Parker 02 - The Guilty (30 page)

the Kid, there were many people who had clear motivations

to keep that secret locked away.

I could see the connections between the legend of Billy the

Kid and the man responsible for murdering Athena Paradis,

Joe Mauser, Jeffrey Lourdes and David Loverne.

William H. Bonney was a Regulator, sworn to bring to

justice those who had wronged him, wronged society and

threatened to disrupt the very fabric of the land he was trying

to protect. Using some twisted logic, the psychopath who went

Mario Batali on my hand felt he was also bringing justice to

the guilty.

I brought up the photo of J. Frank Dalton on his deathbed.

Thought about the alleged report of Jesse James and William

H. Bonney meeting near Las Vegas in 1879. Ten days after

the birth of James's daughter.

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Daughter. That word stuck in my throat. Mary Susan

James. Born just three years before her father was allegedly

killed.

On a whim, I checked to see if there were any records of

Billy the Kid having children, a wife, any trace of a bloodline. According to the records, Bonney never married and it

was unclear whether he had any children.

I looked up the family tree of Brushy Bill Roberts. Roberts

had apparently married a woman named Melinda. Records

showed that Roberts had one son, Jesse William Roberts,

who was born in Hamilton, Texas, in 1897.

Jesse William Roberts. I looked at the photos featuring

Brushy Bill and Frank Dalton together. Added that to the

alleged meeting between the outlaws in 1879. It would be

a mighty big coincidence--or a case of damn good foresight--for the man who'd later claim to be Billy the Kid to

name his only son after Jesse James. Either that, or Jesse

James and Billy the Kid were better acquaintances than

people thought.

My fingers flew as I typed more searches into the machine,

my mind ignoring the pain from my stitched-up hand. I

couldn't stop. The spool was unraveling and I couldn't slow

down. I knew I had stumbled upon something, a story that

drove to the very heart of a century-old legend.

I looked for lineage records pertaining to Jesse William

Roberts, son of Brushy Bill Roberts. Jesse had married a

woman named Lucy Barnett. Lucy gave birth to two of Jesse's

children: James and Catherine.

Catherine Roberts. Brushy Bill's granddaughter. Who shared

the same name as Billy the Kid's mother, Catherine Antrim.

Catherine Roberts died of tuberculosis in 1927 at just three

years of age. James Roberts, Brushy's grandson, eventually

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moved to New Mexico, where he married Lucinda Walther.

In 1957 she gave birth to a son named John Henry Roberts.

John Henry Roberts married a woman named Meryl Higgins,

and in 1987 Meryl gave birth to twins: Martha James Roberts,

and William Henry Roberts.

William Henry Roberts. Currently aged twenty-one. The

same age Billy the Kid was when allegedly killed by Pat

Garrett.

The theories were true. William H. Bonney, known by

millions as Billy the Kid, known by few as Brushy Bill

Roberts, had fathered a son.

I knew why this killer was using the Winchester rifle. Why

he had chosen the weapon and bullets he did. Why he had

stolen that gun from the museum in Fort Sumner. Why he had

waited twenty-one years to reclaim his heritage. To continue

the destiny set forth by his ancestor.

The bloodline had survived. And one hundred and thirty

years after his supposed murder, Billy the Kid's greatgrandson, William Henry Roberts, had brought the lawlessness and bloodshed of the Old West here to New York City.

39

The vodka tasted cold and bitter as it slid down her throat,

but the tonic dulled the taste and made it easy to swallow. She

knocked the glass on the counter and signaled the bartender,

a bohemian named Gregory who wore a ponytail pulled back

so tight she feared it might tear his scalp off, and told him to

refresh the drink.

"What, you going in for surgery and need a cheap anesthetic?" Gregory said with a laugh. He took a bottle from the

well, gave her an inch and a half and topped the rest with

tonic. "Hey, Mya, you okay?"

Mya Loverne looked up at Gregory and managed a weak

smile. She'd come to the Suave bar four times in the past week

alone, drank herself into oblivion each time, and this was the

first time Gregory had noticed her.

Drinking was all she could do since Henry abandoned her.

Since Amanda had run her off. Since Mya had nothing left,

nobody to lean on except the awkward embraces from sweaty

drunks who weren't quite repulsive enough to turn down. The

physical pleasure dulled the pain. Not for long, but long enough

to gain a modicum of relief from the anguish inside her.

Mya took a small sip and saw Gregory watching her from

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the other end of the bar. As soon as he noticed her looking,

he turned away, hiding a look of embarrassment, and pretended to clean a glass. She wondered what time he got off.

If he had an apartment nearby.

Mya felt her cell phone vibrate through her purse. She took

it out, saw it was her mother, and pressed Ignore. Mya had

only spoken to her mother once since her father's murder. She

made no effort to hide the fact that she believed her mother's

ignorance led to his death. That if her mother wasn't such a

goddamn passive bitch, wasn't such a pushover, had every

now and then
stood up for herself,
her father would still be

alive and not in a pine box in some cemetery surrounded by

dimming memories of loved ones.

Mya could feel her blood warming as the alcohol swam

through her veins. The door opened, and she felt a gust of cool

air. Mya closed her eyes, knocked back the rest of the drink.

Then she heard a creaking sound, opened her eyes and saw

a man pull out the stool next to her and sit down. He was

young, early twenties, very tan with sandy blond hair and a

sweet smile. His eyes flashed a striking blue, and Mya felt

her cheeks grow warm. The guy raised his hand to order a

drink. Mya noticed how cracked and calloused his palms

were. He took off his coat, was wearing a blue T-shirt underneath. His forearms were tanned and toned. He looked like

no other guy she'd seen at this bar. He was naturally lean, not

possessing the kind of strength born in a gym, but born out

of honest blue-collar work.

Gregory acknowledged him and came over. He placed a

coaster in front of the stranger and said, "What'll it be?"

"Gin and tonic," the guy said. His voice sounded slightly

older than Mya would have expected. "Light on the tonic."

Gregory held out his hand, palm up. "Lemme see some ID."

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He looked moderately embarrassed, and offered Mya a

sheepish smile before opening his wallet and handing the

plastic over. Gregory looked the man over, looked at the

picture, made sure the faces matched.

"William...Roberts?" Gregory said.

"That'd be me." Gregory, seemingly satisfied, handed the

card back and poured the drink. He went heavy on the gin,

surely in apology for the embarrassing age verification.

When Gregory left, the boy took a sip of his drink and said,

"You think that'd never get old, but sometimes all you want

is a drink." He said it softly without turning his head.

"I know what you mean. I still get carded half the places

I go to."

The boy swiveled his stool toward her. He had a nice smile,

dimples. "You're what, twenty-two, twenty-three?"

"Twenty-six," Mya said, failing to hide her pleasure in his

guess.

"BS."

"You're right, I lie to pretend I'm
older.
"

They shared a laugh. Mya took another sip of her drink,

found she was sucking on ice. Her body felt warm. She was

unsure if it was the alcohol or this stranger. Either way, she

didn't want it to stop. "So let me guess. You walk into bars

and try to flatter all the girls." Immediately she regretted

uttering such a
line,
but what was the worst that could

happen?

The boy laughed. "You're right," he said, a hint of

sarcasm in his voice. "I have nothing better to do than

wander around until I finally meet someone who needs

flattery. Please. I talk to who I want, when I want. And right

now I want to talk to you."

"I bet you say that to all the girls, too," Mya said.

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"Actually, I do. You got me there."

"So here you are. I guess I should be flattered you're

talking to me."

"Actually, I'm the one who should be flattered."

The boy smiled, his face a strange but alluring combination of youthfulness and maturity, like he'd seen more and

done more than anyone his age had experienced. He wasn't

in a hurry like most guys she met, hadn't overplayed his hand

within the first ten seconds of their meeting. He looked confident enough that if she rebuffed any possible advances, he

could pick up, move on, quickly find someone who wouldn't.

Not that she wanted him to move on. But there was the deliciously dangerous possibility of it all.

"William Roberts," he said. "It's nice to meet you." He

offered his hand.

"Mya Loverne." She took it, shook it. "So, William

Roberts. Do you have a middle name?"

"You want to know my middle name? I don't know, that's

a pretty big step. Once I've given that out, we're linked until

one of us leaves this bar. Are you prepared for that kind of

commitment?"

"Is it really that big a commitment?" Mya asked.

"Of course it is," he said. "See, a boy and a girl can sit in

a bar talking for hours. They can share the most intimate

secrets of their life, loves and hates, lovers and ex-lovers, pet

peeves and fetishes, but there's always a layer of protection

between them, this subtle, unspoken boundary where they

both know the biggest intimacy has yet to be allowed." She

felt the boy move closer, inching his stool toward hers. She

pretended she hadn't noticed.

"See, once you cross that line, once you allow that

intimacy, you can never go back. See, knowing my middle

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name isn't such a big deal on the surface, it's what it represents. So if I tell it to you, be sure there's no going back. Are

you ready for that?"

"Mine's Helen," she blurted out. Everything seemed to

stop for a moment, the boy seeming to soak it in. Now the

night was open to all sorts of possibilities.

"Henry," he said. "William Henry Roberts. It's a pleasure

to meet you, Mya."

Henry.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, William Henry."

William smiled. "Hey, barkeep," he shouted. Gregory

turned around. "Another round down here, if you please."

40

William put down the copy of the
Gazette.
His fingertips

had become black with ink. He licked his thumb, rubbed his

fingers until the smudge had congealed, then wiped his hand

on a napkin which he then tossed in the garbage by the bed.

The article was smartly written, insightful, and one

hundred percent true. Parker had done a surprisingly good job.

In a short amount of time, too. He wasn't quite sure how

Henry had pulled all the facts together, and part of him was

rather impressed. Still, William knew there were many unanswered questions to which Parker--and the rest of the city--

would beg the answers. This was the beauty of the whole

thing. William felt a great surge inside. Pride and ambition.

Those four deaths were just the beginning. Athena Paradis,

the other three martyrs, they were stepping-stones to a greater

good.

Two pages after Parker's story was an article about the

turmoil at Franklin-Rees publications following Jeffrey

Lourdes's murder, as the empire ran around like a headless

chicken hoping to find some stability. William knew, as soon

everyone else would, that regardless of how many Frankenstein-esque heads they tried to bolt on, the animal itself was

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dying. Everything would crumble from the top down. And out

of that rubble would come something beautiful.

Once the guilty had hanged, the innocent had nothing to

fear. It was human nature to fear the executioner. Most never

realized their job was to cleanse the earth of the guilty, the

evil, those who poisoned society.

Despite the truths Henry Parker had unearthed, William

felt no anger toward him. Being attacked and brutalized

hadn't stopped Parker's pursuit of the truth.

Parker, of course, only knew what William wanted him to

know. Because he
was
the Regulator. He was the last of the

great bloodline. And even if the line died with him, it would

have died claiming a destiny so abruptly halted many years

ago.

Just as William had uncovered his history despite those