Jeffery pineda

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He’s got a gun

This is Sheriff Slone! We need an ambulance at the festival! We need an ambulance at the festival right now! He pushed his way through the hellbent imobiliare bucuresti crowd, keeping his eye on the spot where his father went down. Finally he found Walt, lying on the ground, gasping for air and looking up at the sky with faded eyes. The old man’s right hand rested his chest; beneath the hand, a circle of blood slowly expanded across his shirt. Underneath him, more blood – thicker, redder – pooled on the imobiliare bucuresti ground. Daddyyyy! Karen wailed. A second later she was there with them, holding Samantha in her arms.

Hold on, dad, said John. Hold on, the ambulance is on its way. The ambulance is on its way. The ambulance is on imobiliare bucuresti its way. He kept saying the line, over and over. He couldn’t think of anything else. Over at the gun booth, Boone was flush with adrenaline. His head cleared, and his legs came back. He pounced on top of Elmer, landed one two three four five six seven hard punches to the middle of his face, until Elmer was unconscious and covered in his own blood. When the beating was over, Boone took Elmer’s rifle and handed it to Hank. Hang onto this, he said. They’ll need it for evidence.

Hank accepted the gun. Don’t touch the trigger, said Boone. Okay, said Hank. Boone looked at the gun dealer. Something wasn’t imobiliare bucuresti right. Hank seemed unsure of something. What? asked Boone. Hank took a deep breath. The police can take this rifle, but it ain’t gonna help much, he said. Why is that? Because. Goddammit it, Hank, this ain’t the time— I’m telling you, it ain’t gonna help! Hank yelled in Boone’s face. Boone pulled back, stunned.

Hank inhaled again. Because, he said. I stood there and watched everything happen. And I hate to tell you this Boone, but Elmer Canifax never fired one damn shot. PART FIVE HELL TO PAY DREAMS Boone imobiliare bucuresti digs in the dirt. The black dirt, the cold dirt, the dirt like metal shavings under his nails, the dirt like blood caked between his fingers.

Fast and frantic, he digs in the dirt. Hurry up, says Jimmy. I can’t go any faster, says Boone. But he can go faster. He does go faster. The October air crackles cold in his lungs. He imobiliare bucuresti digs faster. His fingers cramp, his nails split and bleed, but still Boone Sumner digs faster.
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