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He walked over to the refrigerator, opened it, and found it packed with bottles of beers. He grabbed three and brought them back to the table. When he opened one, it made the sound of gas escaping. He thought he saw Amanda recoil at it. But when he handed her the open bottle, she quickly grabbed it and took a big swallow.
He opened another and offered it to Byrth.
“Maybe in a minute. Thanks.”
He offered the bottle to Esteban, who took it.
Then he opened the third. He put it to his lips and turned it upside down, drinking at least the first third.
He then kissed Amanda again on her forehead.
“I’ll be right back, baby.”
Juan Paulo Delgado looked up when he heard Matt Payne enter the dining room. Byrth had taped his wrists palm-up, and Matt saw the “D” tattoo. Payne felt a level of anger he did not know was possible.
“So now what?” Juan Paulo Delgado, his head bruised and bloody, said with an odd smile.
His tone did not reveal any fear. In fact, it sounded taunting.
With the beer bottle in his left hand, Payne pulled his Colt from the small of his back with his right hand.
He took another healthy drink of the beer, then looked the animal in the eyes.
What did Amy say about psychopaths?
You can’t rehabilitate them. They’ll kill again and again.
And in prison they’ll be thrown in solitary.
So why not just fucking kill him now?
He probably was going to do that to Amanda… after doing God knows what.
The image of the girl’s head in Paco Esteban’s freezer flashed in his mind.
Sonofabitch!
No one will miss you, Delgado.
No one will give a rat’s ass you’re dead and gone and burning to a crisp in hell.
Payne raised his pistol, pointing the muzzle at Delgado’s forehead. He thumbed back the hammer.
He saw him flinch, if only slightly.
And shits like you get killed every day in drug deals gone bad.
Payne held the gun there for what seemed like five minutes.
But I can’t do it.
Even as badly as he deserves it.
It would make me little better than him.
I am not judge and jury.
Stanley Whatshisname is wrong.
