“Goin’ to the chapel…”
The parson looked nervous. Bart smiled to reassure him, then nudged him along with the Berretta. Now it was his wedding day, he didn’t want to wait.
“Dearly beloved…” he paused.
“We need witnesses.” The man swallowed.
Bart shook his head. “God is my witness. Ain’t that right, Bonnie?”
The parson went on, his voice shaking. “Do you–”
“Bartholomew Jenkins Evans.”
“Take this woman–”
“Bonnie Louise Ormond.” He gave her a squeeze.
Happiest day: a few more words, “You may kiss the bride.”
He lifted her limp head by the bruised neck. Bliss.