Fiddleback 2
Page 30
Chapter Eighteen
The deal was made on the Corolla for nine grand, paid for by check and signed by Phyllis Stoddard. She drove the two-year-old car with Phillip in the passenger seat. Eddie was driving the LeSabre behind them, a thirty-minute drive to Sacramento. He could hardly believe they were going from this nice Buick to that cheesy compact car. The Buick only had a hundred-and-twenty thousand miles on the odometer, long from retiring into a junkyard. It was a comfortable ride, all the bells and whistles. Eddie was making adjustments to the side mirrors, the electric seat, steering wheel, and even changing the radio station presets. It was going to be his car, even if the title would have you believe otherwise. On the drive to Marysville the Stoddard’s had informed him of that, as long as Eddie continued to work for them, the car was his. He planned on staying with the Stoddard’s for a long while. Something better would come around eventually, but for now it was a sweet gig. And who knows, once Trent was dead maybe some good things would come his way. Some really great things. It was a time for optimism, and Eddie’s smile reflected that.
The Corolla veered over and took the freeway exit; Eddie followed. They pulled into a Shell station for gas. The Buick had three-quarters of a tank, so he parked away from the pumps and got out, insisted that he pump the Stoddard’s gas. He told them to stay inside the car where it was cool. Phillip lowered the window and handed Eddie a credit card for the gas, thanked him for his thoughtfulness.
As he pumped gas, Eddie thought he’d give Michael a call. He worried that the kid would have second thoughts about the proposal. If that was the case, he’d have to threaten him, he supposed. But would he call the cops on him? Really? Nah, he wouldn’t. He’d just have to kill Trent himself, but that wasn’t how it was supposed to go down. His friend gave him specific instructions, and that was have Michael kill him.
He brought up Michael’s name under contacts and waited till the gas-tank was full and nozzle racked before making the call. He waved goodbye at the Stoddard’s as he walked back to the Buick. Seconds later the two cars were pulling back onto the freeway. Eddie phoned Michael.
“Hey, it’s…” Eddie hadn’t told Michael his name the other night, for fear that he’d get caught and implicate Eddie somehow. Being that the SacTown Slayer was still at large, he supposed it was safe to use his name now. “It’s your friend from the other night. My name is Eddie Verboom. What’s up?”
“Friggin’ yard work. I hate Saturdays.” He lowered the phone and shouted as his mom no thanks for her offer of iced tea. “What’s up?”
“What we talked about the other night. You should come over to my place, we’ll go over the details.”
“Why should I? I don’t know, Eddie, I gave it some thought and I’m not sure I want to do this.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“I do too. If you call the cops they’ll wonder why you’ve kept it a secret and you’ll be in trouble too. Besides, I don’t think you’d tell.”
“Good. Good, Michael, I’m glad we’ve arrived at this place in our relationship. Honesty, candor. You’re right, I wouldn’t call the cops. But you’re going to do what I said just the same. Come on over and like Marlon Brando said, ‘I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.’”
“I have to do yard work. My dad will be pissed if I don’t.”
“He’d be pretty pissed if he knew you were the SacTown Slayer, too,” Eddie said and laughed out loud.
“Yeah, that’s a pretty safe assumption,” Michael said and laughed.
“Tell him something came up. Come on, man. I’ll pay for your time.”
“Oh yeah? I’m only a few minutes from being done with the lawn. Maybe he won’t notice if I don’t edge or pull weeds this week. Come get me. Do you have something to write down my address?”
“Come get you? Oh shit, you’re too young to have a license, aren’t you?” Eddie laughed some more.
“I’m glad it amuses you.”
“You have to see how it’s funny. A serial killer too young to drive legally. That would explain why all the killings have been in the same region of Sacramento: you don’t have a car.” More laughter, gales of side-splitting guffaws. “Okay, okay,” Eddie said and calmed down. “I’ll come get you in about twenty minutes. I’ll tap the horn.”
“Don’t you need my address?”
“Nah, I don’t. Oh wait…” He patted his empty pockets. “Yeah, I do need it. Just text it to me. See you soon.”