Shaken Read Online Free PDF Page A

anything?”
    “Dreams don’t mean anything at all, Herb. You know I don’t buy into that stuff.”
    “You do lack a certain spirituality.”
    I checked through the binoculars again. Our person of interest hadn’t returned. “I believe in facts, not superstition.”
    “How about chance? Coincidence? Fate?”
    “Fate is a future you didn’t work hard enough to change.” I read that on a blog somewhere and liked it.
    “Come on, Jack. Weird things happen all the time. Unexplainable, cyclical things.”
    “Such as?”
    “How about when you hear a new word, then a few days later you hear it again?”
    “Give me an example.”
    “The other day, on TV, someone said the word lugubrious . It means mournful.”
    “I know what it means,” I said.
    “Really? I had to look it up. Anyway, two days later, I’m at the butcher shop, and guess what word he uses?”
    “Bacon?”
    “ Lugubrious . Things like that get me thinking. It’s like hitting your finger with a hammer, and then ten years later, hitting it again in the exact same place. You could have hit any other finger, or any other spot. But it was right smack-dab on the previous injury. What does that tell you?”
    “That you shouldn’t be using a hammer.”
    Herb shook his head. “I think that maybe, just maybe, there is some sort of grand scheme to everything.”
    “You mean God?”
    “I mean maybe the universe has a sense of irony.”
    I didn’t agree, but I couldn’t completely disregard the comment either. Sometimes things did happen that could make you scratch your head.
    “Think this guy might really be Mr. K?” I asked.
    “Personally, I think Mr. K is an urban legend, started by one Dr. Horner to scare rookies and prove his BS about good and evil.”
    I recalled that police academy lecture, and probably still had the notes from it.
    “Over a hundred unsolved homicides, the only links being torture and ball gags,” I said.
    “Why do they have to be connected? Because the Feebies say so?”
    “You know my feelings about the Feds, Herb. But I’ve looked at these cases. The murder methods vary wildly, but there’s something about them that seems similar. Call it, I dunno, a tone .”
    “Not every murderer is a serial killer, Jack.”
    He was right. But I seemed to wind up dealing with more than my fair share.
    Herb put his hand in the bran box again, going for seconds.
    “If you spit bran in my car again, I’m firing you.”
    “Like it’s my fault you don’t have any milk. I almost choked to death. Horrible way to die.” I endured more munching sounds. “Didn’t Mr. K choke his last victim?”
    “Stuffed the guy’s junk down his own throat.”
    “While it was still attached?”
    “Severed first.”
    “Would have been more impressive if it was still attached.” Herb ate more bran. “Jesus, this is dry. It’s like eating sand, but with less flavor.”
    Herb put another handful into his mouth.
    Finally I said, “I think we should go in.”
    “I thought waiting for him was easier. Then we can grab him with whatever he brings out.”
    “But if we get him now, then we can check out his storage space ourselves. Probable cause, no warrant needed.”
    “I’m for staying in the car,” Herb said. “It’s hot out, and my feet hurt.”
    He had a point. It was hot. And chances were high the warehouse wasn’t air-conditioned.
    “Flip a coin?” I asked.
    He shrugged. “Okay.”
    I checked my purse but as expected didn’t find any change. I got rid of it whenever possible, not wanting to jingle when I walked. It used to annoy my ex-husband, Alan. I didn’t keep him, but I kept the habit.
    “Got any coins?” I asked Herb.
    “No. Vending machines are my nemesis.”
    “I thought your shoelaces were your nemesis.”
    Herb got a full aerobic workout whenever he tried to tie his shoes.
    “A cop of my longevity makes many enemies throughout his career.”
    “Check the ashtray.”
    Herb checked while I took another look through the