in the chest. "I thought I was the one
who did all the saving."

"
After that man called me, I called
the police, told them you were at Murray's and someone had
you."

"
The police arrived after I'd already
taken control of the situation."

"
Still, I deserve some sort of reward
for my cool-headedness and grace under pressure, don't you
think?"

"
What have you got in
mind?"

He whispered something filthy in my ear.

"
You pervert," I said, smiling then
kissing him.

Then I took another sip of wine and followed
his suggestion.

PART FOUR
Utah, One Week Later

-1-

Donaldson kept one hand on the wheel. The
other caressed the cell phone.

The cell phone with Jack Daniels's number on
it.

It had been over a week since that fateful
meeting. He'd headed southwest, knowing there was a nationwide
manhunt going on, knowing they really didn't have anything on him.
A description and a name, nothing more.

He'd been aching to call the Lieutenant. But
it wasn't the right time yet. First he had to let things cool
down.

Maybe in another week or so, he'd give her a
ring. Just to chit-chat, no threats at all.

The threats would come later, when he went
to visit her.

He felt a tinge of sadness about Taylor's
arrest. A shame, losing a kindred spirit like that. But if the man
had been willing to share, he wouldn't be in custody right now.

At least he kept quiet about me, Donaldson
thought.

But that hadn't stopped Donaldson from
putting as much road between him and Wisconsin as he could. He'd
been so busy running from the authorities, covering his tracks,
Donaldson hadn't had any time to indulge in his particular
appetites. He kept an eye open for likely prospects, but they were
few and far between.

The hardest thing about killing a hitchhiker
was finding one to pick up.

Donaldson could remember just ten years ago,
when interstates boasted a hitcher every ten miles, and a
discriminating killer could pick and choose who looked the easiest,
the most fun, the juiciest. These days, cops kept the expressways
clear of easy marks, and Donaldson was forced to cruise off-ramps,
underpasses, and rest areas, prowl back roads, take one hour coffee
breaks at oases. Recreational murder was becoming more trouble than
it was worth.

He'd finally found one standing in a Cracker
Barrel parking lot. The kid had been obvious, leaning against the
cement ashtray near the entrance, an oversize hiking pack strapped
to his back. He was approaching every patron leaving the
restaurant, practicing his grin between rejections.