Even Steven Read Online Free PDF Page B

lobe of his brain reached out and gave him a good slap.
    If ever in his life there’d been a bad time to use a credit card—with all of its traceability—this was it. It’d have to be cash. He checked his reserves, found two twenties, and went ahead and set the pump. He lifted the nozzle, flipped the lever, just as he was supposed to, and nothing happened.
    It shouldn’t be this complicated, he thought, and then the speaker popped in the roof of the pump island, startling the bejesus out of him. “You’ve got to pay first,” said a groggy adolescent voice. Bobby peered through the windows of the Explorer to see a zit-faced kid behind the glass, waving at him.
    Leaving the pump handle dangling out of the tank, Bobby stepped over the hose and made his way toward the squatty glass building that advertized itself as a Mini-Mart. An electronic bell pinged as he opened the door, and the kid behind the counter wrestled himself to his feet.
    “How much do you want? Whoa, are you okay? What happened to your face?”
    Clearly the visual effects of his fight were worse than the physical ones. “I was just born ugly, I guess.” No way was he going to explain anything to this kid. “Let’s shoot for twenty bucks’ worth. You’ll give me change, right, if it doesn’t take it all?”
    “Course,” the kid said. “Wouldn’t stay in business very long if we stole people’s money.”
    A Kit Kat bar on the first rack inside the door caught Bobby’s attention, and as he reached for one of the orange packets, a picture of a smiling baby on a box distracted him. They sold Pampers here, too. Well, he could sure use some of them. And some of those wipe things, too, to clean babies’ butts.
    He brought his booty to the checkout counter and nearly fell over when the kid said, “With gas, that’ll be forty-four dollars and thirty-seven cents.”
    “Holy cow,” Bobby gasped.
    The kid smiled. “We ain’t the cheapest, but we’re the only place open for thirty miles.”
    You had to give him credit for honesty. “Tell you what, then,” Bobby said. “Put me down for fifteen dollars in gas, and then the rest here.”
    Susan still had not moved by the time he wandered back to the truck, though she stirred as he opened the back door.
    “What’s going on?” she asked.
    “I just stopped to get some gas and essentials.”
    Susan saw the diapers and smiled. “That was sweet.” She shifted around in the seat, drew one leg under her, and closed her eyes again.
    The Explorer drank every bit of the fifteen dollars’ worth, with thirst to spare. Bobby returned the nozzle to its slot in the pump and was on his way back to the driver’s seat when he saw the pay phone at the far edge of the parking lot.
    This was his chance, he told himself; his chance to do the right thing. But what would he say?
    Hi, there, my name’s Robert Martin, and I just killed a police officer….
    No, that wouldn’t do at all, would it? Truth be told, he didn’t have to say anything to anybody. He could just go on his merry way, and maybe nothing would ever come of any of this. Maybe no one would happen by the body in the woods for months—until long after the remains had been carted off by animals, or at least until the body had deteriorated far enough that it was no longer recognizable. How long would that take? he wondered. In this weather, as cold and dry as it had been, probably a long time.
    He found himself approaching the phone booth even before he knew what he was doing. Just let it go, his brain screamed. Just drive on and take your chances.
    But a man was dead, goddammit. When somebody did get around to finding the corpse—and one way or another, he knew they would—they’d call it a homicide, and the hunt for the killer would never end. Never. The statute of limitations on murder ran without end in every state in the Union. He knew that much from a lifetime of cop shows. Over time, he’d crumble under the weight of it all. He knew he