Jack Kilborn - Serial Uncut

Didnt anyone ever tell you about the dangers of hitchhiking? the driver said. You never know whos going to pick you up.

Donaldson wiped sweat from his brow and eyed the driver through the half-open passenger side window of the Lincoln Continental. The driver was average-looking, roughly Donaldsons age, dressed in a dark suit that matched the cars paint job.

Im roasting out here, man, Donaldson said. And it wasnt far from the truth. Hed been walking down this desolate highway for damn near three hours in the abusive, summer sun. My car died. If you want to rob or kill me, thats fine, as long as you have air conditioning.

Donaldson forced a bright smile, hoping he looked both pathetic and non-threatening. It must have worked, because the man hit a switch on his armrest, and the door unlocked.

Must be nice being rich, Donaldson mused at the fancy automatic locks. Then he opened the door and heaved his bulk onto the leather seat.

Thanks, he said.

The car was cooler than outside, but not by much. Donaldson wondered if the mans air worked. He placed his hand against the vent, felt a trickle of cold leaking out.

Happy to help a fellow traveler. Im Mr. K.

Donaldson.

Neither made a move to shake hands. Mr. K checked his mirror, then gunned the 8-cylinder engine, spraying gravel as the luxury car fishtailed back onto the asphalt.

Donaldson adjusted his bulk, shifting the. 38 hed crammed into the front pocket of his jeans. The pants were loose enough, and Donaldson portly enough, that he doubted Mr. K noticed.

Youre sunburned, Mr. K said.

Sunll do that to you.

Donaldson touched his bare forearm, lobster red, and winced. Then he flipped down the visor mirror, saw how bad his face was. It looked like his old man had slapped the shit out of him, and hurt almost as much.

Your car a Pinto? Mr. K asked.

My car?

A Pinto. Saw one about five miles back.

Donaldson contemplated the harm in admitting it. He supposed it didnt matter. Before hed abandoned the car, hed wiped it clean of fingerprints.

Yeah. Blew a rod, I think.

Why didnt you wait for the police?

Again, Donaldson deliberated before answering. I dont like pigs, he finally said.

Mr. K nodded. Donaldson doubted the man shared his sentiment. His hair was short, he was well-dressed, and he owned a fancy car. Cops wouldnt hassle him. They were too busy hassling people with long hair and beards and ripped jeans.

People like me.

The highway stretched onward, wiggly heat waves rising off the tarmac. There wasnt much traffic. Only about twenty cars had passed Donaldson during his long walk, and not one had so much as slowed down. Bastards. Whatever happened to human compassion?

Did you kill the cars owner before you stole it? Mr. K asked.

Alarm bells sounded in Donaldsons head. He frantically pawed at his. 38, but Mr. K slammed on the brakes.

Donaldson bounced off the dashboard, smacking his sunburned nose hard. During the momentary disorientation, he was aware of Mr. K throwing the car into park, unbuckling his seatbelt, and pressing a thin-bladed knife under Donaldsons double chin with one hand, while digging the. 38 from Donaldsons front pocket with the other.

You should buckle up, Mr. K said. Seatbelts save lives.

Mr. K stuck the knife into his breast pocket, belted himself back in, then hit the gas. The tires screamed and the Continental shot forward.

Im bleeding, Donaldson said, his hands cupped around his nose. He knew it was a stupid, obvious thing to say, but he was still dazed and trying to buy some time.

Tissues in the glove compartment.

Donaldson dug them out, feeling more ashamed than hurt. This guy had gotten the better of him much too easily. As he mopped the blood from his face, Mr. K pressed a button to open the passenger side window.

Throw the used ones outside, please.

Donaldson went through ten tissues, tossing each one onto the road whizzing by. Then he ripped one more into pieces, balled them up, and shoved them into each nostril, staunching the trickle. He kept an eye on Mr. K the entire time, alternating between watching the mans eyes, and watching the. 38 pointed at him.

This is a real bad situation.

I dont enjoy repeating myself, but you hit that dashboard pretty hard, so Ill ask one more time. Did you kill the driver before you stole the Pinto?

Donaldson knew he was screwed, but he didnt want to get himself even more screwed.

You a cop? he asked, not sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing.

The barest flash of mirth crossed Mr. Ks face. No. But your biggest worry right now shouldnt be getting arrested. Your biggest worry should be the hole Im going to put in your head if you dont answer me.

The gears began to turn in Donaldsons head. How the hell do I get through this? Talk my way out?

You wont shoot me, Donaldson said, surprised by how calm he sounded.

No?

Youd ruin your car.

Again, a faint hint of a smile. Its not my car. And you still havent answered my question.

Mr. K thumbed back the hammer on the pistol.

Donaldson contemplated his own death-the first time in his life he ever had-and decided dying would be a very bad thing.

I killed him, Donaldson said quickly.

Mr. K seemed to think about this. He nodded slowly. Was it someone you knew?

No. Jumped him in a parking lot in Sarasota. Wouldnt have wasted the bullet if I knew what a piece of crap his car was.

Donaldson watched Mr. Ks eyes. They betrayed nothing. The two of them might as well have been talking about the weather.

Howd it feel? Mr. K asked.

How did what feel?

Killing that man.

What kind of freaky talk is this? Donaldson thought, but all he said was, I dunno.

Sure you do. Did it feel good? Bad? Numb? Did it get you excited? Did you feel guilty afterward?

Donaldson thought back to the day before. To holding the gun to the mans ribs. Seeing the shock in his eyes when he squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times. Watching him flop to the ground in a way that had struck him as funny. The holes in his chest had made sucking sounds, blowing tiny blood bubbles.

Excited, Donaldson said.

Did he die right away?

No.

Did you stay and watch him die?

Yeah.

How long did it take?

Its so strange that were both so calm about this.

Donaldson shrugged. Few minutes, I guess.

Did you do anything else to him?

Like what?

Did you hurt him first? Mr. K raised an eyebrow. Rape him?

Donaldson scowled. Do I look like a queer to you?

What does being a homosexual have to do with it? You had a human being at your mercy. That excited you. Im asking if you capitalized on that opportunity. If you made the most of it.

Donaldson thought about it. The guy had been at his mercy. Hed begged for a while when Donaldson pulled the gun, and that was kind of a turn-on.

I didnt rape him, Donaldson said.

Could you have raped him?

Donaldson licked some dried blood off of his top lip, let the salty, copper taste linger on his tongue. Yeah. I couldve.

This answer seemed to satisfy Mr. K. He was quiet for over a minute.

The road stretched out ahead of them like a giant black snake.

Empty swampland and blue skies as far as Donaldson could see.

I cant believe Im telling him this stuff. Is it because hes threatening to kill me?

Or because he understands?

Howd you know? Donaldson asked.

Know what?

That I stole that car?

Mr. K offered a half-smile. I saw the gun in your pocket when you stopped, along with your clumsy attempt to hide it. You should get an ankle holster, or stuff it in your belt at the small of your back. You obviously arent a Florida native, or youd have a tan already. That means you flew in or drove in. If you flew, you probably wouldve had a rental car, and those are usually new. That Pinto was an old model. When you first got in, I noticed the powder burns on your shirt, and under your rather oppressive body odor, you smell like gunpowder.