Dark Luck (A Suspense Thriller) (6 page)

But it could hardly be a head. No sane person would
carry around such inculpating evidence as a severed head. What if someone
accidentally opened the bag? Besides, there was a risk of having blood find its
way through the wrapping and soak through the fabric of the bag, which might
attract unwelcome attention.

Four more minutes had passed before Ron returned to the
car.

“Did you make the call?” asked David, starting the
Malibu.

“Yes, I did. We had a good talk. Thanks for the
quarters, Dave.” Ron opened his bottle of Pepsi, took a few sips, let his head
fall back on the headrest. David said he was welcome and pulled away from the
roadside.

#

When they drove eight miles past Lodi, David discerned
a short strip of buildings a few hundred yards ahead down the freeway and asked
if Ron was hungry.

“Last time I ate was early in the morning, so I think I
could use a hamburger,” he said. “If they have a diner there I’m pulling over.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” agreed Ron.

Before leaving for the diner, Ron picked up his bag.

“It’s time to change my not-so-fresh shirt,” he
explained.

After scrutinizing the unimpressive menu, David picked
a grilled chicken, Ron chose a roast beef, and they both ordered a garden salad
and orange juice. David was eating as slowly as he could in order to have more
time to collect his thoughts and mull over his plan regarding Ron. The diner
was a safe convenient place to relax and stop sweating about an unexpected move
on the part of this killer. Of course he had stashed a brand new knife under
the driver’s seat but would he be able to grab it when Ron attacked him?

David could not help smiling. Wasn’t that ironic? Ron,
or whatever his real name was, would most likely try to pull the same trick on
him as David did on Kevin Conway, the legal owner of this Malibu. Well, Ron was
going to be extremely surprised very soon. Yes, he had to step up his efforts:
it was about two hours since he had learned Ron’s horrible secret and he had
not made much progress yet.

When they finished their meals, Ron made David put away
his wallet and paid the check with his own money. They went to the restroom
together: David wanted to relieve himself and Ron to change his shirt. For a
moment David regretted he had not taken the knife with him. Then he told
himself that he was strong enough to beat off Ron’s assault; after all, he only
needed a few seconds to run out of the restroom and call for help. Funny fact:
it could be his first lawful murder if he killed Ron in self-defense in the
toilet.

#

So far so good: he emptied his bladder without an
incident. And Ron did exactly what he had planned to do--put on a fresh shirt.
Watching his new friend out of the corner of his eye, David let out a small
puddle of soap from the dispenser on his left palm and began to turn on the
water.

“I know who you are, David,” Ron said, combing his hair
and peeking at David’s reflection in the mirror.

Without any pause, David continued turning the faucet
handle until he was satisfied with the stream of water and started washing his
hands.

“What do you mean?” he asked, rubbing the lather on his
palms.

“I called my friend and asked him to check the
registration plate number.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Have you ever heard of the Net Detective software? For
thirty bucks you can search DMV’s databases in all states. My friend checked
your car’s registration number. It’s not your car. It belongs to Kevin Conway.
And he doesn’t live in Oceanside.”

David cracked a gentle smile as he unhurriedly turned
off the water.

“Well, seems like you only know who I am not,” he said,
dawdling over the paper towel dispenser. “You don’t really know who I am.”

“I figure you not only stole that car, but also killed its
owner.” Ron took a small plastic sack out of his bag.

“Why do you think so?”

David observed Ron open the sack and was surprised to
see a fake moustache that Ron extracted out of it.

“Because I believe you want to kill me too, okay.”

David shook his head and asked:

“What makes you think I want to kill you?”

“You put something in my Pepsi while I was away. Some
sleeping drug, right?” Ron spread a little glue over his upper lip and then
carefully attached the moustache.

Now David was surprised. Ron was correct: David had
actually put a sedative into Ron’s bottle of Pepsi. And as a matter of fact, he
was deeply puzzled at the fact that Ron had not fallen asleep yet.

“But you’re not asleep, are you?” said David.

“No, I’m not. When I started feeling sleepy, I took
Modafinil. I use it to stay awake for several days straight. It’s a legal drug,
okay. They use it in the Army, too.”

“You’re not an angel yourself. I saw a sketch of your
face on TV two hours ago.”

“Really?” Ron frowned. “Seems like our hopes didn’t
come true. That’s sad. Fortunately, I was prepared for such a twist.” He
pointed at his moustache. “Now we will go out of the restroom, sit at the
table, and wait for my friend Zack. Are you okay with that?”

David cast an inquiring look at Ron and muttered:

“Wait?”

“Yes. And so that you won’t die of boredom I’ll tell
you a riveting story about a guy who once upon a time sold auto parts in
Southern California. You will like it. And we’ll also discuss how you can save
yourself.” Ron zipped the bag. “Before I forgot, here’s an incentive for you to
cooperate.” Ron whipped a .22 caliber revolver out of his pants pocket. “It’s
small but it works fine. Please be reasonable and don’t try and pull any
tricks.”

“All right.” David marched to the door.

They left the restroom and, after Ron phoned his
friend, occupied a table in the corner furthest from the counter.

“So what do you think about it?” asked Ron when he was
done telling his riveting story. He spoke in a low voice, even though the diner
was empty and there was no one to eavesdrop on them.

“I think that guy got a raw deal,” answered David. “By
the way, you said we would discuss my future.” He peered into Ron’s eyes.

“Yeah, we need to talk about it.” Ron nodded. “All that
crap about a wife and a kid and a mother-in-law--was it true?”

David knitted his eyebrows and answered:

“Not really. I have a girlfriend. Her name’s Jane.”

“Where does she live?”

“In Glendale.”

“Do you live there too?” asked Ron.

“I live near Glendale, in Pasadena.”

“You understand that I’ll verify that information,
don’t you?”

“I have no doubt you will.”

“Okay. Here’s the deal: you give us your girlfriend and
I forget I ever met you.”

“Really?” David made sure he did not sound sarcastic.
“Is there any guarantee?”

“No. All I can say to convince you is: we prefer doing
it to women, okay. I’m sure you’re not prone to self-sacrifice. You will give
her to us, right?” 

After a short pause David answered: “Yes. I’ll do it.”

“Good. One more thing: why the hell did you steal that
car? It’s too dangerous. What if the car was reported stolen?”

“They are not going to find that guy any time soon.”

“What about his relatives? They could report him
missing by tomorrow morning. Why take an unnecessary risk?”

“I needed a car. That’s it.” David looked in Ron’s
emotionless eyes. “I don’t ask you why you and your friend killed that pregnant
woman, do I?”

“Fair enough. I’m just curious. I would never drive a
stolen car for several hours.”

“I was going to dump it in Sacramento.”

They were speaking in amiable tones and behaved so
courteously that a distant spectator could mistake them for very good friends.

“After you were done with me?” asked Ron.

“Let’s not talk about it, okay?”

Ron flashed a soft smile.

“I just wanted to explain why we shouldn’t use that
Malibu anymore,” he said. “Do you have anything in there that can lead the
police to you?”

“Don’t worry. I never leave traces. By the way, what
about that sketch of your face they’re showing on TV? You’re not cautious
enough after all.”

“That was just a ridiculous accident. A glitch. I guess
she was just a very lucky girl. But her luck isn’t going to last for ever if
you know what I mean.”

#

They heard the door open and both turned their heads to
see who came in. It was the fourth customer in the thirty five minutes that had
passed since Ron had called Zack. David was relieved to see the client was a
deputy sheriff: a fit man, probably in his early forties, in aviator sunglasses
with dark lenses. He took off his uniform hat, approached the counter, ordered
a soda drink and a hamburger, and then parked himself at the nearby table. The
rescuing idea exploded in David’s head as he peeked at the deputy chewing the
burger. Certainly there was a hope these bastards would let him go after they
had laid their hands on Jane, but he hated to gamble with his life. He realized
he should hurry.

“Listen, Ron,” he almost whispered. “I’m too tired of
all that. I’ve got nothing to lose anyhow. You will kill me sooner or later, I
know it.”

“What are you talking about?” Ron whispered too.

“Now I’m going to get up and walk out of that door,”
said David. “If you want to take a chance you may shoot me, but then you’ll
have to shoot the deputy as well.”

“Don’t be stupid, David. We have an agreement.” Ron’s
eyes glared with agitation.

“He is armed, and there is a probability that he’ll
manage to draw his gun and kill you before you kill him. I guess you hate
taking unnecessary risks. Good bye and good luck, Ron.”

David rose from the table and headed for the exit. As
he moved he strained his ears to figure out if Ron went after him or released
the safety on his gun--he believed his looking back would degrade his newly
acquired authority. Fortunately, David did not catch any suspicious sounds from
behind his back. As he touched the door handle he heard the deputy sheriff
stand up and stride towards the exit. When David put his foot down on the
porch, he finally made up his mind. He stepped to the left, waited for the
deputy to come out of the doorway, and grabbed him by the elbow.

“Officer, there is a killer inside the diner,” he said
in a low voice.

“What?” replied the deputy, knitting his eyebrows. 

“He’s wearing blue jeans and a cream shirt. I saw his
face on TV this morning. You’ve got to arrest him. Please be careful: he has a
gun.”

The deputy’s right hand pounced on the holster.

“Wait here,” the deputy said, drawing his pistol. “I’ll
go check on him.” He covered the gun with his hat and stepped inside the diner.

David peered through the door, wasted a few seconds
locating the table where he had left Ron, then turned around and jogged towards
the Malibu. He figured it would take the deputy at least a couple of minutes to
apprehend Ron, so he had time to get in the car and leave. The Malibu had not
been reported stolen yet, and if anyone inquired about the car he could always
claim that he had borrowed it from Kevin Conway. So he would drive it to the
next town, where he would get on a bus or train after thoroughly wiping all his
fingerprints from the car’s interior. Yes, the deputy had asked him to wait,
but he was not obliged to do so. David fished the car keys out of his pocket.
Ron should have confiscated the keys from him.

Big mistake.

Could Ron overpower and/or outwit the deputy? He sure
could, but David did not care. All he needed was a few minutes to get the heck
out of here.

In the car, David had tried to insert the key into
ignition several times before he discovered that there was something inside the
key hole that did not let the key in. Then he realized that one detail was
missing from the picture outside the diner: there was no sheriff’s office
vehicle in the parking lot. Of course, that deputy could be driving his own car
on the job today, David would not pay much attention to this fact under
different circumstances. He just felt very uncomfortable with the idea that
someone had intruded into the Malibu and tampered with the ignition, and
suspicions began to rapidly build up in his brain. He lifted his face as he saw
out of the corner of his eye somebody stood near the driver’s door. It was the
deputy--or should he call him Zack?--who was swinging a pair of handcuffs in
the air. David darted a glance to his right and saw a smiling Ron.

He breathed a heavy sigh. Well, he tried and he lost.
Such was life.

#

Quite an amazing coincidence, wasn’t it? What were the
odds that two serial killers will meet and have a ride in a car? Okay, with any
probability, even a tiny one, it was only a matter of time. A while ago he read
about a woman in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, who had won one million bucks on a
scratch-off ticket two times in one year. There were only five
one-million-dollar tickets in that lottery game, and the lady from Bethlehem
won two of them. What are the odds of that? Astronomical. He had never won ten
bucks on a scratch-off, let alone a million. God works in mysterious ways,
folks. Mysterious indeed. The probability existed, and today the number came
up. Nothing special.