Righteous Kill Read online

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BOOKS BY G. MICHAEL HOPF

  RIGHTEOUS KILL

  A NOVEL

  G. MICHAEL HOPF

  Copyright © 2019

  G. MICHAEL HOPF

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  For information contact:

  [email protected]

  www.gmichaelhopf.com

  All rights reserved.

  PROLOGUE

  APRIL 17, 1885

  OUTSKIRTS OF WALLACE, IDAHO TERRITORY

  Each swing of the pickaxe reverberated through sixteen-year-old Billy Connolly’s already sore body. He removed his tattered hat, wiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve, and grimaced at the rock he had just spent the last thirty minutes trying to pulverize. If he described his job as miserable, it would be an understatement. Billy despised what he did and never expected he’d have to work in a silver mine, yet here he was, the oldest son of an Irish immigrant. No, none of this was the plan his now deceased father had had for the Connolly family when they’d left Galway three years before, but then again, William Connolly Sr. wasn’t supposed to die either.

  After Billy’s father died, Billy did what any responsible eldest son would do, and that was take work to support the family. With his mother and two younger siblings to care for, he took a job at one of the mines close by. It was hard physical labor, but until something else came around, Billy would have to keep swinging his pickaxe.

  The workday ended like usual with the second shift coming on and Billy taking his leave. His mind wandered to what life would have been if his father hadn’t died upon their arrival in Wallace. He mostly was upset by the fact that he couldn’t leave now. The dream of America was intoxicating, and he wanted so much to see the expansive landscape and devour all that his adopted land could give him. Feeling stuck by circumstance, he started to feel resentful and longed for the day he could be free, but when would that be, and what would he do?

  As he came around the bend in the trail, his cabin came into sight. It wasn’t much, a single-room log building with a tiny loft. It was too small for them even without his father. He took notice of two horses hitched out front and wondered who they could belong to.

  Billy rode up alongside the horses and dismounted. He admired the beautiful saddlebags on the horse closest to him; the bag was embroidered with the initials DSG. He hitched his old mare and made his way to the front door, but before he reached it, the door swung open and out came two men; both were laughing.

  The first man, who was tall and lean, his face covered with a thick beard, gave Billy a wink and said, “You have a nice mama.”

  Unsure what that meant, Billy asked, “What?”

  The second man looked similar to the first, but stood a couple of inches shorter with a wider build. He walked up to Billy and stood inches from his face. He leaned in and sniffed. “Boy, you smell. I suggest you go take a bath.”

  Billy furrowed his brow and asked, “Who are you?” It was then that he noticed the second man was buttoning the fly of his trousers.

  “Just friends of your ma,” the second man said.

  Billy stood frozen to the spot, unsure what to do. His senses told him something was wrong, but he couldn’t quite peg it. He glanced inside the cabin, but it was too dark to see anything.

  The men unhitched their horses and mounted them.

  Fear began to rise in Billy. He entered the darkened cabin and looked around. It took a second for his eyes to adjust, and when they did, he saw his mother in the corner crying, her dress torn. “Ma, what’s going on?”

  She pulled the torn top of her dress together to cover her bosom and replied, “It’s nothing, William.”

  Dolores Connelly was a proud woman and not one prone to hysterics, so seeing her this way sent signals to Billy that something horrible had occurred. He marched over to her and asked, “What did those men do?”

  Wiping tears from her reddened cheeks, she answered, “Just give me a moment. How about you go out and get cleaned up.”

  Billy’s suspicions rose as to what had transpired, but it seemed all too surreal. How could this happen? he thought.

  “Those men hurt Mama,” Shannon, Billy’s ten-year-old sister, said from the loft.

  Billy shot her a look and asked, “Those men hurt Mama?”

  “They came in and hit her. Then they threw her on the table, one man got on top, and—”

  “Enough,” Billy said, his anger rising.

  “Shannon, you be quiet,” Dolores said.

  Stepping up inches from her, Billy asked, “Those men hurt you, didn’t they?”

  “It was my fault. I let them in; I shouldn’t have. I’m a damn fool,” she replied.

  Billy’s anger kept rising. He was exhausted from a job he hated, had recently lost his father, and now it appeared his mother had just been raped. He marched over to his mother’s cot in the far corner, pulled aside the blanket that hung as a divider, and began searching under it.

  “What are you doing?” Dolores asked.

  His fingers touched the wooden box he was searching for, and he pulled it out. He set it on the mattress and opened it to find a Colt New Army pistol, with loose rounds lying in the bottom. He removed the pistol, examined it carefully, and confirmed it was loaded.

  “William Connolly, what are you doing with that gun?” Dolores asked, her eyes wide with fear.

  Billy jumped to his feet and shoved the pistol in his waistband. “Ma, I’m going to go kill those men.”

  She ran to the door and blocked it. “You won’t do anything, you hear me?”

  He got inches from her face and said, “Ma, I love you, but I can’t live with this injustice.”

  “I can. Now put that back and go get cleaned up for dinner,” she said, her body trembling.

  From the loft Shannon and Michael, the youngest at eight years old, stared down on the scene in disbelief.

  “No, I need to do this; otherwise they’re liable to come back again. Those men need to be taught a lesson.”

  “And if they come back, I’ll handle it. I can’t risk you getting hurt. I need you; your sister and brother need you,” she snapped, her already swollen eyes tearing up.

  “Pa wouldn’t stand for this. I won’t either,” Billy declared.

  “Your pa is dead; it doesn’t matter what he’d do or not do. Now put that damn thing away and go get ready for dinner,” she blared.

  He stared into her tear-filled eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was forcibly move her, so he stepped back, turned and went to the cot. Using his body to cover his actions, he pretended to put the pistol away; instead he shoved it into the inside pocket of his trousers. He slid the box back under the cot and rose.

  “Now go get yourself cleaned up. I’ll have dinner on the table shortly,” she said, sighing. She moved away from the door and walked over to the fireplace. There, she began to stir the contents of a cauldron that hung over the hot coals.

  He stepped to the door and looked at her. His anger was at a tipping point, but he hid it. Deliberately slowing his tempo and keeping his voice low, he said, “I’m sorry, Ma.”

  Not looking at him, she kept stirring the stew, her sobs audible. Using her free hand, she wiped her tears and said, “Go get cleaned up, and take your siblings with you.”
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  “You two, with me,” Billy said.

  Shannon and Michael climbed down the ladder and walked over to Billy. He opened the door and said, “Out with ya. Go get cleaned up.” The two raced out. Before stepping out himself, he said, “Get yourself cleaned up too, Ma.”

  Her voice cracking, she replied, “I will. Now go, give me a moment.”

  He exited the cabin and closed the door.

  Shannon and Michael stood, their eyes fixed on him. “Whatcha going to do, Billy?” Shannon asked.

  “I’m going to go get those men. I need you two to do as Ma said, get cleaned up, go back inside, and tell her I’m down at the shed putting the horse away.”

  “She’s going to be mad,” Shannon said while Michael nodded.

  Billy could see by the look on Michael’s face that he was traumatized by the attack. He cradled his head in his hand and said, “It’ll be okay. Just do as your sister says.”

  “I’m scared,” Michael said.

  “I know you are, but I’m going to handle this,” Billy said.

  “But Ma told you not to,” Michael reminded him.

  “Sometimes us men have to do things that we’re told not to do. You’ll understand when you get older,” Billy said, reciting something his father often told him. “Pa wouldn’t have stood by and let this go unanswered; I can’t either.”

  “But—” Michael said before being interrupted by Billy.

  “Go get cleaned up now,” Billy said. He strutted over to his horse and unhitched it. “I’ll be back soon,” he said as he mounted the horse and pulled the reins hard to the left.

  Shannon and Michael watched as he rode off.

  WALLACE, IDAHO TERRITORY

  At every turn or bend in the road, Billy expected to run into the men. His heart would race with each anticipated encounter when he rounded a corner and found it empty. Onward like this his ride went until he reached town. He didn’t know where they were or if they’d even gone to Wallace, but something told him they were there. Unsure where they would specifically be, he did have one thing to look for, and that was the black horse with the ornate saddlebags with the initials DSG.

  He imagined men like that would be at a saloon, and with only two in town, he didn’t have too many places to go. He rode up to the first saloon, Gavin’s, and along the front side of it stood a row of hitched horses. He closely examined each one and didn’t see the horse he was looking for, so he proceeded to the second and last saloon, The Panhandler. He slowly trotted by the horses out front, and after passing four, he came upon a large black horse. He stopped and saw the saddlebags. A surge of tension shot through him as he contemplated turning around, but he quickly brushed it off. He dismounted, hitched his horse, and stepped onto the walkway. In front of him were the swinging doors of the saloon; the raucous sound of merriment and laughter hit his ears. Before walking in, he pulled out the pistol and double-checked it was loaded.

  The doors swung open, and in front of him was a man who was clearly intoxicated. He looked at Billy, then to his pistol, and joked, “Don’t shoot.” He stumbled off the walkway and into the street, singing a tune.

  Billy shoved the pistol back into his belt. He took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. He knew the next step could change his life, but he was prepared for the consequences. He knew his father was looking down on him, and could not in good conscience just let this crime go unpunished. Summoning all his courage, he pushed the doors open and entered the saloon.

  A few heads turned and looked, but he was quickly dismissed.

  Billy scanned the room but didn’t see the men. He cautiously walked towards the bar, his eyes darting from face to face, hoping to find them, but still he came up short. He reached the bar, turned and looked down to the left but didn’t see them. He then craned his head right and looked, but again they weren’t there.

  “What will you have?” the bartender, a man named Charlie, asked.

  “Oh, um, nothing,” Billy replied nervously.

  “Then what in the hell you doing in here, boy?”

  “I, um…I’m looking for two men. One rides a black horse and he has a saddlebag with the initials DSG embossed on it.”

  Charlie raised his brow and, with his head cocked ever so slightly to the side, said, “You’re looking for Daryl Gundry, and the other man would be his brother, Mitch.”

  Wanting to sound and look confident, Billy lengthened his spine and said, “That’s them. Where can I find them?”

  “Who’s looking?” Charlie asked. “I don’t recognize you.”

  “A friend,” Billy said, regretting uttering the word the second he said it.

  “Friend? You sure you’re not his kid?”

  “Where can I find them?” Billy asked again.

  Charlie furrowed his brow and stared without saying a word.

  Feeling the awkward tension, Billy asked, “Are they here?”

  “Yeah, they’re over there playing cards in the corner,” Charlie said and pointed.

  Billy snapped his head in the direction and looked, but still didn’t see them. “Where?”

  “The table in the corner,” Charlie said. “Now piss off.”

  Billy stepped away from the bar and headed towards the corner. Each step he took proved more difficult than the last. His stomach churned and tightened as a state of fear gripped him, yet he kept moving forward until he was a foot from the table.

  Five men sat around the small round table. The three he could see were not Daryl or Mitch, leaving the men whose backs were facing him to be his targets.

  One of the men playing at the table glanced up from his cards and said to Billy, “No gawking. Move on.”

  The sounds of the room grew silent, and all Billy could hear and feel was the thumping of his heart.

  “Are you deaf, boy?” the man asked.

  “I’m looking for Mitch and Daryl,” Billy said.

  Both of the men whose backs faced Billy turned their heads and looked over their shoulders.

  “Who are you?” Mitch asked. He had been the first man Billy encountered leaving his cabin, leaving Daryl to be the other.

  Billy remained quiet, his right arm hanging to his side. He could feel his hands shaking and sweat forming on his brow.

  Daryl squinted and said, “You’re the boy we saw when we left the cabin.”

  “Oh yeah.” Mitch snickered.

  Daryl burst into laughter, his blackened teeth showing as he cackled.

  What fear Billy had melted away and was replaced with pure rage. He pulled the Colt from his belt, raised it, and hollered, “You raped my ma!”

  The men at the table became instantly silent, with Mitch and Daryl giving Billy a hard stare.

  “Put the gun down, boy,” Mitch barked.

  The silence spread around the saloon, with even the piano player stopping to see what was happening.

  “Son, if you mean to gun us down, it would help if you cocked the hammer back first,” Daryl sneered.

  Billy’s focus turned to the hammer. He raised his thumb to cock it back but was shoved back as Daryl shot to his feet and drew.

  Daryl swung his pistol around, his thumb cocking the hammer back on his pistol.

  As if the world had slowed down, Billy watched the muzzle of Daryl’s pistol come towards him.

  Mitch now jumped up and went for his pistol.

  Billy managed to get the hammer back before Daryl could bring his pistol around. Not hesitating a second, Billy pulled the trigger. The .45-caliber round shot from the barrel and struck Daryl squarely in the chest.

  The force of the impact sent Daryl reeling back and into Mitch, causing him to fumble and drop his pistol. Both men went crashing to the ground, with Daryl, now dead, lying on top of Mitch.

  The other players at the table jumped out of the way, giving space for Billy to advance.

  Taking the advantage, Billy cocked the pistol again, took a step forward, and said to Mitch, “You raped my ma; now pay the price.” He aimed at Mitch
’s head and fired.

  With both men now dead, Billy stood in disbelief at what he’d just done.

  “Damn, boy, you killed the Gundry brothers,” a man said, his back plastered against the wall.

  Billy looked up and said, “I don’t know who they were, just that they raped my ma.”

  “Oh no,” a voice said loudly.

  Billy heard the clicking of a hammer going back followed by a stern voice. “Drop the pistol, son.”

  Out of the corner of Billy’s eyes, he saw a towering man with a glimmering badge on his chest. “Sir, those men raped my ma.”

  “That may be, son, but I need you to drop the pistol and come with me,” the man said. He was the local sheriff and went simply by the name Sheriff Mac, which was short for McDonough.

  “Please believe me, sir,” Billy said, his arm still outstretched with the pistol.

  “Son, I ain’t gonna ask again,” Mac barked.

  Billy dropped the pistol, raised both hands, and turned to face Mac.

  Mac gave Billy the once-over and saw a scared boy. “Come along.”

  Billy walked past Mac and out of the saloon.

  ***

  Back and forth, Billy paced the small iron cell, nervous that he’d be hanged for murdering the men, something he hadn’t thought much about when he’d decided to go out and shoot them.

  Mac sat in his chair, his legs up, reading a newspaper, a pipe clenched between his teeth.

  “What’s going to happen, Sheriff?” Billy asked, his voice cracking with fear.

  “Well, son, typically you hang for murdering people,” Mac replied nonchalantly.

  Grasping the bars, Billy exclaimed, “But they raped my ma.”

  “You keep saying that, but until I hear your ma say it, it’s just your word. You see, son, we need witnesses, not just the ramblings of a kid,” Mac said, looking up from his paper. “Anyways, Deputy Evans went to go bring your ma here. Soon we’ll find out.”

  “She’ll tell you, you just wait, and, Sheriff, I’m not a kid. I’m sixteen, will be seventeen soon,” Billy shot back.