Bicycle Shop Murder by Robert Burton Robinson (fiction novels to read .TXT) đ
- Author: Robert Burton Robinson
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âYep, itâs me, Buford. Whatâs the matter? Didnât expect to see me today? Or ever?â
âNo, no. I just thought youâd be out fishing somewhere. You said it was all you dreamed of doing.â
âYeah. Well, I had to put that off for a while. Had some unfinished business.â
âI see.â
âAnd, by the way, youâll be happy to learn that Greg Tenorly and Cynthia Blockerman are alive and wellâno thanks to you. And your young hit man is a doornail. Or, as dead as one, anyway.â
âIâm afraid I really donât know what youâre talking about, Marty.â
Marty completely ignored Bufordâs response. âYeah, the stupid punk shot himself in the baby-maker. When I left him, he was bleeding to death.â
âMarty, I donât even know who youâre talking about.â
âRight.â Marty stood. âCome over here, and sit down at your desk, Mr. Big Shot. I want you to be comfortable for this.â
You want me to be comfortable while you murder me? thought Buford. But waitâthereâs a pistol in the top right drawer. Maybe if Marty looks away for a second
âThere you go. Just relax. I have something here you might be interested in.â Marty held up an envelope, and walked toward Buford. âRecognize the handwriting?â It read, Open Upon My Death, and was signed by Sam Spokane.
âYou were supposed to burn that letter.â Buford was both indignant and horrified.
âI almost did. But then I decided to waitâonce I realized you were sending somebody to kill me.â
The career Iâve worked so hard to build, thought Buford, is crumbling before my eyes.
âAnd he nearly succeeded. He was a good shot, but a little too sure of himself. He put the bullet right in the center of my chest. But apparently he never considered I might be wearing a vest.â
Why did I try to save money? wondered Buford. I should have paid top dollar to get it done right.
âSo, after I survived your Mr. John X, I decided it was time to read Sam Spokaneâs letter. Then I knew why you wanted Kantrell Jamison to be acquitted. And now I know the biggest secret of all.â
Buford hung his head.
âThatâs right. I know about the horrible thing you did back in 1988. Itâs what youâve been hiding all these years. But soon everybody in the world will know what a despicable human being you are.â
Bufordâs anger was overtaking his fear. âSo, what do you want from me?â
Marty pulled a chair to the side of Bufordâs desk, and sat down. âI want you to tell me the entire story in your own words.â
âWhy? So you can record it, and send it to the press?â
âNo. Iâm not gonna record it. I just want the satisfaction of hearing you admit what you did.â
âAnd if I refuse?â
Marty raised his gun, and held it within three feet of Bufordâs head. âI donât plan to kill you today, Buford. As long as you do what I say. Now, you will tell me what happened in 1988. And you will not leave out any of the gory details.â
âSo, if I tell you the whole story, then you wonât kill me?â
âBuford, I didnât come here today to commit murder. I just want to enjoy watching you squirm, while you explain, in full detail, the terrible thing you did.â
âCome on, Martyâit was an accident.â
âNo. I donât want to hear any spin. Just give me the facts.â
Marty rested the gun in his lap. Buford was not at all convinced Marty would let him live. But at least he would live until the end of his story.
And maybe at some point Marty would let down his guard, pace the floor, turn his back to Buford. There was a slim chance Buford could get the gun out of the top right drawer, and get a shot off before Marty could react. A very slim chance. But a chance.
âOkay. On April 1, 1979, a tornado came through Coreyville. It was a Category 3, and it did several million dollarâs worth of damage. And killed several people. After that, every year as April 1st approached, people joked about whether a tornado would make us April Fools again. Nobody thought it could really happen. But on April 1, 1988, it did. The exact same thing happened again.â
âAnother Cat 3 tornado?â
âYes. And it did about the same amount of damage. And two or three people were killed.â
âWeird.â
âYeah.â
âSo, what does that have to do with your story?â
âIâm getting there. In the spring of 1988, I was 18 years old, and a senior in high school. I had worked for Sam Spokane full-time in the summer. Then I went part-time when school started. He was a great boss. More like a dad, really. More of a dad than my own.
âSam had always been crazy about kids. But he and Dorothy were not able to have any of their own. So, when he was in his late 20âs, he volunteered as a coach on a little league baseball team. And the kids loved him.
âWell, one day after practice, this boy was having trouble with his bicycle. So, Sam worked on the bike, and got it fixed. A few days later, he fixed another kidâs bike. First thing you know, every kid in town was going to Sam with their bicycle problems.â
âWord gets around fast in a small town,â said Marty.
âYeah. Especially back then. This was the 1950s. So, he started a little part-time bicycle repair business. He ran it out of his workshop behind the house. But if somebody couldnât afford to pay, Sam would do the work for free.
âAnd then he started selling bikes. Pretty soon, he had so much business he quit his day job. After a year or two, he decided he needed a real sales floor for new bikes. So, he and Dorothy bought another house, and converted the old house into his new bicycle shop. Samâs Bicycle Shop - Sales & Service. It was a nice looking store.
âBut then on April 1, 1988, the tornado came through, and did major damage to the store. Amazingly, the old workshop in the back was untouched. And we were able to salvage some of the bikes. We actually ran the business from the workshop for a several weeks, while they were building the new store where the old one had been.
âIt was very crowded. We had to move most of the bikes outside during business hours, so we would have enough room to do repairs in the shop. Then weâd moved everything back in at night.â
âAlmost sounds like you were working full-time,â said Marty.
âNo, I went to school too. But I did spend every spare minute at Samâs. So, one night, a couple of hours after closing, I was driving by, and thought I saw the workshop door ajar. I was sure I had locked it. But, I stopped to check it out anyway.
âAs I was approaching the door, I heard a noise coming from inside. Somebody was in there. So, I peeked in and saw a skinny black kid with a flashlight. He was rolling a bicycle toward the door. He was robbing us! I had to stop him.
âSo, I flipped the light on, and said, âWhat are you doing in here, boy?â The kid must have been about 14 years old. He dropped the bicycle, and tried to run out the door. But I grabbed him, and pushed him down. He jumped up, and tried to get away again. This time I pushed him to the floor and sat on top of him.
âI said, âYouâre gonna be real sorry you tried to rob us. Iâm gonna teach you a lesson, boy.â And then I started laughing at him. I could see he really wanted to hit me. But I had his arms pinned under my knees.
âThen he cleared his throat, and I knew what was coming, but I couldnât react quickly enough. He spit in my face. Part of it went in my mouth and nose. I was furious. Back then, I had a tough time controlling my temper. And he had just pushed my button, and pushed it hard.
âBefore I even thought about it, I grabbed for whatever was nearby on the ground. I was out of my mind with rage when I lifted it over my head. Then he spit in my face again. I held the object with both hands, and swung my arms down with the force of a sledgehammer. I didnât know, and didnât care what I was holding, or what damage it would do.â
âWhat was it? What was in your hands?â
âA big, sharp screwdriver. It went straight into his left eye, and down into his brain, so deep that it hit the back of his skull. His body went limp. Blood started gushing out. I was terrified by what I had done.
âI washed the blood off my hands. Then I locked up the workshop and drove to Samâs house. He could see the fear in my eyes. He knew something was very wrong. I took him to the workshop, and explained what had happened. We knew we should have called the police.â
âYes, you should have.â
âBut Sam knew it was my dream was to become an attorney, and hopefully, someday go into politics. We used to joke about it all the time. He would say, âNow, donât forget you promised me Iâd be Texas Bicycle Commissioner when you become governor.â
âHe told me that after this, I would never make it far in politics, because my opponents would always bring up the fact that I had accidentally killed a boy when I was a teenager.
âSo, I suggested we bury the body. Sam swore he wouldnât go along with it. But, I told him he was like a father to me. And I knew my father would want to protect me, and do what was best for my future. And I finally convinced him.â
âYou conned him.â
âNo. He wanted to do it for me. So, we buried the boy where the slab was about to be poured for the new shop. Heâs still buried under Samâs Bicycle Shop. Neither of us ever told anybody about it. Until Sam finally told Dorothy. But everything was fine, until earlier this year, when Sam found out he had prostate cancer. He had never been good about getting regular checkups. But he started having so much pain that he couldnât ignore it anymore. The doctor told him he only had a few months to live.
âHe could have tried Chemotherapy, but he didnât want to go through that. But he knew his time was running out. And he couldnât go to his grave without confessing what he had done. What we had done. So, he called, and told me if I didnât go to the police, then he would.
âThat might have sent me to prison. At the very least, my career would have been destroyed. So, I had to keep him from talking. I decided to find some poor kid in Coreyville, and offer him money to kill Sam.â
âKantrell Jamison.â
âYeah. I did a little research. He was black, poor, and about to flunk out of high school. I offered him $30,000. He never knew who had hired him.â
âThen why were you worried about his trial?â
âBecause I made a stupid mistake when I mailed the cash.â
âYour DNA on the envelope?â
âYes.â
âIdiot.â
âI had been so careful when
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