Dawson's Web Read Online Free Page B
Author: William Hutchison
upper body strength needed to be a sailor. He wasn’t so sure John did.
By their questions, Mac knew the couple was nautically naive. He would adjust his approach accordingly. All he needed to do was guide them through the buying process. This was a couple who knew nothing about sailing. They were into comfort.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
To sell them anything, he had to focus on that.
And he did.
He had them sized up in five minutes and within two weeks; they were the proud owners of a 51 foot, 2015 Bavaria Cruiser 51 sailboat worth over $400,000. Mac’s commission check was $40,000, which was more than he grossed in the last six months.
Chapter 3
Jeff Dawson was a man's man. He was 33 years old, weighed 180 pounds, and had not an ounce of fat on his six-foot one-inch frame. He had steely blue eyes, and the physique women died for……. literally.
Jeff glanced up at his reflection in the rearview mirror as he rounded the corner on Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu and smiled.
What a night he had had.
He met some young chick at a bar. They got together, and when she became too questioning of his marital status, he did what he had done several times before. He eliminated the problem, but not before having his way with her.
He accelerated his black Mercedes to 65, well above the 35-mile an hour speed limit, trying to make the light. The fact that it was 5:30 in the morning made this maneuver a little safer, albeit not entirely so.
Two early morning anglers were in the crosswalk 50 yards ahead when Jeff rounded the corner. He flashed his bright lights, honked his horn and gunned the engine.
The illegals dropped their poles and dove for cover.
Jeff rocketed through the intersection and didn't even look back. He had no intention of harming them, but they didn't know that. It was all merely a game to him anyway. He had to be at home by six to change clothes and get the call from his wife, Sherry, who would be giving him the time when her plane would land at LAX.
Sherry, an equally attractive woman of 32, was a flight attendant. She was coming in from San Francisco on the early morning flight. That gave Jeff about 15 minutes to change. He then had to make the hour trip back to the airport with probably 10 or 15 minutes to spare if he was lucky, and the traffic on Pacific Coast Highway didn't back up.
Jeff saw a stop light up ahead. Only this time instead of accelerating, he slowed, put on his blinker, and turned left into his driveway that was a mere 5 feet from the southbound lanes of Pacific Coast Highway.
The garage door opened, Jeff pulled his car in and shut the engine off. It was 5:55 am when Jeff walked around to the back of his car, opened the trunk and pulled out the gym bag.
It still had a few bloodstains on the exterior. He then carefully rolled up the plastic tarp he had lined the back of his truck with on more than one occasion and took it over to the sink, rinsing it carefully and spraying it with bleach.
He would deal with the gym bag later.
Chapter 4
Across town, Fred McCallister took the last sip of his hot cocoa, wiped the powdered sugar from his mouth from the donut he had eaten in two bites and put five dollars on the counter.
“Is that all for you?” Sally, the waitress, asked as she scooped up the money.
Yeah, hon. I have to get back on my beat. In three more weeks I can retire, turn in my badge and head up north to Bridgeport to spend the rest of my days fishing for trout, hunting, and skiing. All thanks to you lovely taxpayers. I've put in 30 years in the LAPD, and I'll be glad when I’m finished.
Just then, his radio mike pinned to his shoulder squawked.
“Calling all units! Calling all units! Proceed to Dockweiler Beach. We have a report of a homicide in the public restrooms there.”
Fred shook his head and quickly got up from the table. His partner José Ramirez was already halfway to the door.
Fred rolled his eyes at Sally. "See you tomorrow!"
He turned and
By their questions, Mac knew the couple was nautically naive. He would adjust his approach accordingly. All he needed to do was guide them through the buying process. This was a couple who knew nothing about sailing. They were into comfort.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
To sell them anything, he had to focus on that.
And he did.
He had them sized up in five minutes and within two weeks; they were the proud owners of a 51 foot, 2015 Bavaria Cruiser 51 sailboat worth over $400,000. Mac’s commission check was $40,000, which was more than he grossed in the last six months.
Chapter 3
Jeff Dawson was a man's man. He was 33 years old, weighed 180 pounds, and had not an ounce of fat on his six-foot one-inch frame. He had steely blue eyes, and the physique women died for……. literally.
Jeff glanced up at his reflection in the rearview mirror as he rounded the corner on Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu and smiled.
What a night he had had.
He met some young chick at a bar. They got together, and when she became too questioning of his marital status, he did what he had done several times before. He eliminated the problem, but not before having his way with her.
He accelerated his black Mercedes to 65, well above the 35-mile an hour speed limit, trying to make the light. The fact that it was 5:30 in the morning made this maneuver a little safer, albeit not entirely so.
Two early morning anglers were in the crosswalk 50 yards ahead when Jeff rounded the corner. He flashed his bright lights, honked his horn and gunned the engine.
The illegals dropped their poles and dove for cover.
Jeff rocketed through the intersection and didn't even look back. He had no intention of harming them, but they didn't know that. It was all merely a game to him anyway. He had to be at home by six to change clothes and get the call from his wife, Sherry, who would be giving him the time when her plane would land at LAX.
Sherry, an equally attractive woman of 32, was a flight attendant. She was coming in from San Francisco on the early morning flight. That gave Jeff about 15 minutes to change. He then had to make the hour trip back to the airport with probably 10 or 15 minutes to spare if he was lucky, and the traffic on Pacific Coast Highway didn't back up.
Jeff saw a stop light up ahead. Only this time instead of accelerating, he slowed, put on his blinker, and turned left into his driveway that was a mere 5 feet from the southbound lanes of Pacific Coast Highway.
The garage door opened, Jeff pulled his car in and shut the engine off. It was 5:55 am when Jeff walked around to the back of his car, opened the trunk and pulled out the gym bag.
It still had a few bloodstains on the exterior. He then carefully rolled up the plastic tarp he had lined the back of his truck with on more than one occasion and took it over to the sink, rinsing it carefully and spraying it with bleach.
He would deal with the gym bag later.
Chapter 4
Across town, Fred McCallister took the last sip of his hot cocoa, wiped the powdered sugar from his mouth from the donut he had eaten in two bites and put five dollars on the counter.
“Is that all for you?” Sally, the waitress, asked as she scooped up the money.
Yeah, hon. I have to get back on my beat. In three more weeks I can retire, turn in my badge and head up north to Bridgeport to spend the rest of my days fishing for trout, hunting, and skiing. All thanks to you lovely taxpayers. I've put in 30 years in the LAPD, and I'll be glad when I’m finished.
Just then, his radio mike pinned to his shoulder squawked.
“Calling all units! Calling all units! Proceed to Dockweiler Beach. We have a report of a homicide in the public restrooms there.”
Fred shook his head and quickly got up from the table. His partner José Ramirez was already halfway to the door.
Fred rolled his eyes at Sally. "See you tomorrow!"
He turned and
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