The Guilty - Jason Pinter [123]
the ravings of a murderer as he discussed why he was going
to kill her, her eyes growing wider. The fear in her eyes made
me want to forget the gun pointed at my head, run over and
throw my arms around her. But I knew I couldn't. I was the
reason Amanda was here right now. I mouthed I'm sorry.
Amanda didn't react.
"So here's what's going to happen," Roberts said. "Davies,
you're going to come with me. Parker, you're going to sit and
watch like a gentleman."
"What makes you think I'm going to do a damn thing?" I spat.
The Guilty
357
Roberts took a step back, then drove the butt of the gun into my
stomach. I doubled over, gasping for air, bile surging upward.
While I was on the ground, he went over to Amanda,
grabbed her by her bound hands and lifted her up out of her
chair. She tried to struggle, but Roberts was strong.
He pushed her in front of him, the rifle pointed at her
head. He marched Amanda into the conference room. The
windows faced the street. It was a beautiful day. Ordinarily I
could sit at my desk and watch the sun reflect off the towers
in Rockefeller Center. Now I had to watch dozens of cops and
reporters crowd the sidewalk. Cameras recording every
second, waiting for something to headline their newscast or
make their page one.
I crawled into the room, my legs still too weak to carry me.
Roberts walked up to the window, then he took the rifle and
swung it at the glass, shattering it. Dozens of shards tumbled
outward and I heard them sprinkle against the pavement.
Suddenly he shoved Amanda's face toward the window. I
could hear her gasps, her sobs, still trying to get free. I struggled to find my footing. I knew that all those cameras were
focused on the face of William Henry Roberts as he held my
girlfriend, Amanda, hostage. And I knew, in that instant, he
was going to kill her for the cameras. He was going to give
them their page one.
"You sick fuck," I breathed, holding a table for balance.
"This isn't about her or me. It's about you. You and your sick
fucking family."
Roberts turned slightly, looked at me. "I wouldn't expect
you to understand, Henry. But after Amanda dies, you will."
I heard a click, knew that the Winchester was loaded and
ready to fire. Amanda struggled, but his other arm was
clamped around her neck, nearly cutting off her air supply.
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Jason Pinter
"Billy the Kid was a fraud," I said. "He was as much a hero
as a donkey's ass. He was a scrawny little prick who happened
to have good aim. His legacy is worth squat, just like yours.
Nobody will remember you tomorrow. You'll be dead, and
people will move on like you never existed." The anger
seethed through my voice, my veins felt like they were on fire.
I took another step closer, saw Roberts's finger tighten on the
trigger.
I heard a fluttering sound from outside, a fwap fwap fwap
that could only have been a helicopter, homing in on us from
an unseen direction. Staring at the building across the street,
I could see windows opened, marksmen waiting for a clean
shot to take out Roberts. They couldn't do it with Amanda in
the way. They needed a clean shot. They needed separation.
Roberts was ignoring me, speaking to Amanda. "Miss
Davies, like so many others before you, you will accomplish
much more in death than in life. Henry, I trust you'll know
what to make of all this. I know you'll know how to properly
record my history."
I stepped forward again, spoke louder.
"Tell me," I said. "How did it feel to see your mother
getting fucked by that priest?"
Roberts's finger slipped off the trigger. I saw the gun waver
slightly. He didn't turn. Didn't look at me.
"Your mom, Meryl, I guess your father couldn't show her
God so she had to try someone a little closer to the almighty.
Bet Dad was proud, too. Bet he watched them. Bet you
listened in, you freak, watched Mark Rheingold leave your
house late at night, early in the morning. Bet your mom left
him something nice on the collection plate."
"Shut your fucking mouth," Roberts