pounds, a Mack truck in seventh-grade weight. But I literally
ran around him until he could barely see straight, then one
punch to the stomach took away the last of his wind. He went
down like I’d stepped on an empty bag of potato chips.
The first fight I ever lost was against Kevin MacGruder in
the eleventh grade. I outweighed Kevin by twenty pounds. He
was president of the Math club. He had freckles and acne and
a rail-thin girlfriend we called Olive Oyl, and we mocked him
mercilessly. What I didn’t know is that to burn off the rage from
our taunts Kevin hit the free weights five times a week. He dislocated my shoulder, and I pissed blood for two days after he
kicked me in the kidney. I never messed with Kevin again.
In a strange way I was glad I knew this. William Roberts
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would tear me to pieces. Even if I was able to separate him
from the Winchester—which seemed as doable as separating
Linus from his blanket—I had to deal with the fact that he
could pound me into sirloin, expending less energy than it
took me to climb the stairs.
I was prepared to fight dirty.
But that didn’t mean I wasn’t scared shitless.
Adrenaline was pumping through me. It was working, my
rage concentrating.
I’d only visited Amanda at her office once. Actually I’d
meant to come more, but I could never get away from the
Gazette during working hours. Or more accurately, I didn’t
want to get away from the Gazette.
I tried to recall the office layout, seemed to remember
there being a conference room with a long, mahogany table,
several long-backed chairs and a speakerphone. I remembered Amanda’s desk. There was a picture of us in a silver
frame. I’d had it engraved for her. Only Happiness Lies Ahead.
I stood in the stairwell, moved closer to the door and pressed
my ear up against it. The stairwell was painted gray, dirt coated
the steps, and the metal was rusted. I glanced around, couldn’t
see any security camera, so I was fairly confident Roberts
wasn’t aware of my presence. I couldn’t hear anything inside
the office, but the metal was likely muffling all sounds. But it
couldn’t muffle a gunshot. And I didn’t hear any cops storming
the stairs. Roberts hadn’t killed anybody. Yet.
I gripped the doorknob, turned it ever so gently just to see if
it was locked. For a moment panic gripped me. If it was locked
from the inside, I wouldn’t be able to get in unless our friendly
neighborhood rifleman decided to let me join the party. And I
knew the cops wouldn’t greet me with open arms if I slunk back
downstairs. But the knob turned. I stopped for a moment.
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351
The last time I barged through a closed door unannounced
and unwanted, a cop ended up dead and I ended up on the run
for my life.
I took three short, quick breaths, then three long deep ones
and gripped the knob. It turned easily, and I eased it all the
way to the left until it wouldn’t go any farther. Then I listened.
Nothing.
I pushed the door slightly to make sure it moved inward.
It did.
I pushed it just enough to create a small crack between the
door and the jamb. I peeked inside.
I could see an elevator. An unmanned receptionist desk
with a tall, white orchid. Nothing else.
I pushed the door farther in, enough so that I could slip
inside. There were no sounds, nobody in view.
I stuck my head in, did a quick sweep, then crept inside
and tiptoed over and ducked behind the receptionist’s desk.
I poked my head out the side. There was a door which I
recalled as leading to the conference room. I couldn’t see
anything. No Roberts. No Amanda.
Nothing except for a quarter-sized circle of blood on the
middle of the carpet. My heart raced. I couldn’t see any
bodies. Nobody was screaming or crying. But he was here.
Somewhere.
And when I felt the muzzle of the Winchester rifle press
against the back of my neck, I knew for sure.
58
“You were watching the whole time,” I said as I stood up.
The gun followed me, the muzzle pressed against my flesh.
If my heart beat any faster, all I had to do was turn around
and it would burst through my chest, killing Roberts. Might
be worth a try.
“Yessir, I was,” he said. “Everything’s more exciting when
you’re being watched.”
“Sure it is. That’s why you called the press before the cops
could come,” I said. “You wanted us on the scene to ‘make
things more exciting.’”
“Yessir,” he said.
“If we got here first, the cops wouldn’t be prepared. You
knew I’d try to contact Amanda.You knew I’d try to get inside.”
“Yessir,” he said.
“Then you also know that this building is surrounded by
more ammunition than every Schwarzenegger movie combined. And cops whose trigger fingers will get epilepsy the
second they get you in their crosshairs.”
“Yessir, I do,” he said. Roberts didn’t seem the least bit
upset by this. His face was calm, serene even, like everything
was playing out perfectly.
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353
This was the first time I’d had a chance to study him from
close up. No bandanna, no bonds holding me down. He was
younger than I remembered. His short blond hair made him
look like a young twenty-one. It must have been easy for him
to pass through the city. Easy to get lost. He looked like
anyone’s brother. Son. His eyes didn’t contain the hate or evil
I thought they would. They contained as much levity as mine.
What lay behind those eyes might have been pure evil, but
the prism it shone through disguised it, altered it. He could
have been anyone.
“Same time, you can plan all you want but never really
be sure what’s gonna happen.” Roberts clicked his tongue.
And if my eyes weren’t deceiving me, even nodded his head
in an appreciative way. “Glad you’re here, Parker. Glad you
could make it.”
“Where’s Amanda?”
“Safe,” he said. “One thing I’ll say, that’s a strong female
there. Didn’t cry one bit. Didn’t beg for help. She did say your
name once, kinda like she expected you to come. Guess you
two have some sort of telepathic link. That right? Can you
read each other’s minds?”
I shook my head. “No,” I said softly.
“Come on,” Roberts said, his voice like a goading friend.
“You can tell me. You and Davies, you hear each other’s
thoughts. Complete each other’s sentences. Do all those
goopy things lovers do. I bet you even talk to her after you’re
done fucking. Don’t just snooze off like most guys. Bet you
talk to her about your feelings and shit.”
“What the hell are you talking about, you sick asshole?”
I said. Clearly that was the wrong thing to say, because the<
br />
muzzle bit into my skin harder than before. I winced. Roberts
sensed this. Dug in harder.
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“I care because I want to know just how close you and
Davies are. I need to know, man. I need to hear you say it.”
“Why?” I asked.
He walked around the side of the gun, eyed me, then lightning-quick, smashed me in the stomach. I doubled over, pain
shooting through my abdomen. I coughed, felt a speck of
blood hit my hand. Wiped it off. Stood back up.
Robert smiled. “Come with me.”
He grabbed me by my jacket collar and pulled me into the
main office. Aside from the smashed window, blood on the
floor and an overturned chair, everything looked like business
as usual. Except for the sprinkles of plaster on the floor. I
looked up, saw the hole in the ceiling where Roberts must
have fired the Winchester.
“I see you asserted your authority,” I said. “Guess you
needed to scare all these vicious not-for-profit workers.”
“I’m not a fan of violence,” Roberts said. He looked at me.
“You seem surprised.”
“Considering you’ve killed about ten people, yeah, I’m
surprised.”
“Only killed those people because they needed to go. Same
way you’d burn a tick, step on a spider. Doesn’t mean you like
to kill. Means you don’t want vermin spreading disease.”
“So that’s what Athena was doing,” I said. “Spreading
disease?”
“I’m not a killer,” Roberts said. “I’m a liberator. You can’t
see it now. They couldn’t see it with my great-grandfather,
either.”
“Billy the Kid was no liberator,” I said. “He was a butcher
who killed twenty-one people. He should have died in the
womb.”
Roberts laughed. “You’re fucking clueless, man. The
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355
country exists because of my great-grandfather. America,
man. Cowboys and Indians. Outlaws and lawmen. The Old
West gave birth to the new world because of men like my
grandfather. He killed the people who impeded progress. The
people who lied and cheated and stole.”
“Like Joe Mauser?” I said. “Like Mya Loverne? Like
your family? ”
“You don’t get it,” Roberts said. “You and everyone, ignorance is the new intelligence. Athena Paradis and David
Loverne don’t exist. They’re shells, Parker. Husks. As soon
as their public life overtook their private life, as soon as who
they were became more important than what they were, they
ceased to exist. People like you, you’re happy to stare at the
shell and as long as it’s pretty, you don’t care what putrid shit
is underneath. My great-grandfather understood this. He was
the only one who had the balls to make things right. He
brought together the Regulators to kill the disease that everyone else ignored. Jeffrey Lourdes? Athena Paradis? All I did
was kill what needed to be killed. You should be thankful. And
you will be. See, to realize my destiny, I had to cut off everything that weighed me down. Soon I’ll do the same for you.
Then you can report my story with a clearer head. You’re
gonna make me famous, Parker.”
He pushed me toward another closed door. Looked at me.
Then pushed the door open.
Amanda was tied to a chair, her hands bound behind her
back. A handkerchief wrapped around her mouth. Her eyes
widened when she saw me. Pleading. Helpless.
“Amanda!” I shouted. Lunged for her. Felt the butt of the gun
come down on the back of my neck, driving me to the ground.
Amanda shrieked as loud as she could. Which wasn’t much.
Roberts knelt down next to me. I could feel his breath on
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my face. He smelled like tobacco and sweat. He grabbed my
shirt in his hand, pulled me closer. He was breathing heavy,
and the calm in his eyes had been replaced by a manic anger.
I was sure the eyes I was seeing right now were the same eyes
that killed Athena. Joe. Jeffrey. David. And nearly Mya.
“See, Henry, you’re a shell. You’re one of them. I know
about you. I know what happened to you last year. I know
about all those reporters who love you, think you’re a hero,
and the ones that hate you, think you go against everything
that’s noble about your profession. Who you are has become
more important than what you are. I can fix that.”
“You can kill me,” I said. “But leave Amanda out of this.
Let her go.”
“Not on your life,” Roberts said. “If you hadn’t noticed, I
already let all the other useless ones go. I need Amanda for
this. You can do a whole lot more good than she ever can. You
have a voice. I need that voice to reach people, so they understand what I’ve done. But you also have a shell. You have a
protective skin. All I’m going to do is remove that skin. I don’t
plan to leave this building alive. But neither will Amanda. And
then you’ll be free, Henry.”
Amanda was listening to every word he said. Listened to
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.
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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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“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 said.
“You claim all this is about bringing down Sodom and
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