Bicycle Shop Murder - Robert Burton Robinson (good beach reads .txt) 📗

It was a beautiful July morning. Perfect for a nice drive on a peaceful East Texas country road, Cynthia thought, as she and Greg made their way up FM-47. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been away from the bank on a Friday. She hadn’t taken a day of vacation in the past year, and actually dreaded holidays.

The Fourth of July had been a case in point. Troy had grilled some steaks in the backyard. But after a couple of hours of grilling and drinking, the meat was overcooked—and so was Troy. While carrying the burned steaks to the house, he had dropped the platter on the grass, which he had cut earlier that day.

Now the meat was covered with grass and dirt. He immediately began to yell obscenities at Cynthia, who was watching from inside the house. Then he picked up the metal platter, and flung it at her like a Frisbee, hitting and cracking the sliding glass door.

It had only been four days ago that she had met with Greg in his office at the church. She still felt bad about trying to seduce him into pushing the jury to an acquittal. But now Greg understood that she had only done it to keep her mother safe.

She had not doubted the scary-sounding creep who’d called her that Monday morning at the bank. He had told her she must do what he said, or her mother would be murdered. She wondered if that man was the one who had killed Troy and the others.

She couldn’t believe what she had done to Greg. But it was almost funny now. Cynthia had never before tried to use her seductive powers, and didn’t even know she had any. And it had made her feel a little sleazy.

But something unexpected had happened. Even though she had been acting, she had felt something real. Maybe that was the reason her act had been so believable. She had leaned in so close to Greg that they could feel each other’s body heat. Then she had raised the thermostat a few more degrees by peering into his eyes with a red-hot intensity that said, I dare you to take off all of my clothes, and make love to me—right here, right now.

Had it been so easy because she really did want to have sex with Greg right there in his office? No. But she had felt an attraction to him. And that attraction was growing stronger. She had never allowed herself to have any romantic feelings for another man after she was married.

But Troy had obliterated the love she once had for him. Still, she had continued to honor her marriage vows. Technically, her marriage contract was now null and void. But her dead husband had not even been buried yet. So, she should feel guilty about what she was feeling for Greg. Instead, she felt guilty about not feeling guilty.

John X was maintaining his position in the stolen, extended cab Silverado. He was fifty yards behind Greg and Cynthia. It was only a matter of time before an 18-wheeler appeared, he thought. Then he saw one. He kicked the accelerator to the floor. The automatic transmission downshifted, the big V-8 awoke from its nap, and the truck lunged forward. He was quickly approaching the Bonneville.

Then he realized the 18-wheeler was traveling faster than he had thought. He started to move to the shoulder, and pull up beside the Bonneville. But the timing was off. There wasn’t enough time to position the pickup alongside Greg’s car, and push it into the path of the big rig. So, he eased up on the gas, dropping back a bit. Next time he would start from a closer position.

Greg looked in his rear view mirror. “This guy’s in a big hurry.” The 18-wheeler passed by. “Okay. Now you can come around, Dude.”

It had only been a couple of minutes before John X saw another tractor-trailer approaching from the north. This time he would get it right. As he closed in on the big red convertible, he almost felt bad about what he was going to do to Greg’s beautiful. The poor guy’s last thought before dying would be that some idiot in a big pickup had defiled his most prized possession.

“Here he comes again.” Greg wondered why the guy had waited until another truck was coming before trying to pass.

John X steered right, onto the shoulder.

Cynthia heard the truck approaching on her side of the car and looked back. “I hate it when people pass on the shoulder.”

The Silverado pulled even with the Bonneville. Only two feet separated the vehicles. Greg and Cynthia looked at the driver of the truck.

“This guy’s crazy,” Greg said. Then he realized the driver had read his lips.

John X looked back at Greg with an evil grin.

The 18-wheeler was getting close. The Silverado started moving to the left.

“Just let him go around,” Cynthia said.

Greg lifted his foot from the gas pedal, and they began to slow down. But then the Silverado slowed down too. Greg reacted by speeding up. But the Silverado sped up too. Then the Silverado made contact with Greg’s car.

Oh, no—my beautiful car, thought Greg.

John X pulled the steering wheel hard to the left. The Bonneville was pushed a couple of feet over the middle line. The tractor-trailer was getting very close.

The trucker blew his horn.

John X pushed harder to the left, and the Bonneville was now half-way into the trucker’s lane.

The trucker hit his brakes. But at 70 miles an hour, he would never be able to stop in time.

Greg tried his best to move back to the right, but with no success.

John X was holding the Bonneville in place. The expression on his face was satanic.

They were doomed. The grill of the diesel monster was growing larger, and more menacing by the second. Greg and Cynthia had managed to stay alive this long, but now their luck was running out.

The trucker’s horn was now blasting steadily, eerily. The horn of the angel of death, proclaiming his arrival for the dispatchment of Greg Tenorly and Cynthia Blockerman. Their lives would be crushed in an instant. The seat belts and custom air bags would be worthless.

Nothing could stop the tons of steel that was rolling ferociously toward them. There would be no tomorrow. No hope of falling in love. No chance of marriage and children. Only death. There was no time to think. Only time to die.

Then Greg jerked the steering wheel to the left as hard as he could. The Bonneville broke free from the Silverado, ripping off the pickup’s rear bumper. It clanged down the road and off to the side. The Bonneville went airborne for a moment, and then landed safely and in the gently sloping, grassy field.

Greg’s quick move had caught John X by surprise. Now it was his vehicle that was directly in the path of destruction. He made a hard turn to the right.

The 18-wheeler’s trailer brakes had locked, and its tires were melting into the pavement. The big rig screeched down the highway—barely missing the bed of the Silverado.

But the pickup was out of control. It tipped over and flipped down the highway and then off to the right, finally coming to rest in the grass.

Greg slowed the Bonneville to a stop at the bottom of the hill. “Wow. That was close.”

“That guy was trying to kill us,” said Cynthia, trying to catch her breath.

“Either that or he’s on drugs. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I think. How about you?”

“Yeah. I’m okay. If that guy is trying to kill us, we’d better get out of here.”

Greg drove up the hill at an angle, and then onto the highway. They saw the Silverado on its side in the field, and were surprised it wasn’t burning.

Cynthia said, “I wonder if he’s alive?”

“Let’s not stick around to find out.”

As they drove away, Cynthia looked back and saw the tractor-trailer. The trucker was getting out of the cab.

“Good. The trucker looks like he’s okay. He can call the police. If the killer’s still alive, they can deal with him.”

“Yeah. And if the trucker reports us for leaving the scene of an accident then we’ll just explain what happened. Besides, I doubt he got a good look at our license plate.”