Bicycle Shop Murder 37

John X had waited until 1:00 AM to leave his car. More than likely, Greg and Cynthia were sleeping, he figured. Hope­fully the people in all of the cabins were sleeping. But he won­dered how the animals in the woods could ever sleep at night—the crickets and the bullfrogs created a wall of sound as loud as a rock concert.

He walked along the lake behind the woods, in the direc­tion of Cabin 17. Each cabin had its own little pathway to the lake. Cabin 17 was surrounded by the road in front, the woods on the right and back, and Cabin 16 on the left. The trail he was on would come out behind number 17. A flashlight helped him avoid snakes and other critters. He was carrying a small over­night bag, containing the .44 Magnum revolver and two rolls of duct tape.

Each cabin had only one window. The bottom half of the window held a large air conditioning unit. Cabin 17’s window faced the woods. As John X carefully walked around the side of the cabin, he noticed that there was no light coming from the cabin. He ducked under the window, walked to the front, and put an ear to the door. All he heard was the hum of the window unit.

He picked the lock. It was even easier than he had expected. He turned the doorknob, and eased the door open very slowly, counting on the air conditioner to mask the sound of any squeaky hinges. The room was illuminated only by moonlight. But he could see that they were both in their beds. The top half of the window was uncovered. But since there were only trees and brush in that direction, he didn’t care.

He reached into his bag, and pulled out his big, heavy revolver—his most prized weapon. All six rounds were loaded, even though he only intended to use one. Then he felt along the wall by the door for the light switch and flipped it on. “Time to wake up, and die!”

Cynthia simultaneously woke up, gasped, and jumped back against the headboard. Greg opened his eyes, but was frozen in place. The young man standing before them was holding a very big gun in his hand. A gun big enough to hunt buffalo with.

“Hello. My name is John. And I’ll be your killer tonight. But first we’re gonna have some fun. Or at least I’m gonna have some fun. But you’ll be a big part of it. So, thanks for flying with us.” He laughed.

What kind of a sick maniac is this? Cynthia wondered.

“I think you may have the wrong cabin,” said Greg. But he recognized him as the guy in the pickup who had tried to run them into the 18-wheeler.

“No, I’m in the right cabin. Cabin 17. Greg Tenorly and Cynthia Blockerman’s cabin. Your good friend, Buford Bel­lowin, sends me with greetings—and a bullet.”

Greg had put the electronic tracker on a minivan at a gas station. Why wasn’t the killer far away, chasing that minivan?

“How did you find us?” Greg asked.

“I just followed the yellow brick road. Or, actually your big red convertible. A lot of people remembered seeing it. And you didn’t honestly think you could lose me, did you? Okay—enough small talk. Cynthia, I want you to move the two chairs over here between the beds.”

Cynthia got out of the bed, pulled one of the chairs away from the table, and carried it to the area between the beds.”

“Make it face the nightstand,” John X said.

She turned it around, as he instructed. Then she picked up the other chair, and moved it. John X told her to put its back against the other chair. The old wooden chairs took up most of the space between the beds.

“Now, sit down in the front chair.”

She obeyed.

“Good. Now, Greg, you sit down in the other chair.”

Greg got out of bed, and sat in the chair.

John X reached down for his bag, while keeping the gun aimed at Cynthia. He placed the bag on Cynthia’s bed, pulled out two rolls of duct tape, and sat them on the bed near Cyn­thia.

“Take one of the rolls of tape, and go around to Greg. Now, tape his left leg to the leg of the chair. Then do the same with his right leg. Go around each one about twenty times.”

When she had finished, he said, “Now tape each forearm and hand to the arm of the chairs. About twenty times around. Make it tight.”

“Good. Now, wrap tape around Greg’s chest and your chair back. Go around about forty times.”

By the time Cynthia had finished, her heart was racing. He made her sit down and tape her own legs and left arm. Then he taped her right arm and hand to the arm of the chair. Finally, he ran tape around Greg and Cynthia, pulling her tight against the back of her chair.

Neither one of them could move in any direction—except maybe to tip themselves over to the side. But their position between the beds wouldn’t even allow that. They were sitting ducks. He could shoot them, stab them, or set the place on fire. They were completely helpless.

“Why are you doing this?” cried Cynthia. “You don’t have to kill us.”

“Oh, yes I do, pretty lady. When I take a job, I complete it. Every time. No excuses.”

“So, Buford hired you to kill us?” said Greg.

“That’s correct. I don’t normally give out my employer’s name. But in this case, it really doesn’t matter. You’ll be dead in ten minutes.”

“But it doesn’t make any sense! We didn’t do anything to him! Did he tell you why he wants us dead?”

“No. And I never ask. I don’t care, as long as I get paid. Now, I want the two of you to shut up. Or I will duct tape your mouths.”

Who cares? thought Cynthia. You’re about to kill us any­way. But she tried to think of a way to talk him out of it.

John X had dreamed of this dramatic moment. He began to pace in front of them as he spoke. “I’m sure you both saw the movie Dirty Harry. Well, this is a .44 Magnum—the most powerful handgun in the world. Well, that’s not really true. There are some that are more powerful. But this is the one Harry Callahan used. And that’s what makes it special.

“It’s a small cannon, really. And here’s what I’m going to do with it. You’ll love this—it’s something I cooked up espe­cially for you two lovers.”

Cynthia forgot she was not supposed to speak. “We’re not lovers!”

And now, we never will be, thought Greg.

“Shut up! I will tape your face if I have to!” He took a deep breath and regained his cool. “I thought it would be romantic if I could bring the two lover’s hearts together in some magical way. So, here’s what I’m going to do: I will fire a single shot at close range that will go right through the center of Cynthia’s heart.”

Cynthia started crying softly.

Greg tried with all his might to free himself from the tape. But even the overwhelming rage he was feeling could not turn him into a superhero.

“Then the bullet will pass through her back, through both chairs, and into Greg’s back. Then it will go through Greg’s heart, and fly out of his chest, through the wall, into the woods. So, you see, the two hearts shall become one. It’s almost like a wedding. Too bad we don’t have any candles.”

**********

The man in the black Camry had followed from afar, all the way to Cabin 17. Now he was positioned in the woods, thirty yards from the window. He could see Greg and Cynthia taped back to back in their chairs through the scope on his rifle. John X was taunting them.

He watched as the young hit man pointed the huge revolver at Cynthia’s chest, and circled her heart with the end of the bar­rel, as he laughed, and she cried. Greg appeared to be shouting. Then he saw John X step back a few feet, aim the gun with both hands, and bend his knees, to give his shot just the right tra­jectory.

The man held the rifle perfectly still, as he squeezed the trigger. The suppressor muffled most of the sound. When he saw John X go down, he smiled with satisfaction.

Now he would go in, and finish the job.