The Guilty hp-2 Page 28

  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.

  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 muzzle bit into my skin harder than before. I winced. Roberts sensed this. Dug in harder.

  "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 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 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 a
t 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.

  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.

  "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 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 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.

  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 three of us perched nine stories high.

  And then he fell. Roberts's hand slipped off of Amanda's wrists, and then he tumbled down, faster than I could have imagined, that sick smile embedded in
my eyes like it would never leave, his body falling faster and faster until it thudded on the pavement below.

  And that's when Amanda's knees gave way, and she fell over backward. Without thinking, I thrust the Winchester into the loop between the bonds on her hands.

  It held.

  And there we were, hanging a hundred feet from the ground, Amanda's bound hands caught on the barrel of a rifle that had been used to kill four people.

  Her mouth was still gagged. Her eyes fluttered, more gasps escaping as she tried not to die.

  "Amanda, baby, reach up with your hands and grab the barrel," I said. Her hands managed to close around the rifle, but the weight was too much for me to hold. I braced my legs against the wall, tried to leverage the rifle upward and give

  Amanda a place to find her footing.

  Then I heard the sounds of bending metal. The rifle was old, wasn't meant to carry any load, let alone a grown person.

  Amanda was slipping.

  "Hold on!" I yelled. I braced my feet ever harder, felt the stitches in my hand pop as I yanked as hard as I could, feeling the rifle barrel moving upward as I carried Amanda. Then the

  load lightened, and I saw Amanda had found her footing, just barely, on an outside ledge.

  "Amanda, baby, count to three and then lean forward.

  Please, I promise you'll be fine." Tears streaked down her cheeks but she nodded.

  "One," I said, my voice leaving me. "Two."

  I looked at my love, knew in this next second she would either live or die.

  "Three."

  At once I dropped the Winchester and Amanda leaned forward. I leapt forward, clasped my arms around her waist, pulled her as hard as I could, and suddenly she came toppling over the windowsill, landing on the ground next to me.

  We both lay there for a minute, breathing heavy, until I saw that Amanda was still bound. I grabbed the knife Roberts had dropped and cut the ropes from her hands. Then I gently pulled the handkerchief from her mouth and kissed her hard.

  Her salty tears found their way into my mouth as I held

  Amanda, knowing I could never hold her like this again.