Split Second Read Free Page B

courthouse.”
    “Yeah, well, there better not be more paperwork,” Benny shifted restlessly as if anticipating the dreaded change in his routine. “And if this is Brice and Webber’s run, that means this asshole’s headed up to Glades, right? Puttin’ him in close custody until his fucking hearing. Means he’s some big-time fuckup they don’t want down here in our wussy detention lockup.”
    “Hector said the guy’s name is Albert Stucky. Said he’s not such a bad guy, pretty intelligent and friendly. Hector says he’s even accepted Jesus Christ as his savior.”
    Del could feel Benny scowling at him. He turned the key in the ignition and let the truck vibrate, then rumble to a slow start while he braced himself for Benny’s sarcasm. He turned the air-conditioning on, blasting them with hot air. Benny reached over and punched it off.
    “Give the engine some time, first. We don’t need that goddamn hot air in our faces.”
    Del felt his face grow red. He wondered if there would ever be anything he could do to win the respect of his partner. He ignored his simmering anger and rolled down the window. He pulled out the travel log and jotted down the truck’s odometer and gas tank readings, letting the routine calm him.
    “Wait a minute,” Benny said. “Albert Stucky? I’ve been reading about this guy in the Miami Herald. Feebies nicknamed him The Collector.”
    “Feebies?”
    “Yeah, FBI. Jesus, kid, don’t you know anything?”
    This time Del could feel the prickle of red at his ears. He turned his head and pretended to be checking the side mirror.
    “This Stucky guy,” Benny continued, “he carved up and slaughtered three or four women, and not just here in Florida. If he’s the guy I’m thinking of, he’s one badass motherfucker. And if he’s claiming he’s found Jesus Christ, you can bet it’s because he wants to save his sorry ass from being fried by Old Sparky.”
    “People can change. Don’t you believe people can change?” Del glanced at Benny. The older man’s brow was beaded with sweat and the bloodshot eyes glared at him.
    “Jesus, kid. I bet you still believe in Santa Claus, too.” Benny shook his head. “They don’t send guys to wait for their trial in close custody because they think he’s found Jesus-fucking-Christ.”
    Benny turned to stare out the window and sip his coffee. In doing so, he missed Del wince again. He couldn’t help it. Twenty-two years with a daddy for a preacher made it an instant reaction, like scratching an itch. Sometimes he did it without even knowing.
    Del slipped the travel log into the side pocket and shifted the truck into gear. He watched the concrete prison in his side-view mirror. The sun beat down on the yard where several prisoners milled around, bumming cigarettes off each other and enduring the morning heat. How could they enjoy being outside if there was no shade? He added it to his mental list of unfair treatment. Back in Minnesota, he had been quite the activist for prison reform. Lately he’d been too busy with the move and starting his new job, but he kept a running list for when he had more time. Little by little he’d work his way up to battling causes like eliminating Starke’s X Wing.
    As they approached the final checkpoint he glanced at the rearview mirror. He almost jumped, startled to find their prisoner staring back at him. All Del could see through the thick slit of glass were the piercing black eyes, and they were looking directly at him in the mirror.
    Del recognized something in the prisoner’s eyes, and a knot tightened in his stomach. He had seen that look years ago as a boy, on one of his trips accompanying his father. They had visited a condemned prisoner, who Del’s father had met at one of his prison fellowship meetings. During that visit, the prisoner had confessed all the horrible, unimaginable things he had done to his own family before he murdered them—a wife, five children and even the family dog.
    As a