Going Insane Read Free Page B

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.
    Okay, enough talking: he and Zack had some work to do.

    The End
     

Intoxication
     
    #
     
    When Leslie came back from the ladies’ room, she found out that Rick had drunk almost all of her poisoned coffee, which Helen Romero had brought to her office just minutes before Rick had barged in unannounced .
    “I didn’t see your name on that cup,” she commented with slight but discernable irritation as she sat down next to Rick, whose left arm was resting on the back of the leather couch, waiting to crawl upon her shoulders. Of course, when she said it, she had no idea that the coffee was contaminated and that she and eight of her coworkers would die of poisoning in less than three weeks. “And who told you that you can come here without an invitation? Or at least some warning?”
    “Come on, Leslie, don’t be in a bad mood again.” Rick smiled and kissed her on the cheek. “I was thirsty and I don’t drink those girlie diet sodas you keep around here, you know that. I missed you, by the way.”
    Looking back on this boring, ordinary conversation and the subsequent brief twenty minute make out session on the couch