| |
Treadwell, NY—five hours before Billy’s murder
Billy didn’t want to arrive at the service too early, since he planned to lose himself in whatever crowd there might be to better observe without being observed. So, when he pulled his pickup onto the grassy parking area between the house and the barn, it was already seven thirty. As he exited the truck and made his way toward the freshly-painted “church,” he could hear singing coming from within—and it was quite inspired by the sound of it. Good, he thought. No one would notice him slip into the rear of the building.
The first thing Billy observed was that the man conducting the service was not his father. Of course that didn’t mean his father wasn’t still alive; he just wasn’t at this place. Hell, he could be anywhere. But, still, Billy was a bit disappointed. It would have been nice to confront the old bastard after all these years—maybe kick his ass around a bit. He’d probably be about sixty, if not older, and surely in no condition to offer any resistance (much like Billy had been when he used to absorb his father’s beatings). No, thought Billy, it’d be fun to knock the old man around a little—settle a few old scores; maybe he wasn’t in such hot shape, but he knew enough from his special forces training to teach his father a lesson or two.
The second thing Billy noticed was that the woman assisting the preacher bore a striking resemblance to his own mother. Sure, she was a lot younger than his mom; but the bone structure of her face was remarkably similar, and her hair was the same dark, chestnut color he remembered so well. The woman singing loudly alongside the preacher was none other than his long-lost sister. She was older and definitely prettier now—and apparently a lot better off than he was—but there was no doubt about it; it was her. It was Winona.
Billy could scarcely contain his emotions, which were many and diverse. He was somewhat satisfied to have finally located his only living flesh and blood, yet mildly angry at the shameful childhood memories her presence evoked. Those feelings were just as valid and powerful today as they were then. But there was a third emotion at work. It was envy. And, envy was an awesome motivator. Here he was a drug dealer and user, broke and struggling; and there she was with her preacher man, the two of them doing just fine. Nice, white house; nice barn; probably lots of money—compared to him.
The way Winona looked at the preacher, there was no doubt that he was her “main squeeze.” He was good-looking, seemed to be a polished performer, and sported some pretty expensive clothes. Amidst Billy’s confused emotions there now arose an overpowering thought. It pulsed and vibrated with its intensity. But this wasn’t a time for jealousy, he thought. Jealousy was for losers. Instead of being a time for envy, this just might be the opportunity of a lifetime. If he played his cards right, he could not only take his revenge and bring the whole world crashing down around his little sister, but at the same time he could bolster his sagging resources.
After all, he still had “the letter.”