Serial Uncut - J. A. Konrath [27]
Taylor grabbed the plastic bag—the ether-soaked paper towels still moist—and met Donaldson in the parking lot.
“The best spot is here, in the shadow of this truck,” Donaldson said.
Taylor didn’t like him calling the shots, but he heard the man out.
“She thinks I’m a fan,” Donaldson continued, “so I’m going to call her over here, ask for an autograph. Then you come up behind her with the ether.”
“She’s armed. Her purse was too heavy to only be carrying a wallet and make-up.”
“I saw that, too. I’ll grab her wrists, you get her around the neck. We can pull her to the ground here, out of sight. How close is your truck?”
“The red Peterbilt, a few spaces back.”
“When she’s out, we throw her arms around our shoulders, walk her over there like she’s drunk.”
Taylor shook his head. “Only when we’re sure no one is watching. I don’t want a witness getting my plate number.”
“Fine. We can walk her around until we’re sure we’re clear.”
Taylor stared at Donaldson for a moment, then said, “She’s mine.”
Donaldson didn’t respond.
“I’ll give you the whore for helping me, Donaldson. But the cop is mine.”
Donaldson eventually nodded. “Fair enough. Is the whore cute?”
“Too old, fat thighs, saggy gut from popping out kids.”
Donaldson raised his eyebrow. “She’s got kids?”
Taylor laughed. “You into kiddies, Donaldson?”
“Any port in the storm. But you can have fun with kids in other ways. Did the whore have a cell phone?”
“Yeah.”
“Give it here.”
Interested in where Donaldson was going with this, Taylor dug the phone out of his pocket and handed it over. Donaldson scrolled through the address book.
“Calling home,” Donaldson told him.
“Can’t calls be traced?”
“They can be traced to this cell phone, but not to our current location. To do that requires some highly sophisticated equipment—which I highly doubt the local constabulary possesses.”
“Put it on speaker.”
Donaldson hit a button, and Taylor heard ringing.
“Hello?” A child’s voice, preteen.
“This is Detective Donaldson. I’m sorry to inform you that your mommy is dead.”
“What?”
“Mommy is dead, kid. She was horribly murdered.”
“Mommy’s dead?” The child began to cry.
“It’s an occupational hazard. Your mom was a whore, you know. She had sex with strange men for money. One of those men killed her.”
“Mommy’s dead!”
Donaldson hit the disconnect button.
Taylor shook his head, smiling. “Man, that is low.”
“I’ll call him back later, see how he’s doing. This phone has a camera, too. Maybe I’ll send him some pictures of Mommy when I’m done with her.”
“What about the babysitter sending the cops here?”
“You think the babysitter knows what Mom’s job is? And even if she calls the cops, Murray’s pays them to stay away. Besides, we’ll be in your truck by then.”
Taylor thought it was reckless. But still, calling up a kid and saying his mother was dead was pretty good. Taylor considered all of the cell phones he’d thrown away, and cursed himself for the fun he’d missed.
Donaldson dug into his pocket and produced a pair of small binoculars. He held them to his face and looked at the diner.
“The cop is still working on her burger. She is a sweet piece of pie, isn’t she? Jack fucking Daniels. What a lucky day indeed. It’s a small world, my friend.”
“Not when you’re driving from L.A. to Boston.”
“Funny you should mention that. One of the reasons I’m a courier is to have a wide area to hunt in. I’m assuming you got into trucking for the same reason.”
“The wider the better. You shouldn’t shit where you eat.”
“I agree. I don’t think I’m even on the Fed’s radar. And cops don’t talk to each other from state to state. A man could keep on doing this for a very long time, if he plays it smart.”
“So, what’s your thing?” Taylor asked.
Donaldson lowered the binocs. “My thing?”
“What you do to them.”
Donaldson did the eyebrow raise again, which was starting to get annoying. “Have we reached that point