The Guilty - Jason Pinter [124]
"You claim all this is about bringing down Sodom and
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Gommorah, I say this is about some poor little kid who saw
his mommy getting drilled by the guy who passes around
communion wafers. You were pissed, so you killed him and
your whole family. How's that for the legacy of Billy the
Kid. His descendants were so messed up they couldn't
satisfy their wives. Think I'll take another trip down to Fort
Sumner, fix up that tombstone of his. Right now it says
'Pals.' I'm thinking it should say Billy the Kid: Always
Shooting Blanks."
For a split second, Roberts's face turned away from
Amanda and his eyes met mine. They burned in a way I
hadn't seen before. They were unfocused, angry, like he'd
begun to lose a bit of control. Though he was in fact a coldblooded murderer, in William's mind he was a savior.
"See," I said. "The way you're looking at me right now,
those aren't the eyes of a Regulator. They're the eyes of a guy
who kills for his own sick pleasure."
He swept his gaze back to Amanda, the rifle muzzle still
digging into the nape of her neck. Sobs were racking her body.
I had to separate them, get some distance. Just a little more...
"This whole show for the cameras? Might get page twelve
in tomorrow's paper, somewhere after the ninth episode of
Lost. You'll be forgotten before restaurants get their morning
sushi deliveries. And all that'll be left is your dead granddaddy.
You saw today's Dispatch, right? You know nobody believes
the truth. Nobody thinks Brushy Bill actually was Billy the Kid.
You're a fucking failure, Will. Just like your whole family."
Suddenly Roberts swung the rifle my way, that muzzle
aiming to blast my heart out. I knew it was coming. Once I
saw the look in his eyes, I knew he would kill me if I pressed
further. So I was ready.
I managed to grab the rifle's barrel before it measured my
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chest, swatted it upward as a gunshot shattered the air, white
plaster raining down like ash. I had only seconds. One thing
I'd learned about Winchesters, they were quick to reload.
"Amanda, run!" I shouted. She tried to move, but Roberts's
hand snaked out and grabbed her by the hair. He tried to hold
the Winchester with his other hand, but the long, heavy rifle
seemed to be too much. He struggled to bring it around and
get off another shot. Instead he whipped the barrel around and
caught me in the face.
I went down, my legs giving way. Blood began to trickle
into my eyes. I wiped it away, got back to my feet, saw that
horrible black muzzle lining up with my forehead. Roberts
had a sick grin on his face.
Then another shot rang out, and the grin disappeared.
A swell of blood blossomed just over Roberts's left
shoulder. I heard another sharp crack, saw a spark of light
come from the building across the street. The cops had set up
snipers. And they finally got their separation.
The second shot blew out a portion of Roberts's jacket by
his midsection, a gout of blood splashing onto the floor. His
eyes began to roll back in his head. He tried to bring the Winchester back up, but I grabbed it from his trembling hands.
Then everything just seemed to happen. Roberts began to
topple backward, and in a moment of horror I saw his body
was destined for the open window he'd shattered. His left
hand was still clutching Amanda's hair. Her hands bound, her
mouth gagged, she didn't have the balance to resist.
"No!" I shouted, as Roberts stumbled backward, hitting the
back of his legs on the windowsill. He teetered for a moment,
grinning at me, his face and chest a mass of dark blood.
Through bloodstained teeth I heard him say, "Let's go,
angel," before he fell backward, taking Amanda with him.
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I rushed forward, still holding the gun, and thrust the upper
half of my body out the window. Amanda was teetering over
the ledge, holding on with her legs as Roberts now clung desperately to her outstretched arms. His hands were slipping.
Below them I could see dozens of people scattering about as
they looked above, saw the