SERIAL UNCUT (10 page)

The older fat guy next to me snorted. The
pimp wasn't so amused.

"
The
local
authorities,
" he said it in a falsetto, obviously
trying to mimic me, "and I have an arrangement. That arrangement
means no cops." He gave me a rough shove in the shoulder. "And I'm
sure they wouldn't mind if I fed you--"

I drove the salt shaker into his upper jaw
with my palm, breaking both the glass and the teeth I'd promised.
Besides being hard and having weight, the shards and the salt did a
number on the pimp's gums. Must have hurt like crazy.

He dropped to his knees, clutching his face
and howling, and three of his women dragged him out of there. I did
a slow pan across the room, looking for other challengers, seeing
none. Then I brushed my hand on my pants, wiping off the excess
salt, and went back to my coffee, trying to control the adrenalin
shakes. I hated violence of any kind, but once he touched me, I
didn't have any other recourse. I didn't want to play footsie with
the local cops he was paying off, trying to get an assault charge
to stick. Or worse, wind up in the hospital because some asshole
pimp thought he could treat me the same way he treated the women
who worked for him.

Better to nip it in the bud and drop him
fast. Though I didn't have to feel good about it.

I took a deep, steadying breath, and managed
to sip some coffee without spilling it all over myself, all the
while keeping one eye on the entrance. I'd hurt the pimp bad enough
to require an emergency room visit, but if he were tougher and
dumber than I'd guessed, he might return with a weapon. I set my
purse on the counter, my .38 within easy reach, just in case.

"
You're Lieutenant Jack Daniels,
aren't you?"

I glanced at the fat man again. Even though
I'd been on the news many times, I didn't get recognized very often
in Chicago, and it never happened away from home.

"
And you are?" My voice came out
higher than I would have liked.

"
Just a fan. You got that serial
killer Charles Kork, the one they called the Gingerbread Man. How
many women did he kill?"

"
Too many." I turned back to my
coffee.

"
I saw the TV movie. The one that
became the series. You're much better looking than the actress who
played you."

I was in no mood to be idolized. Plus, there
was something creepy about this guy.

"
Look, buddy, I don't want to be rude,
but I'm really not up for conversation right now."

The fat man didn't take the hint. "And you
got Barry Fuller. He killed over a dozen, didn't he? He was both a
serial killer and a mass murderer, due to all those Feds he took
out at that rest stop."

I sighed. The waitress came by with my
cheese curds. She set down the basket and winked at me. "These are
on me."

"
Thanks. I could use some
salt."

I tried a curd. Too hot, so I spit it back
out into my palm and played hot potato until it cooled off. My
biggest fan refused to give up.

"
There were others in the Kork family
as well, weren't there? A whole group of psychos. I heard they
killed over forty people, total."

I really didn't want to think about the Kork
family, and I really didn't want to have a late-night gabfest with
a cop groupie.

But, on the plus side, knocking out that
pimp's teeth really woke me up.

When the waitress brought me the salt, I
asked for my meal to go. The fat guy apparently didn't like that,
because he gave me his back and had an intense whisper exchange
with his buddy; a younger, attractive man in a flannel shirt. The
young guy nodded, got up, and left.

"
Just one last question, Lieutenant,
and then I promise I'll leave you alone."

I sighed again, glancing at him. "Go
ahead."

"
Did you ever try to take on two
serial killers at once?"

I popped a curd in my mouth. "Can't say that
I have."

He smiled, lopsided. "Too bad. That would
have been cool."

The fat guy threw down some money, then
followed his buddy out.

No longer pestered, I decided to eat there,
and settled in to eat my cheese curds.

-5-

Taylor hadn't ever killed a cop. He came
close once, a few years ago, when a state trooper pulled him over,
and asked him to step out of his truck. Taylor had been ready to
pull his knife and gut the pig, but the cop only wanted him to do a
field sobriety test. Taylor wouldn't ever risk driving drunk, and
he easily passed, getting let off with a warning and pulling away
with a dead hooker in his sleeping compartment.

But he was itching to get at this cop.
Taylor liked strong women. He liked when they fought him, refusing
to give up. They were so much fun to break. Especially when they
had such adorable feet.

As Donaldson suggested, Taylor had left the
diner and gone back to his rig to grab the ether. Candi with an i
was still out cold, but she held far less fascination for Taylor
than this new prospect.

I'm going to have a little
nip of Jack Daniels,
he thought, smiling
wildly.
Maybe more than one. And maybe not
so little.

For helping out, he'd let Donaldson
have Candi. While Taylor wasn't into the whole
voyeur
scene, it might be interesting to watch
another pro do his thing. Hopefully, it didn't involve any sort of
sex, because he had zero desire to see Donaldson's flabby, naked
ass.

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 in our
relationship where we can share our methods? You haven't even told
me your name."

"
It's Taylor. And I want to know,
before I invite you into my truck, that you aren't into some sick
shit."

"
Define
sick
."

"
Guts are okay, but don't puncture the
intestines. That smell takes forever to go away."

"
I'm not into internal
organs."

"
How about rape?"

Donaldson smiled. "I
am
into rape."

"
I don't want to see it. No offense,
but naked guys are not a turn-on for me."

"
That's fair enough. We can take
turns, give each other some privacy. My
thing
, as you put it, is to cut off their faces.
One little piece at a time. A nostril. An ear. An eye. A lip. And
then I feed their faces to them, bit by bit.

Taylor could see the appeal in that.

"
How about you, Taylor?"

"
Biting. Toes and fingers, to start.
Then all over."

"
How long have you kept one alive
for?"

"
Maybe two days."

Donaldson nodded. "See, that's nice. I do
all my work outdoors, different locations, so I never have time to
make it last, savor it. You've got a little murder-mobile, you can
take your time."

"
That's the reason I'm a trucker, not
a courier."

Donaldson got a wistful look. "I'm thinking
of renting a shack out in the woods. Out in the middle of nowhere.
Then I could bring someone there, really drag it out. You remember
that old magic trick? The girl in the box, and the magician sticks
swords in it?"

Taylor nodded. "Yeah."

"
I'd love to build one of those.
Except there's no trick. Wouldn't that be fun? Sticking the swords
in one at a time?"

Taylor decided it would.

Donaldson peered through the binocs again.
"Here she comes. Let's get in position."

Taylor nodded. He felt the excitement
building up again, but a different kind of excitement. This time,
he was sharing the experience with another person. It was oddly
fulfilling, in a way his dozens of other murders hadn't been.

Maybe tag-team was the way to go.

He clenched the ether-soaked paper towels,
crouched behind a bumper, and waited for the fun to start.

-6-

The burger was good. The coffee was good.
The cheese curds were heavenly. I had no idea why they weren't
served in Chicago.

I paid, left a decent tip, then tried
calling Latham to tell him I felt good enough to keep driving.

Still no signal. I needed to switch
carriers, or get a new phone. It especially bugged me because I saw
other people in the diner talking on their cell phones. If
that
Can you hear me now?
guy
walked into the restaurant, I would have bounced my cell off his
head.

The parking lot had decent lighting, but all
of the big trucks cast shadows, and I knew more than most the
dangers of walking in shadows. I pulled my purse on over my head
and tucked it under my arm, then headed for my car while staying in
the light. The last thing I needed was the pimp to make a play for
me. Or that--