Kill Crazy by William W. Johnstone Read Free Book Online Page A

Emile repeated in a cold, flat, voice.
    By now, everyone in the saloon knew Kennedy had stepped into a situation that he hadn’t planned for. They began, quietly but deliberately, to get out of the way of any flying lead.
    It wasn’t until that moment, seeing the others move out of the way, that Kennedy began to worry that he might actually be losing control of the situation. He was still holding his fists in front of him, and he lowered them, then stared at Emile incredulously. “Are you blind, mister? Ain’t you noticed that I’m not even wearin’ a gun? If you’re figurin’ on forcin’ me into a fight, you can just figure again, ’cause I ain’t goin’ to do it.”
    â€œI’ll give you time to get yourself heeled,” Emile offered.
    â€œI told you, I ain’t goin’ to get into no gunfight with you.”
    â€œIf you ain’t goin’ to fight, then get out of here. Get out of this saloon, out of this town, and out of this valley.”
    â€œNo, I ain’t doin’ that, either,” Kennedy said. “I got a right to live where I want and to say what I want. And I’ll be damn if I let some sawed-off runt like you talk to me that way. Now if you ain’t a complete lily-livered coward, you’ll shuck out of that gun belt and face me like a man.”
    â€œMister, the only rights you have are the rights I let you have,” Emile growled. “Now, you got two choices. You either walk through that door right now, or you pull a gun. Which one is it goin’ to be?”
    â€œI told you, I’m not packin’ a gun.”
    â€œSomebody give him one,” Emile said coldly. He pulled his lips into a sinister smile. “This fella seems to have come to a gunfight without a gun.”
    â€œI told you, there ain’t goin’ to be no gunfight, and I don’t want a gun.”
    When no one offered Kennedy a gun, Emile pointed to Schumacher. “Give him your gun,” Emile ordered. “You aren’t going to be using it.”
    â€œYou heard the man, Emile. He don’t want a gun,” Schumacher said.
    â€œOh, I think he does.”
    â€œEmile, leave him be,” Cindy said.
    â€œYou’re sweet on him, are you, Cindy?” Emile asked.
    â€œNo, I’m not sweet on him. But he’s a nice man, and he’s always real friendly when he comes in.”
    â€œSchumacher, I said give him your gun.”
    â€œNo,” Schumacher said. “If I give him a gun, you’ll kill him.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œWell, I don’t want no part of it.”
    â€œThere ain’t no call in gettin’ him into this,” Kennedy said. “This is between you ’n’ me. Now if you are really interested in fighting, shuck out of that gun belt and face me like a man.”
    Again, in a lightning move, Emile snatched his gun from his holster. This time he cocked it, the sound of the sear as it engaged and turned the cylinder making a loud double click in the now-quiet room.
    â€œNo!” Kennedy said. He held both hands out in front of him. “No, please,” he begged.
    Emile smiled at him, a slow, evil smile. Then he put his pistol back in his holster.
    â€œGive him your gun, Schumacher,” Emile said.
    Schumacher hesitated for a moment. Then he took his gun out of the holster and lay it on the bar.
    â€œI’ll turn it so’s the handle is toward you,” Schumacher said. “That’ll make it easier for you to pick up.”
    â€œIt’s—it’s on my left. I’m right handed.”
    â€œNo problem, go ahead and pick it up. I’ll let you do it,” Emile said.
    Kennedy paused for a moment.
    â€œPick it up,” Emile said again, his voice low, but demanding.
    Kennedy looked at the pistol. A vein was jumping in his neck and those who were close enough to him could see his hands shaking.
    â€œDo it,”