Роберт Паркер - Robert B. Parker's Revelation

“Driggs?” I said.

He leaned out from behind Vandervoort.

“Hello, Everett,” he said. “Welcome back. Who are you talking to? You see, we are both Driggs up here. This is Augustus Noble Driggs the first and I’m the second.”

“Give it up,” I said.

“That’s right, this is my father,” Driggs said. “He taught me everything I know... including killing... well, mainly killing. I think he killed at least five men that I know of before he killed my mother.”

“Shut up,” Vandervoort said.

“Or what?” Driggs said.

“Just shut the fuck up.”

“Driggs,” I said. “Just come with us.”

The crowd parted some and Virgil and I eased forward.

“He taught me how to snap a neck,” Driggs said. “Can you imagine your own father teaching you how to snap a neck? That is how he killed my mother.”

“Shut up,” Vandervoort said. “Just shut up!”

“Put the gun down and let us handle this,” I said. “Listen to me.”

“Do like Everett says,” Virgil said. “Put the gun down. There is nothing you can do to change what happened, but you can change what happens now.”

Book came in the side door and pointed a rifle at Driggs.

“Drop it,” Book said.

Driggs glanced at Book, and when he did Vandervoort spun on him with a powerful blow to the side of his head. The hard hit stunned Driggs. The people on the stage, the musicians and the others, scattered. Book had no shot and neither did we, as the people in front of us were all scrambling, trying to get out of the way.

Virgil and I fought through the crowd toward the stage.

Driggs was on his back. Vandervoort slammed a boot to his head, jerked the shotgun out of his arms, and stuck the barrel to his son’s head.

“No!” I said.

But Vandervoort pulled the trigger and Driggs’s head exploded, sending a spray of blood that shot up across Vandervoort’s shirt and face.

Vandervoort grabbed Allie.

“Vandervoort!” Virgil said.

Vandervoort put the barrel of the shotgun under Allie’s chin and spun around with her in front of him.

“Just let me walk out of here with her, or she will die.”

“She dies,” Virgil said. “You die.”

Allie had tears rolling down her cheeks.

Constance, cowering on the floor, looked up to Vandervoort.

“My God... Vernon,” she said. “Stop... Just stop... Let her go.”

Virgil advanced on Vandervoort with his Colt pointed at his head.

“Drop the gun,” Virgil said.

“Do as he says,” Constance said as she got to her feet.

Vandervoort’s eyes darted between Virgil and me as he backed up, all the while holding Allie in front of him.

“Drop the gun,” Virgil said.

“Do it,” Constance said. “Do as he says.”

“No,” he said.

“You got but one shot,” Virgil said. “That’s not for Allie, and you know it.”

Allie’s eyes were full of tears and her lip was quivering as she stared at Virgil.

“Vernon?” Constance said. “Please... Don’t do this! ”

“Quiet, Constance!” Vandervoort said as he continued backing up with Allie, edging toward the exit.

“You let me go, let me out of here,” Vandervoort said. “I will let her go.”

“No! Vernon!” Constance said. “Stop!”

Vandervoort looked to her.

“Stop this, right now!” she said.

He was perfectly calm as he stared at her.

“Just stop this!” she said. “Right now!”

Vandervoort snapped, “Did you or did you not say that I am nothing without you?”

“Dear God, Vernon.”

“God? God? ” Vandervoort then roared with a vituperative growl, “LIKE MY DEAD SON SAID, GOD HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS, BITCH.”

Then he shoved Allie and turned the shotgun on Constance.

“VERNON, NO!”

Virgil shot him, three quick shots to the chest. Vandervoort fell back and as he did he pulled the trigger.

The double-ought buck hit Constance square in the chest, sending blood, diamonds, and rubies exploding across the stage as she stumbled backward, crashing through the fence of music stands and clutching the thirty-foot-tall curtain at the edge of the stage.

“Virgil,” Allie cried as she hurried down the steps and fell into his arms.

“I got you, Allie.”

“Oh, Virgil,” she said as she buried her face in his chest.

“I got you.”

“My God,” Constance whispered.

She was still miraculously alive and on her feet. Margie moved toward her, as did I, and we stood side by side, looking up at her on the stage. Constance looked down to the hole in her chest where the necklace used to be. Then she looked at us wide-eyed and fell from the stage, bringing down the tall curtain with her. Margie and I rushed over and pulled the curtain back from covering her face, but Constance Vandervoort was gone, staring dead-eyed at the ceiling of the Vandervoort Town Hall located on the only avenue in Appaloosa, Vandervoort Avenue.

As always, “much obliged” goes out to G. P. Putnam’s Sons’ president, Ivan Held, and my incredible editor extraordinaire, Chris Pepe, for making this escape possible. Much appreciation to Ed Harris, Viggo Mortensen, and Renée Zellweger for their continued supply of ammo. I could not have got out of the compound without the ladder and ropes from my partners in crime, Jayne Amelia Larson and mountain guide Rob Wood of Rancho Roberto. As always, I have to acknowledge the continued support of my mysterious sisters — the Clogging Castanets — Sandra and Karen who actually do nothing but laugh, which is beyond helpful. To Rex “Hook’em Horns” Linn for crying Revelation out loud. To James “Whatnot” Whitcomb for his constant toast to freedom. Thanks to manager Josh Kesselman, Allison Binder Esq., agent Steve Fisher, and the rest of the convicts from APA for helping to pepper the trail. As always, a smile up and around in the night sky to Robert B. and Joan Parker... and a shotgun salute to the late Helen Brann. Most important, a loud and grateful holler at the fullest moon goes out to my beautiful and loving — the good-looking brunette woman — Julie for being there on the other side of the wall with the horses — with love and deep appreciation — THANK YOU!