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Book online «Bicycle Shop Murder by Robert Burton Robinson (fiction novels to read .TXT) đŸ“–Â». Author Robert Burton Robinson



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And you didn’t honestly think you could lose me, did you? Okay—enough small talk. Cynthia, I want you to move the two chairs over here between the beds.”

Cynthia got out of the bed, pulled one of the chairs away from the table, and carried it to the area between the beds.”

“Make it face the nightstand,” John X said.

She turned it around, as he instructed. Then she picked up the other chair, and moved it. John X told her to put its back against the other chair. The old wooden chairs took up most of the space between the beds.

“Now, sit down in the front chair.”

She obeyed.

“Good. Now, Greg, you sit down in the other chair.”

Greg got out of bed, and sat in the chair.

John X reached down for his bag, while keeping the gun aimed at Cynthia. He placed the bag on Cynthia’s bed, pulled out two rolls of duct tape, and sat them on the bed near Cynthia.

“Take one of the rolls of tape, and go around to Greg. Now, tape his left leg to the leg of the chair. Then do the same with his right leg. Go around each one about twenty times.”

When she had finished, he said, “Now tape each forearm and hand to the arm of the chairs. About twenty times around. Make it tight.”

“Good. Now, wrap tape around Greg’s chest and your chair back. Go around about forty times.”

By the time Cynthia had finished, her heart was racing. He made her sit down and tape her own legs and left arm. Then he taped her right arm and hand to the arm of the chair. Finally, he ran tape around Greg and Cynthia, pulling her tight against the back of her chair.

Neither one of them could move in any direction—except maybe to tip themselves over to the side. But their position between the beds wouldn’t even allow that. They were sitting ducks. He could shoot them, stab them, or set the place on fire. They were completely helpless.

“Why are you doing this?” cried Cynthia. “You don’t have to kill us.”

“Oh, yes I do, pretty lady. When I take a job, I complete it. Every time. No excuses.”

“So, Buford hired you to kill us?” said Greg.

“That’s correct. I don’t normally give out my employer’s name. But in this case, it really doesn’t matter. You’ll be dead in ten minutes.”

“But it doesn’t make any sense! We didn’t do anything to him! Did he tell you why he wants us dead?”

“No. And I never ask. I don’t care, as long as I get paid. Now, I want the two of you to shut up. Or I will duct tape your mouths.”

Who cares? thought Cynthia. You’re about to kill us anyway. But she tried to think of a way to talk him out of it.

John X had dreamed of this dramatic moment. He began to pace in front of them as he spoke. “I’m sure you both saw the movie Dirty Harry. Well, this is a .44 Magnum—the most powerful handgun in the world. Well, that’s not really true. There are some that are more powerful. But this is the one Harry Callahan used. And that’s what makes it special.

“It’s a small cannon, really. And here’s what I’m going to do with it. You’ll love this—it’s something I cooked up especially for you two lovers.”

Cynthia forgot she was not supposed to speak. “We’re not lovers!”

And now, we never will be, thought Greg.

“Shut up! I will tape your face if I have to!” He took a deep breath and regained his cool. “I thought it would be romantic if I could bring the two lover’s hearts together in some magical way. So, here’s what I’m going to do: I will fire a single shot at close range that will go right through the center of Cynthia’s heart.”

Cynthia started crying softly.

Greg tried with all his might to free himself from the tape. But even the overwhelming rage he was feeling could not turn him into a superhero.

“Then the bullet will pass through her back, through both chairs, and into Greg’s back. Then it will go through Greg’s heart, and fly out of his chest, through the wall, into the woods. So, you see, the two hearts shall become one. It’s almost like a wedding. Too bad we don’t have any candles.”

*

The man in the black Camry had followed from afar, all the way to Cabin 17. Now he was positioned in the woods, thirty yards from the window. He could see Greg and Cynthia taped back to back in their chairs through the scope on his rifle. John X was taunting them.

He watched as the young hit man pointed the huge revolver at Cynthia’s chest, and circled her heart with the end of the barrel, as he laughed, and she cried. Greg appeared to be shouting. Then he saw John X step back a few feet, aim the gun with both hands, and bend his knees, to give his shot just the right trajectory.

The man held the rifle perfectly still, as he squeezed the trigger. The suppressor muffled most of the sound. When he saw John X go down, he smiled with satisfaction.

Now he would go in, and finish the job.

Chapter 38

As Marty Crumb walked toward Cabin 17, warm rifle in hand, every vein in his body tingled. He was addicted to taking lives. He had tried weed, cocaine, ecstasy, LSD—you name it. But there was no greater high than the power he felt when he killed a human being. For those few moments—he was God.

Marty wished that Buford’s foolish, young hit man had been alive long enough to know who was killing him. John X had shot Marty at the Holiday Inn, as the elevator doors were closing. He had hit the intended target—the center of Marty’s chest. But why hadn’t John X checked to make sure Marty was dead? Had the boy never heard of a bulletproof vest? The kid was just too cocky. Too sloppy.

Marty had changed while in prison. He had found God. He had learned to pray. And he had made a promise to God that he would never again commit murder. But then Buford Bellowin came into the picture. He pulled some strings to get Marty an early parole. And Marty had been appreciative until he learned he was not really free.

He would be Buford’s slave. And it might involve some killing. And if Marty refused, then Buford would make a call to his buddy on the parole board, and Marty would face a trumped-up parole violation. Then he would go back to prison, facing the prospect of being locked up for the rest of his life.

Marty’s assignment had been to do ‘whatever it takes’ to assure that Kantrell Jamison was acquitted. Marty figured Kantrell was actually guilty. But he had no idea why Buford cared about the boy’s fate. And he didn’t want to know. He just wanted to pay his debt to Buford, and be free. He had hoped he could do the job without having to break his vow to God.

But then, there was the problem with the witness for the prosecution—Arabeth Albertson. The defense attorney had suggested her eyesight was poor, and therefore her testimony was invalid. But after she had passed a court-mandated eye exam, Marty was worried she would destroy the defendant’s chances. He saw no other solution—he had to kill her before she got back on the witness stand.

So, he used her beloved cat to lure her out into the darkness of the night. Then he tripped her as she walked down the stairs. He finished her off by smashing her head into the pavement. Marty had felt sick at first, then exhilarated.

Then there was the problem with Troy Blockerman. He’d been single-handedly pushing the jury toward a guilty verdict. After slashing Troy’s throat, Marty was back—in full murder mode. Just like the old days. It was like giving up cigarettes for a month, as a three-pack-a-day smoker, and then taking a deep draw on ten cigarettes all at once. No—even better than that. It made him feel alive like nothing else in the world. How had he survived all those years in prison without this feeling?

One of the first things he’d done when he had arrived in Coreyville was to put a bug in Dorothy Spokane’s house. Buford had warned him that she might be a problem. So, when she called the D.A.‘s office, Marty knew he had to act immediately. It had been so easy for him to pull the trigger and blow her away.

But then Buford had surprised Marty when he told him his debt was paid. Marty knew better. He knew Buford had not been happy with his work, and was hiring someone else to finish the job.

He also knew Buford would want Marty taken out first. And Marty felt he deserved it. Not because he had let Buford down. He deserved to die because he had broken his promise to God. Several times. He could have tried to blame it on Buford. But that would have just been an excuse. Marty had made the conscious decision to work for Buford. Maybe God had been testing him. If so, he had failed miserably.

So, he just accepted the fact that he was about to die. He put on his only suit and tie, and started to go out for dinner. Then he had a thought. He could wear a bulletproof vest under his clothes. Then, if he somehow lived through whatever the new killer had for him, he would take it as a sign that God had forgiven him. And that he had been given another chance to redeem himself.

It had seemed like a fair deal to make with God. After all, the vest provided only limited protection. He could have still been killed with a bullet to the head, or an explosion, or any number of other ways.

He had seen John X hiding behind the plant, pointing the gun at him. The bullet went straight toward his heart. It had knocked the breath out of him, as it hurled him to the back wall of the elevator. Then the doors had closed, and the elevator had gone to the second floor.

After taking a minute to catch his breath, he had walked out of the elevator, into his room, and had been amazed that the hit man had not checked to make sure he was dead.

So, apparently God was giving him another chance. But he felt that the Lord would want him to put an end to Buford’s activities first. After that, Marty could live his life for God’s glory, and kill no more.

First order of business: stop the new killer. Since jury deliberations were currently on hold, Marty had guessed correctly that John X would report back to Buford before killing anyone else. Marty had been watching for John X to enter Buford’s parking garage, when he saw something unexpected—Greg Tenorly’s Bonneville. And it appeared that Greg and Cynthia Blockerman were both in the car.

Then he had located the car in the parking garage, and watched from a distance. He had seen John X attaching the tracking device to the Bonneville. So, he knew Buford’s new killer would be following them. Marty could have killed John X in the parking garage, or at numerous other times throughout the day.

But that might have allowed Greg and Cynthia to get away. Were they part of the problem? Should he kill them too? There would never be a better opportunity to do it. He had his Bowie knife with him. So, he could do

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