Reverse Metamorphosis book one of the Irrevocable Change trilogy Read Online Free PDF

the handlebar. Nothing bright and
flashy. With what was found at Jimmy’s house, additional items from
his house, and articles bought at re-sale shops in adjoining towns,
he was ready.
    Saturday evening at eight o’clock he entered
the nursery on the dirt bike from the access road at the rear of
the plant fields. The bike was running great and wouldn’t be any
problem. Driving through the fields of deciduous and then conifer
trees, he made his way to the planting and equipment sheds. He knew
the flatbed truck was running because he had made several trips by
the business during the past week to see if it had been moved.
After breaking the glass in the back door of the office to gain
entry, keys to the truck and a fork truck were located on the key
board in a hallway. Two pallets of sod were loaded on the flat bed
with the fork truck to give the truck added weight. The dirt bike
was loaded onto the truck, tied down, and the truck driven out the
back way, between the fields and to the blacktop road through the
previously entered gate. So far, so good, Clay said to himself.
    The trip to the quarry took thirty five
minutes in the big diesel. It had fair pick up and could run better
than eighty mile an hour. Reaching the quarry, he cut the chain on
the gate with bolt cutters and draped the chain around the gate
after the truck was driven through. At a spot previously picked
out, the dirt bike was unloaded and hidden in the brush along with
items in a cardboard box. A section of the chain link fence was cut
on one side with bolt cutters, and dragged back to the next post
creating a ten foot wide opening. The truck was turned around,
driven back to the gate and parked along the highway while the
chain was again fixed to look like the gate was locked.
    It was close to ten thirty when he arrived at
the roadhouse, drove through the parking lot, located the black
Chevy and verified the license plate number. After circling the
parking lot and driving across the highway to the back side of the
truck stop, the truck was parked in the meager shadows cast by the
lights at the fuel pumps. It was much lighter than he would have
preferred. Then the long wait began. The truck was high enough to
afford a clear view of the entrance at the front of the roadhouse.
The wait was torturous and he felt the same sick feeling starting
in his stomach he’d experienced several months ago after the
episode at a similar joint.
    He thought back to when he had joined the Cub
Scouts and met Jimmy for the first time; they were seven. As they
grew older, both went to the same junior and senior high schools.
Finally, his mom and step-dad had given up trying to keep them
apart. Neither of his parents could condone being associated with
Tony Giliano and his family; a man frequently linked to criminal
activities by the newspapers. He remembered how early on his mother
was especially adamant about his staying away from Jimmy.
    Tony owned a farm west of Chicago and would
take both boys there for hunting, fishing and camping. When he and
Jimmy turned sixteen both passed their drivers license exams; Tony
and Anna gave Jimmy a new 1965 Chevy Chevelle Super Sport
convertible for his birthday. Sixteen years old and a new red
convertible with a white top, man that was something. Clay spoke
softly, “I can’t believe you’re gone Jimmy.”
    The evening temperature was in the upper
sixties, and with a light breeze blowing, Clay had both windows
rolled down. His clothing was all items purchased during the past
week at resale shops and yard sales. All would be disposed of later
before he went home. The shotgun was loaded, wrapped in used dark
blue towels and placed behind the seat. The short barrel revolver
was in his right jacket pocket. Several M-80 fire crackers were in
the left jacket pocket with a cigarette lighter. The other items
were in a canvas bag with a shoulder strap, setting in the seat.
Music from the truck radio was helping to keep him calm; it was