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

the
“Oldies but Goodies” country western station. Crying in your beer
lyrics was appropriate to the job. His hands were sweaty, not just
due to anticipation, but because of the leather gloves being used
to prevent leaving finger prints. His greatest concern was O’Neil
changing his routine or picking up a woman. A thermos bottle full
of water was for sipping, but an effort had to be made not to drink
too much. He snickered to himself as a thought sped through his
mind; he imagined he was ready to shoot O’Neil and had to tell him,
wait a minute, I have to pee.
    People had been coming and going from the bar
all evening, but finally the figure he was waiting for headed
toward the black truck. He was alone: thank God he had not been
able to pick up one of the pigs at the Hog House. The time was
one-o-six a.m. The Diesel engine roared to life, at the same time
O’Neil was getting in his truck When O’Neil started the Chevy and
turned on the headlights, Clay was already steering the flatbed out
onto the highway. The big truck came up to fifty easily and was
held there until O’Neil caught up with him and passed. There were
several stop lights on the route and timing would be crucial to
staying close to the Chevy. Traffic was light on the two lane road
in the early morning hours. As the first stop light came into view
he pulled the flatbed closer to the pick-up and just caught the red
light as he sped through. The big truck slowed until there was at
least a hundred and fifty feet between them again. Clay noticed his
breathing had quickened and his skin had a clammy feeling in
addition to the rumbling going on in his stomach. They had green
lights the rest of the way and soon were approaching his chosen
spot. Only one car had passed them in the opposite lane.
    In the distance he could see the orange
tinted light cast from the light fixtures at the overpass. No
vehicle lights were in sight behind him and a car coming from the
opposite direction was just clearing the overpass. The big truck
began to close the distance to the pick-up and by the time they
were at the start of the extra lanes it had momentum and speed to
go around. The pick-up stayed in the left lane and Clay took the
right, getting along side the pick-up several hundred feet from the
overpass. At what he judged and prayed to be the right moment, he
turned the steering wheel sharply to the left, hitting the pick-up
broadside, forcing it into the guard rail. He later would recall
the loud screeching from metal scraping and tearing as they hurled
along the shoulder; both drivers standing on the brakes trying to
bring their vehicles to a stop. The center support under the
overpass was approaching at unimaginable speed, even though they
were slowing with every foot. When the pick-up hit the concrete
support, it stopped instantly, pushing the front left bumper,
fender and grill back at least two feet. Because of the sudden
impact the rear of the pick-up was forced to the right, against the
flatbed. The big truck continued another three feet before it came
to a stop. The engine died, and was quickly restarted. No vehicles
were visible in front or behind, so he left the rubber Halloween
mask on the seat. Before opening the door he grabbed the canvas
bag, and then jumped out of the truck and onto the concrete pier.
O’Neil was trapped in the cab with the guardrail on one side and
the bigger truck bed against the passenger door. Although O’Neil
had been drinking, he appeared to comprehend what was happening.
Clay removed the pistol from his pocket, put one foot out near the
center of the pickup's hood and leaned forward. When Jerry O’Neil
saw the gun he sensed the wreck was not just an accident. Clay
elevated the gun, to clear the dashboard, and put three rounds into
O’Neil’s crotch and stomach. Stepping off the hood and back on to
the concrete support base, he crossed the guardrail to reach the
drivers side of O’Neil’s truck. Raising the gun again he shot