Bicycle Shop Murder by Robert Burton Robinson (fiction novels to read .TXT) 📖

John X had watched as Marty walked out of the Holiday Inn, across the sidewalk and into Denny’s. He figured he had at least thirty minutes before Marty returned to the hotel. His wireless network camera and Motorola Q PDA had been well worth the expense. The tiny camera was capable of transmitting video across the internet. With the Q, he could browse the web and pick up the video images.

He positioned the camera on the inside window ledge next to the lobby entrance. He would wait near the big screen TV, which was across from the two elevators, and would be able to see Marty on the PDA as he approached the entrance to the lobby. John X loved using the latest gadgetry.

He would hide on the left side of the huge projection-type TV, behind some large potted plants. After Marty had stepped into an elevator and pressed the button, John X would shoot him just as the doors were closing. The sound of his silenced pistol would blend in with the pop of balls being hit by tennis pros on the TV.

Marty would be carried to the second floor, the door would open and somebody would discover his body. Or maybe nobody would be waiting for an elevator, and he wouldn’t be found for several minutes. Either way, John X would be at least a couple of miles away in his stolen pickup by the time anyone was searching for the killer.

*

It didn’t take long for Buford to strip and get impatient with his young blonde hooker. “What’s taking you so long? You mustn’t keep daddy waiting.”

The hotel room was menial by Buford’s standards. But it was only $285 a night, and he would only be there for a couple of hours.

“Am I gonna have to come in there and get you?” That might be fun, he thought.

Before Buford had a chance to walk toward the bathroom door, she walked out, wearing a sexy ensemble consisting of a Victoria’s Secret bra and panties, made of a little bit of red silk—and a lot of nothing. He reached for her, but she had other ideas.

“No, no. Let’s try something different than what you’re used to.”

“Like what?”

“Okay. You lie on the bed face down, and I will give you a massage.”

“Honey, I’ve had plenty of massages.”

“Not like this one. Just trust me. You don’t have any heart trouble, do you?”

“No. Why?”

“‘Cause this is gonna get your heart pumping hard. Real hard.”

Buford leaped onto the bed.

She climbed on top of him and began to rub his back.

“Yeah, that feels good. But I’m ready for your special stuff. Lay it on me, Baby!”

“You sure you can handle it?” She reached behind her back and retrieved the hypodermic needle that was under her bra strap.

“Oh, yeah, I can handle it.”

“Okay, here goes.” She slowly scratched his back with one hand while she inserted the needle with the other. Then she quickly pressed the plunger all the way down.

“Hey—what was that? It felt like you pinched me.”

“That was from Marty.”

“From Marty?” Buford panicked.

“Yeah. Marty wants you to know that no matter what you do, or where you go, he can get to you. And if you try to kill him—you’re a dead man.”

Buford tried to get up, tried to knock her off his back. But he was already feeling weak, sick. “What did you do to me?”

“You have nothing worry about as long as you leave Marty alone. The shot I gave you will knock you out for a few hours. Sweet dreams.”

He wondered if she was telling the truth. He was feeling drowsy. But was he falling asleep—or was he dying? No, you can’t kill me, he thought. I’m gonna be governor of Texas! He wouldn’t give in to it. He would fight

His mind faded to black.

*

Marty ordered the Country Fried Steak, with an extra side of gravy, a loaded baked potato, and onion rings. He liked Denny’s menu choices, and ate there often. He was particularly impressed with the Coreyville Denny’s because the onion rings were really fresh and hot—not greasy. He loved great onion rings.

How had he stayed so thin? Maybe it was the three-pack-a-day smoking habit. His body was probably eaten up with cancer. It didn’t matter much now. There was a good chance he would be dead by sunrise. Maybe he should have ordered even more gravy and onion rings.

He wished he could have seen the reaction on Buford’s face when Carla drugged him and gave him Marty’s warning. Carla had been more than happy to do it for him.

Marty had met her right after getting out on parole. He had not been with a woman in eight years, and although he had thought she looked a little young, she was offering her services, and he was more than willing to pay. But as soon as he started kissing her, she began to cry. He knew he was ugly and had bad breath, but if she wanted to earn the money, she would do what it took without complaining.

She said she was sorry, but that she couldn’t go through with it. She explained that it was her first day on the job. She was 16 years old and had run away from her mean, drug-abusing mother.

The girl had only been on the streets a couple of days when she ran into Andrew. He was a smooth-talking young man who seemed nice. He offered her a good-paying job and place to live. Then he raped her repeatedly, and set her up as one of his hookers. She was scared to death of him.

It had been enough to kick in Marty’s weird sense of justice. He had murdered numerous people over the years, without remorse. But for some reason, this young girl’s story had pushed his buttons. He wanted to restore Carla’s innocence, to whatever degree possible. And he was determined to kill Andrew—with maximum brutality.

Marty had asked Carla to call Andrew and say she was quitting. When Andrew tracked her down, Marty was waiting nearby. Just as he started to hit Carla, Marty whacked the side of his head with the butt of his pistol. Andrew fell to the ground, disoriented.

Marty stood over him, and shot him in the leg. Then the other leg. Then each foot. Then each arm. Finally, as Andrew pleaded for his life, Marty shot him in the stomach. Then he and Carla walked away, leaving Andrew to bleed to death.

So, when Marty called up Carla and asked for a favor, she gladly agreed. In truth, nobody was going to carry out a hit on Buford if he killed Marty. But Buford wouldn’t know that for sure. He would worry himself to death about it. Hey—he might even be afraid to hire hookers.

It wasn’t as good as killing him, but it did make Marty smile, as he took another bite of chicken fried steak.

*

John X had one eye on the tennis match, one eye on the PDA. It had been an hour. Marty was taking his time. He hoped he would come soon, while the lobby was still deserted.

He checked the display on his PDA, and saw Marty walking toward the entrance of the hotel. So, he moved into position. Some women were walking from the back of the hotel, toward the elevators. No sooner than the women had passed by, Marty walked into the left elevator.

But somebody else had just come into the lobby. John X could hear a woman’s heels on the ceramic tile. And