MacCallister: The Eagles Legacy: The Killing by William W. Johnstone, J. A. Johnstone Read Free Book Online Page B

said with an arrogant smile. “I reckon you have heard of me.”
    “No, sir, I don’t reckon I have.”
    The smile left the boy’s face. “You’re lyin’. You’ve heard of me, and even now you’re quakin’ in your boots.”
    “You think so, do you, boy?” Elmer asked.
    “Don’t call me boy! I just told you what my name is. If you want to talk to me, call me by my given name.”
    “All right, Wilson,” Elmer said. “I’ll call you by name, because it is important that you hear what I’ve got to say. I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m plumb worn out, and one thing about reaching my age is that I don’t have to put up with assholes like you if I don’t want to.”
    Even though Elmer’s words were spoken calmly, they were clearly heard and understood by everyone else in the saloon. By now, everyone had grown quiet as they sat, nervously, to see where this was going.
    “Well that’s just too bad, Mr. Gleason, because you’re goin’ to have to put up with it whether you want to or not.”
    “Just what is it that you’ve got stickin’ in your craw?”
    “You, Mister. You are stickin’ in my craw,” Wilson said.
    “Have I killed someone close to you? Your father, your brother, perhaps?”
    “No, nothin’ like that,” Wilson answered. “I just want my name in the paper. And I figure that killin’ someone that used to ride with Jesse James will get my name in the paper.”
    “You know what else will get your name in the paper?” Elmer asked.
    “What?”
    It had not been mere restlessness that had caused Elmer to walk around to the back of the bar. Nor was it to offer to buy Wilson a drink. Elmer had walked around to the back of the bar to stand in front of the double-barrel Greener twelve-gauge shotgun that Biff kept there. In a smooth and nonthreatening motion, Elmer reached under the bar, wrapped his hands around the shotgun, and brought it up. He pointed the gun directly at Clete Wilson and watched as the arrogant, overconfident smile faded.
    “You can also get your name in the paper by dyin’,” Elmer said. “And I’ll be glad to oblige you in that.”
    “What?” Wilson shouted, the expression on his face now one of pure terror. He put his hands up. “No, no, wait! This ain’t fair! You ain’t even given me a chance to go for my gun!”
    “Fair? Who’s talkin’ about fair?” Elmer asked. “You don’t understand, do you, boy? I ain’t no gunfighter like you are, so there ain’t goin’ to be nothin’ fair about this. This here is just goin’ to be a killin’, plain and simple. So if you’ve got ’ny prayers, boy, you better say ’em.”
    Elmer pulled the two hammers back, and the deadly click of them coming into position sounded exceptionally loud.
    “Please, Mister, I—please, don’t kill me.”
    “Elmer,” Biff said sharply.
    Elmer glanced over toward him.
    “Before you kill this little piss ant, make him move away from the bar. That Greener is going to open up a hole big enough for you to drive a freight wagon through him, and that’s goin’ to mean a lot of blood. It’ll clean up pretty easy over there behind the stove, but it’s harder than hell to clean up here, right in front of the bar.”
    “Yeah, you’re right, Biff. I don’t see no need to put you through all the trouble. All right, boy, you heard the man. He wants the killin’ to be done over there behind the stove,” Elmer said. “So I reckon we had better move on over there.”
    Elmer’s words weren’t angry or threatening. On the contrary, they were as quiet and as calm as if he were just suggesting that they change tables to drink a beer. And the more terrifying because of the lack of emotion.
    Elmer came back around to the front of the bar. By now, all the others who had been standing at the bar had moved over to the side wall. Those who had been sitting at tables moved as well, so there was nobody left on center stage except Elmer and Wilson. And Wilson was shaking