Truck Stop Read Online Free

the dangers of hitchhiking, son? Lots of psychos out there.”
    Taylor shoved more meatloaf into his mouth, and followed it up with some mashed potatoes. ”Hitchers might be missed.”
    “So could truck stop snatch.”
    Taylor paused in mid-bite.
    “Your fly is open. And I saw how you were measuring the resident pimp.” Donaldson raised an eyebrow. ”Have you relieved him of one of his steady sources of income?”
    Now it was Taylor’s turn to grin. “Not yet. She’ll be dessert when I’m done with this meatloaf.”
    “And once you’re finished with her?”
    Taylor zipped up his fly. ”I like rivers. Water takes care of any trace evidence, and it’s tough for the law to pinpoint the location where they were dumped in. You?”
    “Gas and a match. First a nice spritz with bleach. Bleach destroys DNA, you know.”
    “I do. Got a few bottles in the truck.”
    Taylor still couldn’t assess what sort of threat Donaldson posed. But he had to admit, this was fun.
    “So, here’s the ten-thousand dollar question,” Donaldson asked. “How many are you up to?”
    Taylor wiped some gravy off his mouth with a paper napkin. “So that’s where we stand? Whipping out our dicks and seeing whose is bigger?”
    “I’ve been at this a very long time.” Donaldson belched again. “Probably since before you were born. I’ve read about others like us; I love those true crime audiobooks. They help pass the time on long trips. I collect regular books, too. Movies. Newspaper articles. If you’ve done the same research I have, then you know none of our American peers can prove more than forty-eight. That’s the key.
Prove.
Some boast high numbers, but there isn’t proof to back it up.”
    “So are you asking me how many I’ve done, or how many I can prove?”
    “Both.”
    Taylor shrugged. ”I lost count after forty-eight. Once I had one in every state, it became less about quantity and more about quality.”
    “You’re lying,” Donaldson said. “You’re too young for that many.”
    “One in every state, old man.”
    “Can you prove it?”
    “I kept driver’s licenses, those that had them. Probably don’t have more than twenty, though. Not many whores carry ID.”
    “No pictures? Trophies? Souvenirs?”
    Taylor wasn’t going to share something that personal with a stranger. He pretended to sneer. ”Taking a trophy is like asking to get caught. I don’t plan on getting caught.”
    “True. But it is nice to relive the moment. Traveling is lonely, and memories unfortunately fade. If it wasn’t so dangerous, I’d love to videotape a few.”
    That would be nice,
Taylor thought, finishing the last bit of meatloaf.
But my
trophy box will have to suffice.
    “So how many are you up to, Grandpa?”
    “A hundred twenty-seven.”
    Taylor snorted. ”Bullshit.”
    “I agree with you about the danger of keeping souvenirs, but I have Polaroids from a lot of my early ones.”
    “Dangerous to carry those around with you.”
    “I’ve got them well hidden.” Donaldson stared at him, his eyes twinkling. ”Would you be interested in seeing them?”
    “What do you mean? One of those
I’ll show you mine if you show me yours
deals?”
    “No. Well, not exactly. I’m not interested in seeing your driver’s license collection. But I would be interested in paying a little visit to your current guest.”
    Taylor frowned. ”I’m not big on sharing. Or sloppy seconds.”
    Donaldson slowly spread out his hands. ”I understand. It’s just that… you know how it is, when you get all worked up, and then they quit on you.”
    Taylor nodded. Having a victim die too soon felt like having something precious stolen from him.
    “You don’t seem like the shy type,” Donaldson continued. “I thought, perhaps, you wouldn’t mind doing your thing when someone else was there to watch.”
    Taylor smiled. “Aren’t you the dirty old man.”
    Donaldson smiled back. “A dirty old man who doesn’t have the same distaste of sloppy