The Perfect Crime Read Online Free Page A

missing it, was a torn scrap with a series of four numbers written in pencil and faded where it was barely legible.
    Bingo. This is it.
    It was. He entered the numbers and the green light went off.
    Last thing he did was to go back to the cash register. There was only silver, no green in the slots. He took the coins out throwing some on the floor and scattering some of them onto Jack’s body. He stuck a handful of the quarters in his pocket. Something caught his eye. Jack. He was moving his arm.
    Shit, Reader thought. Tough guy. Okay, tough guy.
    Slipping out the back door, he made sure the alley was deserted. Once he was sure no eyes were on him, he picked up the brick he’d seen an hour earlier during his casing. Walking back inside to where Jack was beginning to move his arms--like he was trying to do the Australian crawl on the floor--Reader smacked the brick into the back of the man’s head. Twice. Satisfied the job was finished for sure this time, he walked to the back door and outside, turning the lock before he closed it. He took the brick and slammed it against the plate glass. It took two more blows before it shattered. It would look like somebody broke in. He tossed the brick inside and saw it land close to the man’s body. He stepped very quickly to the end of the alley and slowed his walk to a casual stroll until he reached his car parked in the supermarket’s parking lot.
    A block away, he happened to glance at the gas gauge and saw that it registered half-full. He was going to fill it up earlier only it slipped his mind. Slipshod work like this got you caught. He always kept his car full of gas. He knew a guy in the joint who had gotten caught because he ran out of fuel during a high-speed chase. The guy actually outran the cop until his car stalled and he had no choice but to hit it on foot.
    He spotted a station up the street. He pulled in, pumped his own gas and checked the oil, which turned out to be a quart low. While he was there he picked up some munchies for the trip back. Potato chips, hard candies and a jumbo pack of cinnamon gum. He paid for it with the hundred dollar bill he’d taken from Jack’s cash register. The sour look the attendant gave him made it plain he wasn’t happy about depleting his stock of change, but the guy took it anyway.
    Reader went back out to his car and pulled it over to the side by the restroom. From under the front seat he retrieved a large sack and took it into the restroom, locking the door behind him. Quickly, he shucked the clothes he’d been wearing and changed into a white sports shirt and khakis that he took out of the bag. He removed the wig and the beard, wincing as the spirit gum tore loose from his cheeks. He stuffed the items into the bag and washed his face with cold water to reduce the redness, then splashed his hair with water until it was sopping and combed it straight back.
    Back in his car he picked up his knife from where he’d laid it on thfloor and put it in the bag with the suit and wig and other items. He hated to lose a good knife, but he knew he should in this case. He wouldn’t need that particular wig anymore. He had another one at home for the last part of the job. A white one.
    He stayed to county roads, heading south, and when he came to the first good-sized stream he pulled off and threw the bag into it having first found a large rock to weight it down. Twenty minutes later he was on the Interstate heading south.
    ***
    There was something. Reader rubbed his eyes. One loose end that kept nagging at him. The waitress. He’d thought about going back and acing her, but figured there wasn’t much chance she’d identify him even if the cops put two and two together and fingered him as the man having coffee across the street earlier. But, he was in disguise. No, he decided. The broad wasn’t a loose end.

CHAPTER 3
     
    THE SUN WAS JUST coming up in Dayton when a hung-over Grady Fogarty discovered Jack’s bloody and unconscious body