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Jack's Mess (Prt1-Thirty Days To Kill) (standard:action, 31026 words) [1/2] show all parts
Author: Reid LaurenceAdded: Dec 10 2005Views/Reads: 2630/1732Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A psychotic murderer, Jack Carter earns his place among serial killers of his day amidst an era of machine-gun-wielding gangsters, crooked cops and beautiful women. He learns to kill indiscriminately, leaving behind a trail of blood and a stack of bodie
 



He leaned his weight against the side of the open door of the boxcar.
Looking out at the passing scenery, he wondered where he was. It had 
been two nights since he left Montgomery, Alabama, and all Jack Carter 
knew for sure was that he'd been headed west. On his way to Jackson, 
Mississippi, he hoped. At least there, he could get himself something 
to eat and, hopefully, find himself a job. At six-foot four, Jack was 
considered a large man by most, but he wasn't just tall, he was very 
strong. He knew he was capable of bending thick steel reinforcing bars 
in his bare hands or lifting great weight, and he looked every bit the 
part. By now, Jack's latest new friend lay slumped over in a far corner 
of the train car. He looked very tired, when in fact, he was just very 
dead. Jack had a tendency to wear out new relationships awfully 
quickly. Jack liked the practice of changing identity. It gave him a 
chance at a fresh start and a way to avoid conflict with the law. A 
person might think that killing someone would create that conflict, but 
to a man like Jack, it became a good way to cover his tracks as he went 
from town to town. That way, he rarely attracted attention to himself. 
There was always a different guy who worked on Jack's behalf, and 
always a different town to work in. He walked over to the man he'd just 
finished choking. Jack had seen death many times before. He'd learned 
to take the time to stand back and enjoy his handiwork. He carefully 
studied the expression on the corpse's face. The poor guy looked so 
surprised, thought Jack, as he put his fingers over the man's eyes and 
closed them. “Good,” he said to himself. “Now he's only sleeping.” Jack 
had a talent for rationalizing his actions. He was just a bum anyway, 
Jack thought, as he rifled through the man's pockets and pulled out his 
wallet. The first thing Jack noticed as he opened the wallet was a 
black and white photo of a young woman. She had her hair brushed up 
over her forehead and wore the sides long and curly, down to her 
shoulders. Her features were sharp, and her cheekbones and jaw line 
appeared to be more chiseled then most. She was a good-looking girl. 
Better looking than most of the girls he'd seen. He pulled the picture 
out completely, and tossed it out of the open door of the moving train. 
There were two other photos inserted in the wallet that caught Jack's 
attention. One was a picture of a little boy, about six or seven years 
old. The other, a girl with a doll held draped over her shoulder, 
probably ten or eleven years old. Jack looked as if he were studying 
the pictures very carefully as he pulled them from the leather billfold 
and methodically tore them into small fragments. He held the pieces of 
shredded photos in his hand and let them go, out the open door, in the 
passing breeze of the train. One by one, the shreds left his hand like 
confetti from a parade. Jack didn't have a very deep regard for human 
life. The next thing he noticed, as he pulled the rest of the wallet 
open, was thirty dollars in cash. He could always use the money. He 
removed the three ten-dollar bills from their compartment and stuffed 
them into his pants' pocket. He also removed the man's driver's license 
that he hadn't noticed until now. It was a Georgia state license issued 
to a Mr. Bill Bradley. The expiration date read July 15, 1936. It was 
still good for another year, and from the description on the license, 
Jack could see that the deceased Mr. Bradley was six-foot two inches 
tall and weighed two hundred pounds. The physical description wasn't 
far from his own, and Jack grinned, knowing that he'd soon be passing 
himself off as Mr. Bill Bradley. “Maybe I should tell people to call me 
William?” he said, as he laughed aloud to himself. “I could do with a 
little respect. Hell, who knows, that might just do it.” Just then, 
Jack turned his head to listen to the loud shrill whistle of the train. 
He knew it was either near an intersection with a road, or near a town, 
or both. He didn't have a watch on and couldn't tell what time it was, 
but he remembered he saw one on the corpse's wrist. Once again, he 
walked over to where the body lay, picked up the lifeless left arm of 
his victim and removed the time piece from its wrist. “Hey, it's still 
ticking,” he said to himself. “Looks like two-forty. Hope it's right. I 
can still get dinner somewhere. God, I'm hungry.” Some minutes later, 
Jack found himself right where he wanted to be. As the train pulled 
into its station, he saw a sign which read Welcome to Jackson, 
Mississippi. He could hardly wait, he hadn't eaten anything in two days 
and his stomach reminded him constantly. Before the train came to a 
stop, he jumped from the car, but before he did, he made sure he closed 
the boxcar door as much as he could. The further away he could get from 
the dead man he left behind, the better off he'd be. “No sense in them 
discoverin' old Bill before I can get dinner,” he said to himself. As 
long as he could put a few miles between himself and the late Mr. 
Bradley, he knew he wouldn't have to worry about getting caught. He 
walked down Bailey Avenue and looked for a restaurant. He spotted a 
place called Mary's Diner and made his way inside. Sitting at the 


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