The Hundredth Man by J. A. Kerley Read Free Book Online

our sedan, spending the night in wispy sleep before returning to bed at dawn. To this day I took comfort lying in the backseat, hands behind my head, watching the buildings and treetops flash by. My backseat meditations didn’t bother Harry, he enjoyed driving, though he was a terrifying practitioner of it.
    “You’ve seen maybe twenty times more jealousy-slash-revenge killings than me, Harry. How many have been as neat?”
    “Doesn’t mean anything. They’re all different.”
    “Come on, Harry. How many have been so damned immaculate?”
    Harry grunted; he liked to drive in silence, I liked to think aloud. He grudgingly elevated his right hand, thumb and index finger forming a zero.
    “Slicing and dicing, Carson. Fifty stab wounds. Eighty. Or more hammering than John Henry. I saw a shooting where the shooter emptied a clip, reloaded, and start shooting again.”
    “Right. The anger floods out. This one was neater than a show home.”
    “The body was neat, Cars. What’s the head doing now? My guess is target practice. Or taking a good hammering.”
    A semi tractor rig pulled beside us at a light. The driver glanced down from his high perch, startled at seeing a guy in a sport jacket and tie reclining across the backseat of a Taurus. I winked and he turned away. I said, “The head taking the punishment … the face symbolizing the whole. It works, I guess. Where we at?”
    “Airport Road by University. So how come you don’t sound convinced?”
    “If that’s what the killer wanted, the head, why not break for the end zone soon as it was in his hands? Do a victory mambo. Spike it, whatever. Just like you were thinking. But he hung around and wrote on the body. I’m guessing that’s why he pulled it into the light.”
    Harry said, “Maybe the writing got him juiced. He had to write.”
    “If he’s got the head to hammer his statement into, why make a speech on the body?”
    “Good point. Doing a Farley, maybe?”
    Farley Traynor was a bitterly angry accountant who cut words into victims he’d never known, telling them how much he hated what they’d done to him. In a curious bit of deranged perception, Traynor figured since the dead were in their bodies looking out, he’d write backward so they could read it easier.
    “Just doesn’t click if the head’s where he thinks the personality resides. Did you just hit a pedestrian?”
    “Traffic barrel. Maybe it’s a note to us, cops. Whores and rats? Not everybody loves us like we do.”
    I couldn’t buy in yet. “But the tiny writing wouldn’t be around long, or at least not visible. Not in this heat. I bet even slight decomposition would obscure it. And if the words are important, scream them: black marker, big letters.”
    “You’re overanalyzing, Cars. I hate to agree with Squill, but I think it’s revenge.”
    “Revenge is anger. If the killer was angry, he or she’s got anger as tidy as doilies.”
    I was balancing my thoughts between fastidious anger and my unimpressive debut with Dr. Davanelle when the car turned hard and bumped upward, pulling into a drive. Harry said, “We’re here, bro. Not what I expected either.”

     

CHAPTER 5

    T erri Losidor’s apartment complex boasted several Beamers beneath the carports, plus other young-executive-type wheels. The grounds were dappled with crepe myrtles, palmettos, azaleas, here and there a tall loblolly pine. A pool featured several tanned and lounging bodies. Not a child in sight.
    “Trailer park to yupster singles ville Harry said. “Darwin at work.”
    Terri opened her door without chain intervention or asking for ID, either trusting us or expecting us. She had a broad plain face and green, darting eyes. Moderately overweight, she carried it well and moved lithely, gesturing us to sit on a plump orange couch as she lit a cigarette and sat across from us. She remote-muted one of what Harry calls “chromosomal defect shows,” Springer or whatnot. Despite her calm exterior I detected a