The FACEBOOK KILLER: Part 2 by M. L. Stewart Read Free Book Online

in marker pen so that no trace would show on the box when it was removed. It peeled off with ease, allowing me to replace it with her address, number 137. The label bearing the sender’s address also came off without a problem, revealing the hole he had cut in the back of the box. The hole that would allow death to pass from one innocent-looking piece of folded cardboard into the other.
    Now, at this point, I was shitting myself. One wrong move and it was Game Over. Offline. I didn’t have the necessary equipment to make the transfer but it had to be done. I took Albert’s hands out of the safe, pulled them on and then wrapped a hand towel, from the bathroom, around my nose and mouth; at least it would be some protection in the worst-case scenario. Christ, I had gone over this so many times in my mind, yet I still found myself shaking. I was terrified.
    I felt detached from my body as I watched Albert’s wrinkly old hand making that first incision, but he seemed to know what he was doing. He slowly cut out the circular hole to match the one on Serge’s box. I held my breath as the circle neared completion. It was vital that we kept it in place until the boxes were joined. The final cut and Albert slowly withdrew the blade. I watched in terror as the cardboard disc strained against the knife. The only thing standing between death and us was that small circular piece of cardboard. And then the knife was free.
    We quickly pushed the boxes together, the holes lined up perfectly, I heard the cut out drop down inside, we slid them against the wall and wedged them tightly together with a chair. Then we waited.
    The transfer of the deadly contents wasn’t half as exciting as I had imagined, merely a dull hiss, the sound of escaping gas. As the noise died down, we knew the transfer was complete. We had one second to replace the label over the hole and Adela’s time bomb was complete. I bet she wouldn’t wait to open it. Sent all the way from England by her loving fiancée, it must be something special? ... Very fucking special my dear.
     
    *
     
     
    Christ I wished Kalif was still with us, Albert looked bloody ridiculous in a turban, but we figured that using Kalif’s voice we could probably get away with it. Everything was in place. We had called the main Post Office, pretending to be in a rental apartment on Adela’s street, and found out what time the mail was delivered each day.
    And so Albert waited, two streets away from number 137, the parcel hidden in his shopping bag. That time bomb. The ticking, ticking time bomb. To anyone passing he looked like any other elderly Muslim man resting his weary bones on a bench, granted he was a little lighter than his peers, but that was down to a vitamin deficiency. He knew that the mail van would stop next to him; after all he had sent twenty letters to the accountant’s office on the other side of the street. All of which had to be signed for. That should keep them occupied for five minutes or more; it was only a matter of time now.
    As he waited, Albert kicked the box every now and again. He could see what was going to happen in his mind’s eye. If this went to plan, it was going to be one of our greatest triumphs. The Kill Family Robinson at it’s finest.
    He recognised the van, from the day we followed Adela home, as it drove slowly down the road towards where he was sitting. It made one stop before it reached him. He kicked the box. The postman got out of the van. Albert saw his yellow envelopes in the man’s hand. He crossed the road with the mail. He went inside the office. Albert tried the back door of the van, it wasn’t locked, he opened it slightly then sat back down.
    Our calculations had been wrong. It only took three and a half minutes for the mail to be signed for. It didn’t matter though, that was time enough. The van set off on its journey again. Albert followed it half the length of the street, to the next speed ramp to be exact.
    As the driver hit it,