Bobby Fix-It Delivers a Sermon: The Billy the Kid Chronicles Continue

Well, maybe not a legend, but it’s at least a pretty enjoyable story. I know, I’m the creator of that story, I shouldn’t be saying that, but really, Bobby/Billy is telling the story, so I consider myself a bit removed from the process….so there!

If you were here last week then you know that Bobby has found the girl he sought for a friend at the cult’s compound and now all he has to do is get her, and himself, out alive. Let’s see how he does.

And before I forget, the first “Billy the Kid Chronicles” novella/pulp fiction is now available on Amazon as an eBook and paperback….the full title is “The Billy the Kid Chronicles: A Blood Red Russian Moon.” The link is to the right of this text.

Thank you!

She was raped!

Repeatedly!

By a man of God!

I’ve got my problems. I’m the first to admit that. I’ve skirted the law on many occasions, worked for some pretty bad men and yes, killed, but man, I’ve never stooped so low as to hold a woman against her will and rape her, all under the bullshit banner of salvation. Someone needed to pay for that shit, and as I opened the door of the hut, that man was standing fifty feet in front of me, shouting out directions to his followers as they frantically tried to douse the shed fire I had started.

First things first. Get the girl to safety. Take care of priorities and then satisfy needs.

She was standing next to me in her nightgown, the flames of the fire reflecting off her red hair, reminding me of the phoenix of Greek mythology.

“Marie, we need to leave. With any luck they’ll be too busy with the fire to pay attention to us. Just stay by my side and we’re going to walk right out of here, okay?”

A slight nod was all the answer I was going to get. I took her hand in mine and led her out the door, onto the porch and around the side of her hut. As I suspected, and hoped, the cult members were far too busy keeping the fire in check to notice who we were or what we were doing. There was just too much frantic activity happening and we were just a small part of it.

My mind flashed to another fire earlier in the year, one I had set in Washington Heights, killing a mob boss and setting in motion our move to Wyoming. You’d never know it but I don’t like fire. Scared the shit out of me as a kid. As an adult let’s just say I have a healthy respect for it. We will never be friends, but in certain situations, fire is a handy acquaintance.

I got her to the main gate. The guard was still sleeping off the horse tranquilizer I shot him with. No way of knowing how long he’d be out. My biggest concern was fire personnel from the town of Dubois showing up at any moment. I didn’t hear any sirens but that gave me little comfort.

I let go of her hand and looked her in the eyes.

“Marie, look at me. I have to go back to the compound for a few minutes. I won’t be gone more than ten minutes, okay? I need you to hide behind the guard hut here. Do not get up while I’m gone. If firemen get here just watch them drive through the gate, but don’t do anything until I get back. Do you hear me, Marie?”

“You can’t leave me!”

“I’ll be gone for ten minutes tops. Gabriel must be stopped. We can’t let him continue to rape women, can we? This is where it ends, right now, right here. Give me ten minutes and then I’m going to take you home to your brother. I got you this far. Trust me, I won’t let you down.”

She nodded and allowed me to guide her around the guard hut. I had her sit on the cold ground at the back corner, out of sight of anyone approaching the main gate. One squeeze of her hand and then I turned and jogged back towards the compound.

My saintly mother raised me to respect women. My barroom brawler father taught me to defend their honor. I thought of my mother as I approached the activity around the burning shed. I thought of my former lover, Anna, and I thought of the whores I knew on a personal basis, Paula and Mindi, and Sister Sarah and Genna, the mother of our soon-to-be-born child. I thought of them all, good women, nurturing, loving women, and I thought of the predators in the night, four-legged and two, created only to destroy the weak and vulnerable.

“You can’t defend everyone, Billy,” my mother once told me. “But I’d be disappointed if you didn’t try.”

They were getting the fire under control with persistence and a relentless bucket-brigade as I approached the clearing. Brother Gabriel was still shouting out orders, his face streaked with dirt and sweat, distorted by the dancing flames.

Dust to dust.

Ashes to ashes.

I lit another of my arrows, pulled back on the bowstring and released it. The flaming message of retribution struck between Gabriel’s shoulder blades with a barely noticeable thunk. For a two count he froze until the receptors in his brain signaled a problem. Then his right hand reached around behind, searching for the invader. His legs went stiff and then just as suddenly lost their muscle control and he dropped to his knees as the flames singed his hair and a young woman ten feet from him screamed. The scream died in the breeze as I slid back into the cover of darkness.

I’m not sure if my mother would approve. I was positive my father would.

There was no light on at Matt Stair’s house as I drove us up his driveway, but by the time I shut off the engine his front door had opened and Matt was standing on the porch. It was four a.m. just outside of Jackson, another day opening its eyes and stretching out the kinks. I got out of the car, walked around to the passenger side, opened the door for Marie and helped her out.

When he saw his kid sister Matt came running, and five long strides had him in her arms, and she in his, a family once again united. I felt a little awkward standing there. No reason for me to stay. I started to walk around to the driver’s side when Marie grabbed my hand.

“Thank you!” That was all. Tears were flowing freely at that point. My eyes might have been a bit wet too.

Matt grabbed my shoulder.

“Anything you need, Bobby Fix-It. Anytime, anything, all you have to do is ask.”

What’s a man supposed to say? What could I possibly say? I don’t like praise. I suspect I don’t feel I deserve it. All I can hope for, on my last day of shuffling this earth, is to be one more on the plus side of God’s ledger than on the negative. This one worked out okay and for that I was grateful.

I was as quiet as I could be when I got home, but it takes the quiet of a church mouse to not awaken Genna, and that’s not my kind of quiet. I had just wrestled my coat off when she shuffled out of the bedroom rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“Are you hurt, Billy?”

“No, not that you’d notice. What ails me you can’t see, Genna.”

“Did you kill him?”

I nodded my head, perhaps hoping that by not saying it out loud, the realness of it would be lessened.

“Did he deserve to die, Billy?”

“He raped her. He was raping other women there and keeping them against their will.”

“Then I’m glad he’s dead. Come to bed with me, lover. Our child has missed her daddy.”

And so I did, and as the daylight filtered through our curtains, I found what I needed in her arms.

Thanks so much for joining me again. Our anti-hero will be back next week with another installment in the life of Billy the Kid.

2016 William D. Holland (aka billybuc)