“You work for yourself?”
“Yep. BP hires me to service their small clients.”
They chatted about the weather and Chicago Bears prospects.
“This your last delivery?” the Executioner asked, keeping the air chuck mostly off the tire valves so he could keep the conversation going.
“One more. Then I head home,” the driver said.
“Where the missus has supper on the table, I trust.”
The driver’s face creased. “Lost my Bess a year ago. It’s just me and the cats now.”
“I’m sorry,” the Executioner apologized. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”
“Aw, hell, that’s all right,” the trucker said, slapping the side of his truck. No echo. The metal was thick, to prevent fires. The Executioner liked the irony. “Feels kinda good hearing her name in the wind, know what I mean?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
The nozzle clacked.
“Well, she’s full up,” the driver said, tugging the hose from the pipe. It reminded the Executioner of stripping entrails out of a steer. “Time to drive to Morris.”
“What’s there?”
“A plant nursery called, ‘We Sell Everything but Poison Ivy.’“
“That’s a mouthful.”
“I’ll say. But Miss Ivy pays promptly, so I say it like a mantra.”
They both laughed.
“A nursery requires gasoline?” the Executioner said.
“Sure. Gotta fuel the tractors and pickups and such.”
“Oh, right.”
“It’s a dandy end to my day, too. Plant sales in August are slim to none, so Ivy closes at three. Means I can stop for a sandwich on the way, and nobody’s drumming their fingers waiting for me to show up.” He removed his fishing cap, squeegeed off his dome. “I’ll drive in, drop my load, take off. Handle the paperwork over the computer.”
“Morris is a good place for a nursery,” the Executioner said, recalling it was forty miles southwest of Naperville. “Easy access from the interstate, but rural enough neighbors don’t complain about the noise.”
“Only thing in five miles is a farm,” the driver agreed. “And that’s abandoned.” He replaced the fill cover, rinsed off the hose, and closed up the truck.
“Nice talking to you, friend,” he said, climbing into the cab. “Have a good rest of the day.”
“You too,” the Executioner said.
A few minutes later, the truck was out of sight.
Followed by the Executioner.
6:19 p.m.
“How’s the tooth?” the grandma-strangler asked.
“Wiggles some,” Trent said. “But it’ll heal all right.”
“Cool. Be a shame losing something that first-rate.”
Trent nodded. He’d implanted a stainless-steel tooth in the hole Benedetti created during the 1990 arrest. Looked cooler than hell and burnished his rep as a bad-ass. He’d feared the COs dislodged it during the beat-down, but it turned out fine.
“So what’d you wanna talk about?” he said, stretching.
The strangler pried apart his food loaf. A couple of beet chunks flopped onto the floor. They were hard and greenish. He picked them up, popped them in his mouth. Get sick, win a stay of execution. That was the law.
“My brother got into town today,” he said, looking at the toilet in case Corey was embarrassed. “Couple cousins, too. Gonna witness my burn next week. So I was thinking I could, you know, if you want, ask ‘em to come by this Friday, too.”
“For what?”
“For your burn, man. You said no one’s gonna show for you. That sucks. You can have my family if you want. They’re good old boys. They won’t mind witnessing twice.”
Trent was deeply touched. Couldn’t say it, of course. But still.
“Naw,” he said, swatting the strangler. “Be all right. Just ‘cause my people’s a bunch of pansies doesn’t mean yours should do double-duty.” He grinned. “Not like I’m gonna die anyway.”
“Shee-it, boy, you gonna fry like hash browns,” the strangler said, chewing noisily. “Just like me the Friday next. So since we’re dead men talkin’, I want the no-shit truth from you.” His crossed eyes glinted. “Did you really cut that big ol’ cow into minute steaks?”
“Hell, no,” Trent said, still luxuriating at the feel of clean skin. He’d spent two hours scrubbing his five-nine’s nooks and crannies, scissoring his hair, and shaving his ratty-ass beard. The Row applauded when he came back from the shower. “I’ve never killed anyone in my life.”