Bicycle Shop Murder by Robert Burton Robinson (parable of the sower read online .TXT) 📕
Greg heard a man shouting in the background, then a commotion. The phone went dead. He felt sick and helpless, like a kid who had just been spun on a merry-go-round at breakneck speed until he flew off. And the dizziness would not soon go away.
Greg wanted to call the police, but what would he tell them? And why did she call him instead of 911? He would call her back. No, he couldn't--he didn't have her number.
Then he felt something on his leg. The ice cream was melting beneath the chocolate shell, and it had collapsed under its own weight, and fallen onto the bed of napkins in his lap.
Still dazed, he sat for a full minute studying the ice cream as it dripped down the sides of the cone onto his hand and arm. Gradually the streams of white turned to pink, then to red-- running down Cynthia's face! A cold chill ripped through his body, and jolted him back to reality. He dropped the cone onto t
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“I could never have done that. No matter how loveless my marriage was, or how abusive Troy became—I could never have cheated on him. It’s just not right.”
“But, you needed to get out of that situation. You needed to divorce him.”
“I know. And I would have found a way out—eventually. But I still wouldn’t have cheated on him. I made a promise before God that I would stay committed to him. And that’s what I did. But I didn’t love him anymore. He literally beat the love out of me.”
“Yeah. You can’t make yourself keep loving someone.”
“No. But you can make yourself stay faithful.”
“Cynthia, you are an amazing woman.” Obviously, she had not killed Troy. How could he have even thought such a terrible thing about her?
“So, what was it that made you move from Longview to Coreyville?”
“Well, the divorce forced me to resign my position at the church. Their charter states that ministers of the church must have only one wife—which means you can’t be on the church staff if you’re divorced. Even if you remarry. So, I knew my days as a full-time music minister were over.
“I opened a private music studio in Longview. Fortunately many of the students I had taught for free at the church were willing to pay for lessons. Within in a few months, I was making enough money to get by on.”
“That worked out pretty well for you.”
“Yeah, it did. But before long, I was in a rut. Every time I thought I was finally ready to get out there and start dating, I would run into one of her relatives or a church member. It seemed like everybody blamed me for the divorce. And even though I knew it was only partially my fault, the guilt was eating at me.
“After four years of that, I needed to get away from there. Then a music director friend told me he had given my name to First Baptist Church in Coreyville. He said they were looking for a part-time music director, and the salary was not bad. I felt like a heavy load had been lifted from my shoulders when I moved to Coreyville. It’s a wonderful little town. Or, at least I thought so.”
*
As Marty stepped into the elevator, joining the people from a floor above, he looked out of place—but not in the way he usually looked out of place. A mom and dad, and two young children were dressed in their swimsuits, apparently on their way to the pool. Marty wore a dark blue suit, a white, starched shirt, and a maroon silk tie. He was ready. Tonight would be the night.
He strode through the lobby and out the main entrance, into the July East Texas night. He felt like a sitting duck, as he followed the sidewalk to the Denny’s Restaurant. It wouldn’t take much of a sharpshooter to knock him off right now, he thought.
*
John X was busy scoping out the hotel. He had already developed a completely different plan of attack. He would have had a clean shot at Marty as he walked to Denny’s, but John X had something better in mind. It was a scenario he had never tried before. He would take one shot—and that shot had to be perfect. Then, he would have adequate time to escape through the rear exit.
His only regret was that he would not be able to get a video of the kill. Oh, it was going to be so beautiful. He had taped some of his executions, and enjoyed watching them over and over, while gorging on popcorn, Hershey bars, and Dr. Pepper. But this would be the coolest kill yet.
Sometimes his job was better than sex.
John X had watched as Marty walked out of the Holiday Inn, across the sidewalk and into Denny’s. He figured he had at least thirty minutes before Marty returned to the hotel. His wireless network camera and Motorola Q PDA had been well worth the expense. The tiny camera was capable of transmitting video across the internet. With the Q, he could browse the web and pick up the video images.
He positioned the camera on the inside window ledge next to the lobby entrance. He would wait near the big screen TV, which was across from the two elevators, and would be able to see Marty on the PDA as he approached the entrance to the lobby. John X loved using the latest gadgetry.
He would hide on the left side of the huge projection-type TV, behind some large potted plants. After Marty had stepped into an elevator and pressed the button, John X would shoot him just as the doors were closing. The sound of his silenced pistol would blend in with the pop of balls being hit by tennis pros on the TV.
Marty would be carried to the second floor, the door would open and somebody would discover his body. Or maybe nobody would be waiting for an elevator, and he wouldn’t be found for several minutes. Either way, John X would be at least a couple of miles away in his stolen pickup by the time anyone was searching for the killer.
*
It didn’t take long for Buford to strip and get impatient with his young blonde hooker. “What’s taking you so long? You mustn’t keep daddy waiting.”
The hotel room was menial by Buford’s standards. But it was only $285 a night, and he would only be there for a couple of hours.
“Am I gonna have to come in there and get you?” That might be fun, he thought.
Before Buford had a chance to walk toward the bathroom door, she walked out, wearing a sexy ensemble consisting of a Victoria’s Secret bra and panties, made of a little bit of red silk—and a lot of nothing. He reached for her, but she had other ideas.
“No, no. Let’s try something different than what you’re used to.”
“Like what?”
“Okay. You lie on the bed face down, and I will give you a massage.”
“Honey, I’ve had plenty of massages.”
“Not like this one. Just trust me. You don’t have any heart trouble, do you?”
“No. Why?”
“‘Cause this is gonna get your heart pumping hard. Real hard.”
Buford leaped onto the bed.
She climbed on top of him and began to rub his back.
“Yeah, that feels good. But I’m ready for your special stuff. Lay it on me, Baby!”
“You sure you can handle it?” She reached behind her back and retrieved the hypodermic needle that was under her bra strap.
“Oh, yeah, I can handle it.”
“Okay, here goes.” She slowly scratched his back with one hand while she inserted the needle with the other. Then she quickly pressed the plunger all the way down.
“Hey—what was that? It felt like you pinched me.”
“That was from Marty.”
“From Marty?” Buford panicked.
“Yeah. Marty wants you to know that no matter what you do, or where you go, he can get to you. And if you try to kill him—you’re a dead man.”
Buford tried to get up, tried to knock her off his back. But he was already feeling weak, sick. “What did you do to me?”
“You have nothing worry about as long as you leave Marty alone. The shot I gave you will knock you out for a few hours. Sweet dreams.”
He wondered if she was telling the truth. He was feeling drowsy. But was he falling asleep—or was he dying? No, you can’t kill me, he thought. I’m gonna be governor of Texas! He wouldn’t give in to it. He would fight
His mind faded to black.
*
Marty ordered the Country Fried Steak, with an extra side of gravy, a loaded baked potato, and onion rings. He liked Denny’s menu choices, and ate there often. He was particularly impressed with the Coreyville Denny’s because the onion rings were really fresh and hot—not greasy. He loved great onion rings.
How had he stayed so thin? Maybe it was the three-pack-a-day smoking habit. His body was probably eaten up with cancer. It didn’t matter much now. There was a good chance he would be dead by sunrise. Maybe he should have ordered even more gravy and onion rings.
He wished he could have seen the reaction on Buford’s face when Carla drugged him and gave him Marty’s warning. Carla had been more than happy to do it for him.
Marty had met her right after getting out on parole. He had not been with a woman in eight years, and although he had thought she looked a little young, she was offering her services, and he was more than willing to pay. But as soon as he started kissing her, she began to cry. He knew he was ugly and had bad breath, but if she wanted to earn the money, she would do what it took without complaining.
She said she was sorry, but that she couldn’t go through with it. She explained that it was her first day on the job. She was 16 years old and had run away from her mean, drug-abusing mother.
The girl had only been on the streets a couple of days when she ran into Andrew. He was a smooth-talking young man who seemed nice. He offered her a good-paying job and place to live. Then he raped her repeatedly, and set her up as one of his hookers. She was scared to death of him.
It had been enough to kick in Marty’s weird sense of justice. He had murdered numerous people over the years, without remorse. But for some reason, this young girl’s story had pushed his buttons. He wanted to restore Carla’s innocence, to whatever degree possible. And he was determined to kill Andrew—with maximum brutality.
Marty had asked Carla to call Andrew and say she was quitting. When Andrew tracked her down, Marty was waiting nearby. Just as he started to hit Carla, Marty whacked the side of his head with the butt of his pistol. Andrew fell to the ground, disoriented.
Marty stood over him, and shot him in the leg. Then the other leg. Then each foot. Then each arm. Finally, as Andrew pleaded for his life, Marty shot him in the stomach. Then he and Carla walked away, leaving Andrew to bleed to death.
So, when Marty called up Carla and asked for a favor, she gladly agreed. In truth, nobody was going to carry out a hit on Buford if he killed Marty. But Buford wouldn’t know that for sure. He would worry himself to death about it. Hey—he might even be afraid to hire hookers.
It wasn’t as good as killing him, but it did make Marty smile, as he took another bite of chicken fried steak.
*
John X had one eye on the tennis match, one eye on the PDA. It had been an hour. Marty was taking his time. He hoped he would come soon, while the lobby was still deserted.
He checked the display on his PDA, and saw Marty walking toward the entrance of the hotel. So, he moved into position. Some women were walking from the back of the hotel, toward the elevators. No sooner than the women had passed by, Marty walked into the left elevator.
But somebody else had just come into the lobby. John X could hear a woman’s heels on the ceramic tile. And
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