MURDER TAKES TIME

Chapter 64

 

Rule Number Four―Murder Is Invisible

 

Current Day 

I got up early, drove to the park and let the car sit, then walked the rest of the way. All through the morning, I thought about how to kill Johnny Muck. He deserved something special. But he wouldn’t be easy. Johnny Muck was in a constant state of tension, ever-ready to strike out at someone. And if he struck, it was to kill. He had been a good teacher. Competent. Thorough. But everyone had a weakness. What was his?

I thought about it. He lived his life on alert. Never did anything as routine. Didn’t shop on the same days, not even in the same places. Went to different gas stations, laundries, fruit stands. He seldom took the same routes anywhere he went, even if it meant going miles out of the way. He always suspected tails, so he was nearly impossible to follow. He would slow down, wait until a light turned yellow, then run it, all the while checking to see if anyone followed. 

I tried to think of what Johnny liked. He ate almost any kind of food, so he didn’t frequent one restaurant. He never went to the movies, not that I knew. As I pondered the situation, it finally hit me. Johnny loved his windshield to be clean. He always complained about dirty windshields, and was one of the few people who liked the window-washers who used to assault people at the streetlights. After Giuliani cracked down on them, it was tough to get your windows cleaned. Johnny used to look for guys who still did it. That could be my ticket. I just had to think of a plan.

It took me a while to figure it out, but after having no luck trying to follow Johnny, I narrowed my scope down to a few streets where I knew that sooner or later, he would go by. One of them was Flatbush Avenue by Prospect Park. Johnny loved to drive by the park, though I don’t think he knew it was a habit. Once I remembered that, I used Johnny’s own rules to catch him. I disguised myself as one of the homeless window washers with old clothes from Goodwill, let my beard grow out to be scruffy, and pulled a dirty cap down far enough to cover my forehead. Dirt smudges on my face combined to round out the effect. I waited on the corner of one of the routes he’d probably take to get out of Brooklyn from Tito’s place, one that took him by the park. Had to wait eight days to finally catch him coming that way, and to get him at a red light. When I saw his car coming, I got up, made sure to use my best limp, and moved toward his car. 

“Window washed, mister?” I asked as I pointed toward his windshield.

“If you can hurry.”

I washed as fast as I could while faking the limp, and all the while, making sure my face was above his range of view. I pretended to drop something, and as I fumbled, I slipped a magnetic GPS under the wheel rim. By then the light was changing. I grabbed a few bucks from him and beat a hasty retreat. 

Three hours later, I found the car, removed the GPS, then waited until morning to see him come out of his house. It was a nice little neighborhood in Valley Stream about fifteen miles from Tito’s place. Single home with a well-kept yard and a detached garage out back. 

You’re mine now, Johnny.

That weekend I went to the hardware store just off Interstate 87 in New Jersey. It was a Saturday morning. No one would remember a face from a busy day like this. Aisle four had some of what I needed. I picked up one pound of sixteen-penny nails, four one-inch eye hooks, and a small drill, and put them all in the basket. The tool section had a nice twenty-two ounce claw hammer. Good grip on it too. Duct tape, superglue and rope rounded out the shopping list, which I paid for in the longest line, then loaded it in the trunk and returned to New York.