Forgive Me Read Online Free

French-speaking fellow could react, Wilkerson charged into the door, slamming him against the wall. The door closed. The psycho, only briefly stunned, came at Wilkerson with the saw.
    But Wilkerson already had his gun—a sound-suppressed Glock—out and he fired two bullets into the brown-skinned bugger at point-blank range.
    BAM! BAM!
    And that was the end of the brown-skinned bugger.
    “Jesus!” Wilkerson said. “Did you hear how loud that was? I paid a couple hundred bucks for this silencer and the gun still sounds like it’s barking thunder. Turn on the TV.”
    “Huh?”
    “The TV! Turn it on! That way, if anyone comes, we can just say we had the TV on too loud.”
    Crystal obeyed. There was a war movie on. It was the one her brother liked to make fun of, where the Americans save the Vietnamese refugees. She pushed the volume to its max.
    Then she went to her husband.
    “Where’s the key?” she asked him—loudly.
    “I don’t know…are you OK?”
    She nodded.
    “What the hell is going on?”
    She shrugged.
    Wilkerson joined them. He still had his gun out. “Hello again.”
    “We need a key!” said Crystal.
    “Oh. Hmm. Check his pockets?”
    Ah yes. The dead madman’s pockets. That made unfortunate sense. Crystal returned to the scene of the crime. The itty-bitty psycho was slumped against the wall by the door. His eyelids were shut. The hacksaw had fallen from his grip and was a few feet from his reach. If she didn’t find the key in his pockets, maybe she could use the hacksaw to cut Scott’s chains.
    She found the key in his pockets.
    A minute later, Scott was free. The two of them hugged and kissed and hugged, all to the soundtrack of a village in South Vietnam burning down.
    “So,” said Wilkerson, finally. “I’m sorry.”
    “Sorry?
Sorry?
” replied Scott. “Dude, what the heck!”
    “What can I say? I knew they were coming for me. I knew where and when. I didn’t know how. So I figured I’d, you know, lay a trap. Do you have any idea how long I was waiting in that lobby for someone around my height? It’s like everybody who was coming here was part of a midget convention.”
    “Who’s they?” asked Crystal.
    “Who cares?” replied Scott, who was rubbing his wrists. “It’s not our problem. We’re out of here.”
    And he angled to the bedroom for their carry-ons.
    Meanwhile, Crystal repeated her question: “Who are they?”
    “A bunch of lunatics.” Wilkerson grunted in disgust. “Ever heard of the Serendipity Group? They make money by putting strangers in the same room as kings and CEOs. Want to meet Bono or the pope? Write them a large check and Serendipity will make it happen. It’s not the worst idea in the world, except for the part that makes it the worst idea in the world. See, on the side, they put crazy motherfuckers like this guy in touch with people who they believe victimized them and then let the chips fall where they may. I’m just lucky I was tipped off that they were coming for me. I’m sure as hell luckier than the others.”
    “How many others?”
    Wilkerson took out a slip of yellow paper and showed it to her. On it was a typed list of names, thirteen names total. Names and dates.
Phillip Wilkerson, Oct 8
was one of the two which were not crossed off.
    “And that’s just this year,” he told her. “Or at least that’s what my guy said. Jesus. I’ve never killed anyone in my life. I’m a mortgage broker!”
    “Good for you. I’m a banker. Who cares? I just almost got my hands chopped off!” Scott added. He was dressed and had Crystal’s clothes with him. He handed them to her. She took them and headed off to the bedroom.
    Wilkerson nodded toward Scott. “So. Honeymooners. Own your own property yet?”
    “Not that it matters, but yes.”
    “Oh, of course it matters. Having your own property is a vital rite of passage. And hey, I want to apologize again to you folks. I really hope I didn’t ruin your honeymoon. You two are off to…wait,