A Rug and a Van

 

A Rug and a Van

The first time you kill a man is the hardest.  I’ll never forget my first.  It was late on a warm summer night at a beach bar, after everyone in the crowd was loosened up by drink.   I met this cute guy, got a few drinks in him, and took him home.  When he told me he was married, I lost my cool, stabbed him in the chest and rolled his body up in a rug.  When I hauled him away in my work van, no one suspected a thing, because I sold rugs for a living and delivered them in the van.     

The dead cheater’s widow was interviewed on TV.  She had children, a mortgage, no savings, and nowhere to turn.  Feeling guilty, I maxed out her dead husband’s credit cards, bought watches and jewelry, and sent her the proceeds anonymously.  It was the perfect crime, plus it took a cheater out of circulation and helped his widow move on. 

It was so easy that I went out to another bar, met another cute guy, took him home, and found out he was also a cheating husband.  Using the same method as before, I stabbed him, rolled him up in a rug, hauled him away in my van, and dumped him in a swamp ten miles out of town.  Then I maxed out his credit cards on watches and jewelry and sent the proceeds to the widow.  The first kill had been the hardest, but I was beginning to get the hang of it.    

The police eventually discovered the bodies, the credit card records and bar receipts.  All the evidence pointed to me, so a detective came to question me.  She was fairly certain I was the murderer, but she had a cheating husband of her own, so she looked the other way.  She never filed her report but put it in a cold case file.   

After publicity about the killings died down, the detective returned to my shop with a black eye hidden under her dark glasses and asked me if she could buy a rug and rent a van.