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Back We Were Killers Once Save as PDF
Chapters (65)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty–one
  25. Twenty–two
  26. Twenty–three
  27. Twenty–four
  28. Twenty–five
  29. Twenty–six
  30. Twenty–seven
  31. Twenty–eight
  32. Twenty–nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty–one
  35. Thirty–two
  36. Thirty–three
  37. Thirty–four
  38. Thirty–five
  39. Thirty–six
  40. Thirty–seven
  41. Thirty–eight
  42. Thirty–nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty–one
  45. Forty–two
  46. Forty–three
  47. Forty–four
  48. Forty–five
  49. Forty–six
  50. Forty–seven
  51. Forty–eight
  52. Forty–nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Fifty–one
  55. Fifty–two
  56. Fifty–three
  57. Fifty–four
  58. Fifty–five
  59. Fifty–six
  60. Fifty–seven
  61. Author’s Note
  62. Acknowledgments
  63. Also by Becky Masterman
  64. About the Author
  65. Newsletter Sign-up

A good ways off from the chimney he found the first rock, looking like any old rock that had wound up there however rocks wind up. He looked up and saw the next one. And the next. When he got to that third rock, bigger than the other two, but so far off you couldn’t easily see it from the house, he moved it to the side and started to dig. Last time he was here he had a car and a shovel, and that made this whole process easier, but you couldn’t have everything easy. His nails and the cuticles around them were encrusted with black soil by the time he dug down a good foot and a half to a metal box, somewhat rusted, but not so it wouldn’t unlock with the little key hidden underneath the lining of his wallet.

He opened the box and took out the plastic bag. It had a satisfying heft to it.

He didn’t hang around to count the contents of the bag. Before he got back to the highway he stopped to put a few twenties from the bag into his wallet and hid the bag with the rest of the money down the front of his jeans. Tomorrow he would get something better.

Beaufort walked the six miles back as the sun was going down, went into the Quik Mart men’s room and washed up some so he wouldn’t stand out. Nothing to make anyone notice him, dirty hands or anything. The place offered packaged ham and cheese sandwiches and six-packs of beer. He carried these things next door to the motel. They still had rooms. There was a different clerk who hardly glanced at him, instead keeping his focus on a device that looked like a small laptop computer without a keyboard. A movie played on it, a superhero he didn’t recognize, but you could tell from the cape and tights. Beaufort had some catching up to do. The superhero was fighting men who were meant to look like bad guys. Bad guys never changed. This reassured him.

He paid cash for one night.

The next morning Beaufort walked over to the truck stop for a real breakfast, nothing that came wrapped in paper or cellophane, and no powdered eggs. He ordered three over easy, sausage patties, and hash browns at the counter. He still felt the euphoria of the day before. God, it was good to be out. He took big gulps of air between bites like even the oxygen was better.

A skinny waitress, with a ring in her nose that made him think of a starving cow, poured his coffee. He asked where was the nearest Kmart.

“Mobile,” she said, kind of sullen and snotty, naming a city that he knew was a good distance away.