Evil Grows & Other Thrilling Tales by Loren D. Estleman Read Free Book Online Page A

another pickup. The trouble with you guys is you've seen Bonnie and Clyde one too many times. You think every girl who slings hash is just waiting for her chance to hook up with some road-show Jesse James."
    "Badlands, actually. But you've got me pegged."
    She figured my bill, slapped it on the counter, and left to bus tables. I finished my cigarette and paid, leaving fifteen percent. I wanted to leave more, but I'd done too much already to make her remember me. I went back out to my rig.
    It's a nice one, a secondhand Freightliner with an orange tractor and a shiny silver trailer; when new it had set someone back the price of a house on the beach. In the sleeping quarters behind the seat I switched on the light, went over my notes one more time, and looked at the driver's license photo blowup and telephoto candids once again for luck, then fed them to the cross-shredder I'd added to the standard equipment. I looked at my watch. I had better than an hour to kill. His company had him on a tight schedule, and he couldn't afford to lose another job. The Feds had told him he had no more coming if he expected any more help from them.
    Twenty to midnight. I took two more hits from the flask and went back into the diner.
    Big Belly had finished his meal and left. I waited while she rang up a middle-aged tourist couple with fanny packs, then asked if she got off at midnight.
    "Why? You going to buy me a cuppa and tell me you're an international spy?"
    "I started off on the wrong foot. I'll make it cappuccino if it'll make up for being a jerk."
    She thought that over. She frowned more attractively than most women smiled. I had an almost overpowering urge to see what her smile looked like. She was as hard to put away as the flask, which I had now in my hip pocket.
    "I'm on till four," she said. "But I'm past due for a break. Coffee's fine, but I wouldn't mind a slice of pie."
    She asked the cook to cover the counter and brought the coffees and a wedge of lemon meringue to a booth in the smoking section, away from the others. I produced the flask and when she nodded I trickled some from it into both cups. We tapped them together in an unspoken toast.
    She made a face when she tasted it. "I suppose it's good whiskey, but you don't drink it in coffee for the taste, do you?"
    "My old man only drank it this way when he had a cold."
    "You're not going to talk about him again, are you?"
    "That subject's closed."
    We shared small talk, or what passed for it between strangers late at night. Her name was Elizabeth; she preferred Beth, but she had LIZ scripted on her uniform blouse and said I could call her that as long as she was dressed for this job. She was working two jobs to earn enough to pay a lawyer to get custody of her ten-year-old daughter. She was a recovering meth addict. Her lawyer said if she could stay clean another six months she had a better chance in court. "So much for budding romance," she said, forking pie into her mouth.
    "If I go on hitting this stuff the way I've been lately, we'll both be in the same boat." I added more to my cup. She frowned again when I offered to freshen hers, then nodded. The coffee was still hot; the fumes entered my nose and speeded up the process. I had to close one eye to see only one of her.
    "Conscience," she said. "I guess you have to anesthetize yourself to make a clean job of it."
    I couldn't tell if she was needling me or if she was really interested. I asked her what her other job was.
    "Not as glamorous as this. Tell me about some of the people you've killed."
    I looked at her, closing one eye. Her mouth twitched at the corners. It was going to be one of those conversations. In the same vein I told her about Omaha and then Sioux Falls, that bitched-up job that had almost got me pinched. I'd spent a nervous day maneuvering myself back into position to make it good. I was careful to speak hypothetically, spinning a story to keep the lady's interest.
    I put away the flask, but by then I