While sitting outside and contemplating how best to secure his target, Francis Ackerman Jr. had heard the familiar sound of gunshots coming from inside the blue house. He had quickly made his way through the yard and peered in through one of the windows in time to see Maggie rushing toward the back door with the bandaged man in pursuit. He wasn’t sure who this fellow thought he was, but nobody messed with Ackerman’s friends.
“I would suggest that neither of you move,” he said, staring down the sights of his Taurus Judge. “It’s good to see you again, Maggie, but I don’t believe that I’ve had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of your friend.”
She stared up at him with fire in her eyes and said nothing.
“What’s your name?” he said to the bandaged man. “Your real name.”
The man got to his feet. His eyes were intense and bright behind the bandages. Ackerman recognized the look. It was one of utter insanity. The bandaged man’s cracked and burned lips curled up in a snarl of contempt.
“Listen, friend,” Ackerman said. “I don’t really care who you are. To me, you’re just another cockroach.”
“You shut your damn mouth. You have no idea the power that I hold.” The man’s voice was harsh and strained but hypnotic and soothing nonetheless. It was a deep Southern baritone that rolled from his mouth like honey.
Ackerman noticed Maggie’s head whip round toward the bandaged man in shock. “You’re not Irish,” she said absently, almost to herself. “Oh my God, you’re the Prophet. You were faking. That’s why Schofield was trying to kill you. He was just protecting his family.”
“Schofield has lost his way. But that’s none of your concern, slave. You’ll burn tonight with all the rest in The Great Fire.”
Ackerman said, “Excuse me. This is all very fascinating. But I’m still here, and I still don’t care who you are or what you want.” Ackerman tossed a syringe of clear liquid in the bandaged man’s direction. It rolled to a stop near his feet on the yellow linoleum. “You have a choice. You can either inject that into Maggie, or I can shoot you and do it myself. Though I would prefer that you do it. She’d fight me and cost me extra time.”
“Who are you?” the bandaged man said.
“Does it matter? I’m not sure how it works around here, but normally when someone fires a gun in a populated area, the neighbors call the police. I’m sure they’re on the way as we speak. So although I would genuinely like to hear about this Great Fire that you referred to, I simply don’t have the time. So inject that into Maggie, and we’ll be on our merry way.”
“What about me?”
“If you inject her with that, then I’m perfectly happy to let you go about your business.”
The bandaged man picked up the syringe and gave Ackerman a cracked and bloody smile.