JORDAN’S BACK - CHRISTOPHER GRANT
You can check out Jordan and his associate, Craig, over at Thrillers, Killers ’N Chillers in FOR THE RECORD and JORDAN’S TURN.
She’s in the shower when I come into the bedroom. I’ve known Tara for five, six months now. Longest relationship I’ve ever had. She wants a ring someday. I’m just not the kind that settles down. It’s not in my nature.
I take off my watch and place it on the end table, next to the lamp. The water in the shower shuts off and I hear the curtain slide back.
Tara steps out of the adjoining bathroom with a towel wrapped around her and another wrapped around her head. She’s tan, muscular but not overly so. She works out at a local gym four days a week.
She sits down on the edge of the bed and looks over at me, gives me that smile. Not the toothy one but the one that says that she’s happy I’m back.
Tara takes the towel from her hair and dries it. She’s got incredible black hair, goes down to the small of her back.
I just sit there, my legs outstretched before me, my head against the headboard. I just sit there and watch her and wonder why it can’t be easy, like this.
Tara stands up, drops the towel in her hand and then the towel that she’s got wrapped around her. She has the body of a goddess.
She walks across the room to the dresser, pulls out a pair of panties and steps into them. She grabs a bra and hooks the cups from the front.
“Will you be home for dinner?” she asks me as she goes into the walk-in closet to get whatever it is that she’ll be wearing to work today.
“Should be,” I say, still sitting there with my head against the headboard.
“’Kay,” Tara says and comes out fully decked out in a black skirt, white blouse and black blazer. She’s tied her hair up and taken on the sexy secretary role. I want to rip the clothes off her but she’s got fifteen minutes to get to work and I know what her answer will be anyway.
A kiss and then she’s out the door. I’m on my own for the rest of the day.
The feeling comes back like I knew it would.
Guy’s on the side of the road, doing his nine-to-five, checking utilities.
Easiest two minutes of my life.
I pull my green F-150 up behind him, wait for the traffic to clear and hop out onto the asphalt.
We’re in the middle of nowhere, a highway that goes through the woods, up the lake shore.
It’s nearing fall so I have need of a jacket, which helps me out quite a bit for this one.
“Excuse me,” I say as I approach the guy.
Lucky for me, he’s working alone.
The feeling is more like an itch now.
Pfft, pfft, goes the silencer. Round one catches him in the chest, through the orange road crew vest. Round two smashes into his face, just off-center and under the left eye socket.
He goes down better than I could have hoped for, hitting the edge of the ditch and rolling down into it.
I put the gun back in my jacket, watch for cars and get back in my truck.
I pull the truck back onto the road and drive away.
They won’t find him for hours.
My vehicle is red now, instead of green, and it ain’t a truck. I could have gotten a paint job, sure, but then I would have had to ditch the plates, on the off-chance that someone remembered me from the side of the road.
I grab lunch at a McDonald’s, hit a few bookstores, take a drive down to the lake and just sit there for a while before I get out and toss the gun into the water.
I go to the bank, check to see how much cash I have from the last time I...
Still got enough to live a couple more years off of.
I look at my watch, figure I should head home. Dinner’ll be ready soon.
Dana King on Leaving the Scene
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