C H A P T E R IV
17 March, 1975 1:34am Gas Station outside Washington DC
He had parked the truck at the side of the gas station, beside the air pump and in the shadows. He had been waiting for two hours and hadn't moved an inch. He stood right at the edge of the light from the large glass windows of the convenience store. He knew that anyone who happened to go into or out of the store would have to bump in to him to realize he was there.
Just inside the window was the bored cashier. The seventeen year old had been there for longer than the man in the shadows had, and hadn't had to help a costomer. He lazed back in the swivel chair and flipped through the Playboy he had taken from the shelf.
Though the counter was quite high, the man from the shadows knew what the teen was doing while he stared at his favorite page of the dirty magazine.
The man in the shadows turned his head for the first time when he heard the sound of a green truck pulling up on the other side of the small building, into the staff parking lot. A few seconds later a short man with a grumpy expression on his face, that looked to have been there for years, walked around the corner into the light. He didn't look into the large glass windo to see what the kid was doing, but instead came to the end of the building, no more than five feet from the shadow and opened the glass door. The grumpy man walked along the rows of junk food and magazines to the kid who had now placed his magazine back on to the shelf and sat in his chair with a semi-worried look on his face.
The two gas station workers said a few words to each other before the kid stood up and left the small store. He had grabbed a jacket from under the counter and wrapped it around himself. He stood for a second just outside of the door before turning back and walking up to the small man now behind the counter. Two minutes later he left with a new copy of Playboy under his arm.
The kid walked into the shadows and steped right past the dark figure still lurking beside the corner.
The man from the corner turned around and followed the kid past his own truck to a beaten up little car at the edge of the road. After the kid had opened the driver's seat door and had begun to step inside he stopped at the words of the man behind him and turned.
"Good evening." Said the man. The kid just stood for a second before answering.
"Where did you come from?"
"Just around the corner, I have been waiting for you."
"Why?" his voice broke slightly.
"Well, I couldn't just come into the store there and let myself be seen on the security camera." His voice was getting icy. The kid just stood there. The man smiled at the teenager before taking out a damp cloth from behind his back and holding it against the kids face.
The young man strugled for a moment and then went limp against his car.
The Man from the shadows lifted the gas station clerk easily, and, avoiding the light of the filling station, carried the kid to the blue pick- up truck parked at the side of the small building. He lay the kid down on the passenger seat and walked around to the driver's side.
The truck pulled out of the corner of the gas station in reverse before leaving at a gentle pace from the premisis.
The truck parked at the side of the highway, only a mile away from the Maryland-West Virginia state-line. From the driver's side, a dark figure stepped out and walked around to the back of the vehicle. The man opened the tail-gait and slid a wooden box, about five feet long, three feet wide and three feet deep. He lifted the empty crate down to the ground and slid it around to the passenger's side of the truck. He opened the lid of the box as well as the door on the pick-up. The unconcious figure of the teenage gas station clerk sat hunched over on the front seat. The man lifted the kid out of the truck and down to the wooden box. With the teenager laying neatly in the crate, the man reached back into the truck and lifted out a black bag from behind the seat.
The man opened up the bag to reveal various tools and bottles filled with clear liquids. Setting to work, the man turned the boy onto his side so as to get at his right arm. Pulling out a pair of long scissors, the man cut through the teen's shirt and removed the right sleeve. He replaced the scissors, and, using a freshly heated knife, made and insition in the skin of the well-defined bicep muscle. The cut went all the way from the shoulder to the elbow joint and two other cuts circled half way around the shoulder and the elbow. The gloved fingers of the man's left hand and a knife from the bag slowly caused the skin to let go of the underlying muscle. Once the skin was folded back, he took out another knife, it was only three inches long and had a very strait and sharp blade. Moving down towards the elbow he used the knife to cut away the tendons that held the bicep to the bone. At the shoulder, another tendon was cut, and the muscle was pulled away with ease.
The heavy piece of flesh was lowered in to a bag which was then placed in a small cooler that sat between the two seats of the truck. The man then turned back to the boy laying in the box. He stared for a moment before grabbing another tool from his bag, a sharp rod with a curved point. Using this and another small knife, he punctured the right eye of his victim and held it in place as he edged the knife around the side of the teenager's eye, cutting away the muscle and optic nerve. The eye was soon loose and then placed into another small plastic bag, which in turn was set next to the first in the small cooler.
The man then opened up the glove compartment and took out a deck of cards. He riffled through them and found the card he was looking for. He crumpled it up into a small ball and placed it into the empty socket that was starting to pool with blood.
As a simpithetic jesture to the young man, he took from the black case, a small bottle of clear liquid and a sirynge. Filling the syringe with a few milligramms of the liquid, the man punctured the skin of the boy's neck and injected the liquid.
He threw the now empyt bottle of cyanide into the black case, which he closed. He then closed the wooden box and got back in to his car.
There was never anything good on the radio, but he decided to try. He scanned quickly past the stations of rock and roll to find his favorite. The enchanting Goldburg Variations, by Glenn Goulde.
17 March, 1975 1:34am Gas Station outside Washington DC
He had parked the truck at the side of the gas station, beside the air pump and in the shadows. He had been waiting for two hours and hadn't moved an inch. He stood right at the edge of the light from the large glass windows of the convenience store. He knew that anyone who happened to go into or out of the store would have to bump in to him to realize he was there.
Just inside the window was the bored cashier. The seventeen year old had been there for longer than the man in the shadows had, and hadn't had to help a costomer. He lazed back in the swivel chair and flipped through the Playboy he had taken from the shelf.
Though the counter was quite high, the man from the shadows knew what the teen was doing while he stared at his favorite page of the dirty magazine.
The man in the shadows turned his head for the first time when he heard the sound of a green truck pulling up on the other side of the small building, into the staff parking lot. A few seconds later a short man with a grumpy expression on his face, that looked to have been there for years, walked around the corner into the light. He didn't look into the large glass windo to see what the kid was doing, but instead came to the end of the building, no more than five feet from the shadow and opened the glass door. The grumpy man walked along the rows of junk food and magazines to the kid who had now placed his magazine back on to the shelf and sat in his chair with a semi-worried look on his face.
The two gas station workers said a few words to each other before the kid stood up and left the small store. He had grabbed a jacket from under the counter and wrapped it around himself. He stood for a second just outside of the door before turning back and walking up to the small man now behind the counter. Two minutes later he left with a new copy of Playboy under his arm.
The kid walked into the shadows and steped right past the dark figure still lurking beside the corner.
The man from the corner turned around and followed the kid past his own truck to a beaten up little car at the edge of the road. After the kid had opened the driver's seat door and had begun to step inside he stopped at the words of the man behind him and turned.
"Good evening." Said the man. The kid just stood for a second before answering.
"Where did you come from?"
"Just around the corner, I have been waiting for you."
"Why?" his voice broke slightly.
"Well, I couldn't just come into the store there and let myself be seen on the security camera." His voice was getting icy. The kid just stood there. The man smiled at the teenager before taking out a damp cloth from behind his back and holding it against the kids face.
The young man strugled for a moment and then went limp against his car.
The Man from the shadows lifted the gas station clerk easily, and, avoiding the light of the filling station, carried the kid to the blue pick- up truck parked at the side of the small building. He lay the kid down on the passenger seat and walked around to the driver's side.
The truck pulled out of the corner of the gas station in reverse before leaving at a gentle pace from the premisis.
The truck parked at the side of the highway, only a mile away from the Maryland-West Virginia state-line. From the driver's side, a dark figure stepped out and walked around to the back of the vehicle. The man opened the tail-gait and slid a wooden box, about five feet long, three feet wide and three feet deep. He lifted the empty crate down to the ground and slid it around to the passenger's side of the truck. He opened the lid of the box as well as the door on the pick-up. The unconcious figure of the teenage gas station clerk sat hunched over on the front seat. The man lifted the kid out of the truck and down to the wooden box. With the teenager laying neatly in the crate, the man reached back into the truck and lifted out a black bag from behind the seat.
The man opened up the bag to reveal various tools and bottles filled with clear liquids. Setting to work, the man turned the boy onto his side so as to get at his right arm. Pulling out a pair of long scissors, the man cut through the teen's shirt and removed the right sleeve. He replaced the scissors, and, using a freshly heated knife, made and insition in the skin of the well-defined bicep muscle. The cut went all the way from the shoulder to the elbow joint and two other cuts circled half way around the shoulder and the elbow. The gloved fingers of the man's left hand and a knife from the bag slowly caused the skin to let go of the underlying muscle. Once the skin was folded back, he took out another knife, it was only three inches long and had a very strait and sharp blade. Moving down towards the elbow he used the knife to cut away the tendons that held the bicep to the bone. At the shoulder, another tendon was cut, and the muscle was pulled away with ease.
The heavy piece of flesh was lowered in to a bag which was then placed in a small cooler that sat between the two seats of the truck. The man then turned back to the boy laying in the box. He stared for a moment before grabbing another tool from his bag, a sharp rod with a curved point. Using this and another small knife, he punctured the right eye of his victim and held it in place as he edged the knife around the side of the teenager's eye, cutting away the muscle and optic nerve. The eye was soon loose and then placed into another small plastic bag, which in turn was set next to the first in the small cooler.
The man then opened up the glove compartment and took out a deck of cards. He riffled through them and found the card he was looking for. He crumpled it up into a small ball and placed it into the empty socket that was starting to pool with blood.
As a simpithetic jesture to the young man, he took from the black case, a small bottle of clear liquid and a sirynge. Filling the syringe with a few milligramms of the liquid, the man punctured the skin of the boy's neck and injected the liquid.
He threw the now empyt bottle of cyanide into the black case, which he closed. He then closed the wooden box and got back in to his car.
There was never anything good on the radio, but he decided to try. He scanned quickly past the stations of rock and roll to find his favorite. The enchanting Goldburg Variations, by Glenn Goulde.