Man of Wax Read Online Free PDF

you’ve never stolen anything before. Please don’t tell me you’re that self-righteous.”  
    “You want me to ... steal gas?”  
    He said, “Why no, Ben, of course I don’t want you to steal gas. I want you to steal something else, something much simpler.”  
    “What’s that?”  
    “A Snickers bar.”

 
     
     
    8

    As per Simon’s instructions, I went inside the station to pre-pay. The place was like any ordinary highway gas station, well lit with white tiled floors and racks of potato chips and pretzels and other snacks. The one wall was lined with sodas and bottled water and milk and orange juice, all kept nice and cold behind glass, where static clings announced sales and specials on Pepsi and Coke and Gatorade.  
    There was one person in line, a guy in jeans and a denim jacket telling the clerk which numbers he wanted to play for tonight’s lottery, so as I waited I made it a point to study the candy aisle. It was just one row over, positioned so the clerk had a good view. Shit. Not only that, there were cameras in every corner, all with small signs below them saying SMILE, but that didn’t really mean anything. The monitors for those cameras were probably in the back, where nobody was right now, and even if somebody did happen to be there, it wasn’t like they had their eyes on the screens all the time, right?  
    The clerk was an old black man, his hair and mustache gray, who looked at me tiredly when I told him I’d like fifty bucks on pump three. He took my sixty dollars, handed me back ten, and then I was back outside. I was farther away from the ocean now, from the beach, so I no longer smelled the salt in the air. What I smelled instead was gasoline, oil, and that ubiquitous odor of exhaust, which can be found in every major city around the world.  
    I walked to the Dodge and lifted the handle to the pump, unscrewed the gas cap and inserted the nozzle. Luckily there was a catch, which allowed me to keep the nozzle pumping on full so I could grab the McDonald’s bag off the passenger seat. Standing outside, watching the numbers cycling through on the pump, I had a couple of the fries, took a few bites into one of the Big Macs. All of it was cold so I tossed it in the garbage can beside the pump, and just waited.  
    A woman was on the other side of the island, conversing with the use of the Bluetooth in her ear while she gassed up her SUV. She wore sunglasses and was shaking her head, saying, “No, that’s wrong, that’s wrong,” again and again, making me suspect that she didn’t quite agree with the party on the other end.  
    Eventually the nozzle kicked, dislodging the catch. I replaced the nozzle on the pump, screwed back on the cap, and just stood there. The woman was still talking, waving her hand around now as if to prove a point, but I was barely listening. I’d been trying to think so far how I wanted to go about this. All I had to do was lift a Snickers bar, that was all, just one simple candy bar, place it in my pocket, and leave. Easy as cake. The only problem was I’d never stolen a thing in my life.  
    I headed back inside, an electronic bell sounding as the door opened and closed. The clerk hadn’t moved from his spot behind the counter. He wasn’t waiting on anybody—in fact, I was the only customer in here—and he looked at me with his tired eyes, as if to ask what I wanted now.  
    “Bathrooms?” I asked, and he lifted a hand, pointed a finger, and I started toward the back. I purposely went down the candy aisle, keeping my head straight while glancing at the candy at the same time. The Snickers bars were sandwiched between the Milky Ways and Butterfingers. Just waiting there for anybody to grab.  
    It appeared the last person who’d used the toilet in the men’s room hadn’t flushed. The smell of shit was rank, and I had to put a hand to my mouth and nose to keep from retching. An idea came to me and I pushed open the stall door, peered inside. Yep,