Serial Uncut - J. A. Konrath [35]
“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,