Shame the Devil Read Online Free

changed his mind and walked back toward the Ford.
    “Drop the weapon!” screamed Jonas.
    The man looked in the direction of Jonas like he was hearing him for the first time. He opened the door of the Ford.
    “I said drop it!” Jonas could hear a siren now. The backup would be here in a hot minute, maybe less. If the guy by the Ford
     could only hold onto his shit, then maybe everything could turn out all right.
    Frank Farrow looked through the partially opened door as Roman Otis checked his gun and listened to the screech of tires.
    “Okay, Richard’s got company.”
    “How many?” said Otis.
    “One for now.”
    “One’s better than two.”
    “Richard’s just standing there, out in the street. Goddamnit, I told him… All right, gimme the bag.” Otis tossed the duffel
     over to Frank. “How many you got left in that forty-five?”
    “Four.”
    “I’ve got two in the thirty-eight.” He holstered the .22 — useless at this range — and grasped the handles of the duffel bag.
    “You know what we gotta do,” said Frank.
    Otis shrugged. “Can’t
do
nothin’ else.” He hand-brushed his hair back behind his ears.
    Otis went to the door, yanked it open, and charged out into the sunlight. Frank went out behind him, calling his brother’s
     name.
    William Jonas watched the man reach for the door handle of the Ford. Someone yelled, “Richard!” The man looked back at the
     center of the commercial strip. Two men carrying guns and a duffel bag bolted from a door. Jonas speed-scanned: One of them
     was white with gray hair and a gray mustache, the other a tall, dark-skinned man with Las Vegas–looking hair. The image of
     them registered as Jonas returned his sight to the man by the Ford. The man by the Ford pointed his gun at Jonas.
    He’s scared. He won’t shoot.…
    The man by the Ford steadied his gun with both hands.
    Jonas thought of his wife and sons. He closed one eye, aimed, and fired his weapon.
    Jonas’s first round penetrated the door of the Ford. His second round found its target. The pale white man’s sunglasses went
     funny on his face as he crumpled and swung down, his arm hooked around the window frame. Jonas could see a black line running
     like a worm down the front of the man’s face.
    A round sparked off the hood in front of Jonas. He blinked, moved his gun arm, fired at the two men who were standing still
     and firing at him. He squinted, saw smoke coming from their guns, heard his windshield spider, kept firing even as a bullet
     tore into his bicep and another hit his shoulder as he was jerked up and back. He took another bullet high in the chest. It
     was like a hot needle going in. He screamed as he fell, firing his weapon into the front quarter panel of his own vehicle,
     feeling the shock of his back hitting the hard, hot pavement and the wind blow from his lungs. He stared up at the blazing
     sun and listened to the siren grow louder. He fought for breath and got it. He turned his head to vomit. He dropped his Glock
     and heard the dull sound it made on the street.
    Goddamn plastic gun. Oh, sweet Jesus, I am hit.
    Lisa Karras couldn’t believe the heat. She had called the weather service, but the temperature given on the recording didn’t
     begin to describe the feeling of actually being outdoors. Not that Jimmy seemed to notice. He was ahead of her, walking faster
     even as she slowed her pace.
    “Jimmy, honey, c’mon. We’ve got all day. The ice cream store’s not going anywhere.”
    He turned around and jogged backward, pointing to his mother with that evil, beautiful smile of his that couldn’t help but
     break her down.
    “I’m not biting for that,” said Lisa. “I’m telling you, sweetheart, I can’t go any faster than this.”
    Jimmy turned frontward and broke into a run. She called out to him weakly, but by now he was out of earshot, charging down
     Alton, halfway to 39th. Fireworks sounded from far away.
    “Where you goin’, man?”
    “I’m going to