Crime Stories by Jack Kilborn Read Free Book Online

can of oven cleaner from my holster. Nasty stuff, oven cleaner. The label is crammed full of warnings. The bus driver stared at the can and got wide-eyed.
    “Drive,” I told her.
    She drove.
    I faced the terrified group of riders. Two were children. Three were elderly. One was a nun with an eye patch.
    Rule #7: No sympathy.
    I snapped on another latex glove.
    After counting them twice, I came up with nine people total. Just enough for a soccer team.
    Perfect.
    I removed the uninflated ball and the bicycle pump from my holster. Soccer games got rowdy. Casualties were common.
    After screwing some cleats into the bottoms of my thick, rubber soled shoes, I spent a good ten minutes stomping on the group. The nun was especially tough. But I had training. I was a fuscia belt in Jin Dog Doo, the ancient Japanese art of killing a man using only your hands and feet and edged weapons and blunt weapons and common household appliances and guns.
    Eventually, even the nun succumbed. Some torn goal netting and a discarded ref’s whistle completed the illusion. Only one last thing left to do.
    “Stop the bus!” I yelled at the driver.
    The driver didn’t stop. She accelerated.
    Rule #89: Don’t attract attention.
    This bus was attracting more than its share. Besides speeding, the driver had just run a red light, prompting honks and screeching brakes from cross-town traffic.
    This simple hit had become a bit more complicated than I’d anticipated.
    “Slow down!” I ordered the driver.
    My command went unheeded. I took a Chilean Sea Bass out of my holster. It used to be called the Pantagonian Toothfish, but some savvy marketers changed its name and it’s currently the hottest fish on the five star menus of the world. So hot, that overfishing has brought the Chilean Sea Bass/Pantagonian Toothfish to the brink of extinction.
    Beating the driver to death with the fish would look somewhat…well…fishy. At first. But when I planted a deboning knife and a few slices of lemon in her pockets, the cops would get the picture. Just another endangered species taking revenge.
    I walked up to the front of the bus and tried to recall if “The Complete Amateur’s Guide to Contract Killing” had a rule about whacking a driver while you were a passenger. Nothing sprang to mind.
    Still, it didn’t seem like a wise idea. I tried another tactic.
    “Stop the bus, and I’ll let you go.”
    That was Rule #17: Lie to the mark to put her at ease.
    Or was that Rule #18?
    I reached for the cheat card that came with the book, folded up in my pants pocket.
    Rule #18: Lie to the mark. Rule #17: Get in and out as quickly as possible.
    I’d sure blown that rule to hell.
    I shook the thought out of my head, recalling Rule #25: Stay focused.
    I put the crib sheet back in my pocket and poked the driver in the hat with the bass.
    “Stop the bus, and you’ll live. I give you my word.”
    I grinned.
    Rule #241: Disarm them with a smile.
    The driver hit the brakes, catapulting me forward. I bounced off the front window and into her back. The Sea Bass—my weapon—went flying, which broke Rule #98 and Rule #104 and possibly Rule #206.
    Dazed, I sat up, watching as the driver shoved open the door and ran off, screaming.
    I did a quick search for the Toothfish, but couldn’t find it amid the soccer massacre. I’d have to leave it behind, a blatant disregard for Rule #47. Luckily, the fish had been wiped clean of prints (Rule #11) and was unregistered (Rule #12) so it wouldn’t lead back to me.
    Now for the driver.
    I sprang from the bus and saw her beelining for Comiskey Park, where the White Sox played baseball. There was the usual activity around the stadium; fans, hotdog vendors, people selling programs, and no one seemed to pay any attention to me or the screaming fat lady.
    The South Side of Chicago; where screaming fat ladies are commonplace.
    Doubling my efforts, I managed to catch up with her just as she reached the ticket counter. I took a 1/10,000th