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

Emile said again.
    â€œNo, I ain’t goin’ to. You ain’t goin’ to get me in no gunfight.”
    Again, Emile jerked his pistol from his holster, and using it as a club, brought it across Kennedy’s face. The blow cut Kennedy’s lip, and it began to swell.
    â€œYou ready to pick up the gun?”
    â€œNo.”
    This time Emile slapped Kennedy in the face, but Kennedy did nothing.
    â€œNow, look at this. You are almost twice as big as me. But you stood there like a lily-livered coward and let me slap you in the face. I wonder, just what is it going to take to get you to fight?” Emile asked.
    â€œTake off the gun,” Kennedy said, only now it was no longer a demand—it was a plea. “Take off the gun and we will fight.”
    â€œHuh-uh. You opened this ball, that means we’ll fight the way I want to fight.”
    Again, in a lightning draw, the pistol was in Emile’s hand, and this time he brought it so hard against Kennedy’s face that his knees were buckled. Now Kennedy’s lip was bleeding and his left eye was swollen shut.
    â€œPick up the gun.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œMister, for God’s sake, that’s enough!” Woodward called.
    Emile drew his pistol again, and pointed it toward Woodward. “You want in on this do you, cowboy?”
    â€œNo, but . . .”
    â€œThere ain’t no buts. You are either a part of it, or you keep your mouth shut.”
    Emile turned his attention back to Kennedy. “Pick up the gun.”
    â€œPlease,” Kennedy said, his voice a whimper, almost a sob. “Please.”
    â€œCindy,” Emile called. “I want you to look at your boyfriend now. He ain’t so big and strong now, is he?”
    â€œEmile, please, stop,” Cindy said.
    â€œI’m tired of playing with you,” Emile said. Again, he pointed his pistol at Kennedy, and drew the hammer back.
    Kennedy began to shake visibly, and he lost control of his bladder. A stain appeared on the front of his pants.
    â€œWell, look here, folks,” Emile said derisively. “This big, strong cowboy just peed in his pants.”
    Not one other person in the saloon said a word, shamed as they were by what they had just witnessed.
    â€œGet out of here,” Emile said, dismissively. “Get out of here and don’t come back. Next time I see you, I’ll shoot you on sight.”
    Kennedy looked around the saloon, tears of shame and humiliation in his eyes.
    â€œI—I,” he started, but he couldn’t finish whatever he was going to say.
    â€œI, I, I,” Emile mimicked.
    Kennedy turned and hurried out of the saloon.
    â€œHa! Did everyone see that?” Emile shouted.
    Not one other person in the saloon responded.
    â€œCindy, come on back over here, girl. Come sit with us again.” Even as he was speaking to Cindy, he made a motion with his hand to invite Schumacher to rejoin him at his table.
    â€œYou shouldn’t have done that, Emile,” Cindy scolded. “He didn’t do anything to you.”
    â€œHe didn’t do anything to me because I had a gun. But you saw him. He is, what? Six-feet-two, six-three, maybe. He’s got eight or nine inches on me in height, and at least seventy-five pounds in weight. I’ve seen his kind before. Muscled-up bullies who love to beat up on smaller men. If I had been unarmed, he would have beaten me to a pulp.”
    â€œI have to admit, Cindy, that Emile is right,” Schumacher said. “I’ve known Kennedy for over two years now. He has always been quick to fight, as long as he knows he has the advantage.”
    â€œNevertheless, I think what Emile did was wrong.”
    Â 
    Â 
    â€œYou know, Schumacher is right,” Ben said. “Kennedy always has been a bully. Maybe it was about time he got his comeuppance.”
    â€œNo,” Woodward said. “Nobody needs to be belittled like that. I’m ashamed of