CRIME THRILLERS-A Box Set Read Online Free
Author: Billie Sue Mosiman
Alabama in the wings. She'd crossed two state lines now and wasn't going to be bothered about it. That was the least of her worries. It was money and getting by that she had to do all her worrying about.
"You don't look sixteen," he said, never taking his eyes from the road.
Molly sighed. It was a damn shame she couldn't do something about that. She hunched her shoulders in the seat to shield her breasts. "I need to gain weight," she admitted. She weighed a hundred pounds on her good days. "How old do I look?"
"Thirteen. Fourteen."
Molly took a sip of Coke and nursed her silence. She wished to God she had her boobs back. It was bad enough being young. It was worse to look even younger. What kind of hooker was she going to make if she looked like a kid?
"You're cute. Beautiful hair."
She smiled a little, her lips curving around the bottle top. She lowered the Coke to her lap. "That's what people say. Personally, I don't like red hair. I might bleach it."
"That would be a shame. It certainly makes you stand out from a crowd."
"Irish ancestry kicking in. My dad's hair..." She bit her tongue. She hadn't meant to bring up her father. She didn't want to talk about him. Now she really sounded like a homesick, silly-ass little kid. Damn.
"Red too?" he asked.
"Yeah. Redder. Mine's got a little blond in it to tone it down. His, though, is fiery red."
Cruise whistled low in appreciation.
"Are you one of those old hippies?" Molly wanted to make him feel as uncomfortable as she had just felt when she slipped up and mentioned her father. Tit for tat.
Cruise laughed and this time she didn't get any shivery premonitory hair tricks at the back of her neck. It was a pleased, cheerful kind of laugh.
"I never was a hippie," he said. "Never cared for them."
"You wear your hair like a hippie. Some of the kids do that, stuff with the headbands and peace signs on their jackets and hair to their butts, things like that. I don't know what they think they're doing, reliving the sixties or what. I think it's real dumb."
"I just don't like barbers. It has nothing to do with any group."
Molly waited for further illumination but when he didn't continue, she shrugged her bony shoulders. "Doesn't matter to me. Your hair, I mean. Why you wear it like that. I don't really care. In fact, it makes you look a little bit Christ-like. Like the pictures of Christ, you know." Actually she meant he looked like a crazy ass fallen angel, but she didn't know how to explain that without sounding rude so she settled for Christ.
He gave her a winning smile and she settled into the bucket seat with the bottle of Coke. He was an all-right guy. Very sweet. Not pushy. Not grabby. A real gentleman and regular guy.
She was cruising with Cruise, going where she had never been before, and that's what mattered.
That's all that mattered.
#
Cruise worked at being open, appealing, friendly. It was a knack he had. People warmed to him, always had, and it was an advantage. Little Molly would find out soon enough about him. About the dying. If he played it right, she'd be so caught up in him before he made his next kill, she'd find a way to accept it. Some of them did. It was strange how the kids could adjust to nearly any way of life. Already Molly called herself a prostitute to earn her way. He knew that she was almost certainly from a good middle-class home where morals had been instilled in her. Yet she'd found a way to dump them as soon as she got on her own. Her manner of speech and vocabulary told him she wasn't raised to the life.
She was insecure about her looks and that was why she hunched her shoulders, but she liked compliments. She was no one's dummy. He hoped she wasn't too smart or he'd have to get rid of her in a roadside ditch or leave her remains in a restaurant dumpster. Be a fucking shame.
Sum total, he thought he'd made the perfect choice for his companion. His witness. Little Irish Molly. He thought he could train her. There was time to find
"You don't look sixteen," he said, never taking his eyes from the road.
Molly sighed. It was a damn shame she couldn't do something about that. She hunched her shoulders in the seat to shield her breasts. "I need to gain weight," she admitted. She weighed a hundred pounds on her good days. "How old do I look?"
"Thirteen. Fourteen."
Molly took a sip of Coke and nursed her silence. She wished to God she had her boobs back. It was bad enough being young. It was worse to look even younger. What kind of hooker was she going to make if she looked like a kid?
"You're cute. Beautiful hair."
She smiled a little, her lips curving around the bottle top. She lowered the Coke to her lap. "That's what people say. Personally, I don't like red hair. I might bleach it."
"That would be a shame. It certainly makes you stand out from a crowd."
"Irish ancestry kicking in. My dad's hair..." She bit her tongue. She hadn't meant to bring up her father. She didn't want to talk about him. Now she really sounded like a homesick, silly-ass little kid. Damn.
"Red too?" he asked.
"Yeah. Redder. Mine's got a little blond in it to tone it down. His, though, is fiery red."
Cruise whistled low in appreciation.
"Are you one of those old hippies?" Molly wanted to make him feel as uncomfortable as she had just felt when she slipped up and mentioned her father. Tit for tat.
Cruise laughed and this time she didn't get any shivery premonitory hair tricks at the back of her neck. It was a pleased, cheerful kind of laugh.
"I never was a hippie," he said. "Never cared for them."
"You wear your hair like a hippie. Some of the kids do that, stuff with the headbands and peace signs on their jackets and hair to their butts, things like that. I don't know what they think they're doing, reliving the sixties or what. I think it's real dumb."
"I just don't like barbers. It has nothing to do with any group."
Molly waited for further illumination but when he didn't continue, she shrugged her bony shoulders. "Doesn't matter to me. Your hair, I mean. Why you wear it like that. I don't really care. In fact, it makes you look a little bit Christ-like. Like the pictures of Christ, you know." Actually she meant he looked like a crazy ass fallen angel, but she didn't know how to explain that without sounding rude so she settled for Christ.
He gave her a winning smile and she settled into the bucket seat with the bottle of Coke. He was an all-right guy. Very sweet. Not pushy. Not grabby. A real gentleman and regular guy.
She was cruising with Cruise, going where she had never been before, and that's what mattered.
That's all that mattered.
#
Cruise worked at being open, appealing, friendly. It was a knack he had. People warmed to him, always had, and it was an advantage. Little Molly would find out soon enough about him. About the dying. If he played it right, she'd be so caught up in him before he made his next kill, she'd find a way to accept it. Some of them did. It was strange how the kids could adjust to nearly any way of life. Already Molly called herself a prostitute to earn her way. He knew that she was almost certainly from a good middle-class home where morals had been instilled in her. Yet she'd found a way to dump them as soon as she got on her own. Her manner of speech and vocabulary told him she wasn't raised to the life.
She was insecure about her looks and that was why she hunched her shoulders, but she liked compliments. She was no one's dummy. He hoped she wasn't too smart or he'd have to get rid of her in a roadside ditch or leave her remains in a restaurant dumpster. Be a fucking shame.
Sum total, he thought he'd made the perfect choice for his companion. His witness. Little Irish Molly. He thought he could train her. There was time to find
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