Chapter 1

I, Bill Wilkerson, met Tamara O'Neal in Downtown Denver, just a few blocks from the 16th Street Mall after a Colorado Rockies game in 2007; we were both 26 years old then. It was a warm summer Saturday late afternoon and the Rockies had swept a three-game series against the Giants and Denver was rockin'. Tamara was rockin'. She is a looker, one of those girls that when she walks in, everybody forgets what they were saying and stares. Tight body, nice C cup round breasts whose nipples point up, small waist, flat belly and a perfect tight ass made for bouncing. She had mid back length light brown hair with light green eyes, and she is tall, 5'10", stunning. Every man who saw her fantasized about her. She is a solid 10 on the scale.

Tamara had been drinking all day. Guys were buying her beers at the game and then, afterwards in the bar across the street from Coors Field, she started with Bloody Marys then Jack and Coke. She was swacked by nightfall and more than one guy in that bar was making plans to force his affections on this partying dream girl.

Me? I was on the streets, preaching the Gospel. I was handing out pamphlets, talking to the homeless and the various revelers as they came and went outside the stadium. I'd been there most of the afternoon and it had been a good day, overall. I stood in front of this bar across from Coors Field about 10 pm and was about to wrap it up for the day. I was heading to my car in the parking lot and I saw 4 guys literally manhandling this girl just one row over from where I was parked. She was struggling, but obviously very drunk. But, it was also obvious to me that she was not a willing participant in this melee and was being overpowered by her male 'friends', who were making a valiant effort to rape her. Her jeans were unbuttoned and down about half way to her knees, her panties were being torn off her, as I watched, her shirt was shredded and her breasts were exposed. The guys were busy trying to hold on to her and get their cocks out and into her. Drunk as she was, and for as many of them as there were, she was all they could handle, but they were just too strong and there were too many of them. She was losing. One of the guys finally had enough of her struggling and slapped her really hard 3 or 4 times, telling her to settle down, that it would be easier on her if she quit fighting.

I guess the peaceful pacifist in me kind of lost touch at that moment.

There was a 4 feet long piece of pipe in my trunk that I used to put signs on and carry as I walked up and down the streets, preaching. I opened my trunk and got it out, ran over to where this rape was taking place and swung this heavy pipe at one of the fellows, breaking his shoulder. I swung again before anyone even knew I was there, and that fellow died from a crushed skull. His hard cock sticking straight up in the air, his unbuttoned pants down around his ankles were strangely obvious as he lay on the ground dead. The third fellow put his hand in front of himself as I swung at him. His forearm and elbow shattered. Screaming in pain, he gave up the effort and loped off. The fourth guy grabbed Tamara and held her between us. He produced a knife and held it to her throat. She looked at me in terror, mostly naked and bleeding from the nose and mouth, her cheeks bruised and forehead had a knot on it from her assailants' antics. I looked right at her, with my steel pipe drawn back in a batter's swing. I told her to "drop". Then I swung and this attacker also died as my pipe bashed his face and the top of his head in. Tamara lie on the ground bleeding from her throat. She was cut in the throat, but not spurting, so I knew he missed any artery, and she was breathing and talking. She didn't know that she was going to be ok, however, and began to panic. I grabbed her by her shoulders firmly and told her she'd be ok. I guess the adrenalin coursing through my veins and that superhuman strength that it lends for a moment was enough to reassure her and she calmed.

Denver Police showed up about that time and disarmed me with due aplomb. They ground my face into the pavement, twisted my arms up behind me and about three of them sat on me keeping me from breathing and thereby resisting. When they were satisfied that the fight was out of me, they cuffed me and dragged me away. I did not see Tamara again for several days.

I was in interrogation for 20 hours. After all, two men were dead, two more seriously injured and a girl had been beaten and raped. They had some sorting out to do. It was good that I had not been drinking. It was good that my pants were zipped up and fastened and the other four men all were in various stages of nakedness below their waists. All the guys tested above legal limits and Tamara was 3 times above the legal limit for alcohol in her system.

Finally, it came out that I was the good guy and she the victim, sort of. The other 4 were doing dastardly things. Channels 4, 7 and 9 were reporting the next night, things like, "A Knight in Shining Armor, a Street Preacher no less, Saves a local woman from a vicious attack, killing 2 and injuring 2 - Details at 10."

The District Attorney and the Police had a joint press conference and said it wasn't racially motivated, that all the men were Caucasian and the girl was also. They announced that no charges were being filed against me, but would be filed against the two surviving attackers for Assault and rape, and against Tamara for Public Intoxication, disturbing the peace and fighting. I guess the cops had to cover for themselves, because of those guys dying. I never fully understood the charges against Tamara, but then I never understood cops too well.

Then, after a few days, Channel 9 asked me to do a sit down interview with them and told me I could tell my story in my own words. They said the public wanted to know more about me. When I got to the station and into the studio, Tamara was seated there also. This was going to be a dual interview and Channel 9 got the scoop. Both, she who was attacked and he who rescued her were sitting there, in one interview. Their ratings would soar. My face was still pretty scarred up and swollen from the parking lot rash dealt to me by Denver's finest, and her eyes were swollen nearly shut, she had big blue and purple puffy bruises on her cheeks, forehead and bandages on her neck from the knife wound she had received. We must have looked like quite the sight on television.

For her part, Tamara admitted to having partied all day. She, being a huge Rockies fan, just let the partying get away from her and everyone was so elated that the Rockies had swept the three-game series from the Giants. Usually, she said she doesn't even drink, but that day it was just a celebration and it ended so tragically. She told of drinking all afternoon at the game, and then at the bar, everyone was buying her drinks. She, so obviously hot, just sitting there in the interview; everyone understood her not having to buy her own drinks. She related how the guys all grabbed her and kind of "walked" her out to the parking lot. Lots of groping and staggering was happening, she said. Then they started to get rough and put their hands on her private parts undoing and tearing at her clothing, and she started to resist and scream. It was going downhill for her pretty badly, she stated, and then the next thing she knew I was looking at her with a wild expression on my face and a raised pipe in my hands, and one of her attackers had her around the waist and a knife to her throat. She told the interviewer that I had told her to "drop" and she did as I swung the pipe. She said she was cut by the knife, but not too seriously because as she dropped, she pushed his arm away. She said she felt very lucky for that. She appreciated that I had risked my own safety to help her.

Then the interviewer asked me to relate what happened from my point of view. Before I could answer, she asked if I was drinking and what was I doing there at that hour. I said, "I was preaching the Gospel, witnessing to the lost."

The interviewer snickered at that and rushed me through the interview kind of rudely interrupting me and not really wanting to know too much of what I was about, after that. I noticed that Tamara was quietly crying while I was talking.

Interview over, I headed for the door of the TV station, looking to put some time and distance between me and this horrible event and its' players. Tamara caught me in the parking lot, though, and insisted that I talk to her, that I accept her thanks and that I not disappear without her getting to talk to me some more.

Being an itinerant preacher, I always look for an opportunity talk to people. So, I relented and agreed to have a meal with this lovely, no, this beautiful, creature.

It turns out that Tamara's father is one of the 'super rich'. There is lots of technology and innovation going on in Colorado and he is one of the movers and shakers. They have a house in Greenwood Village, box seats at the Broncos, Nuggets, Av's, and the Rockies. They're big sports fans, the whole family, Tamara most of all.

I really had nothing much in the way of material things. What I did have, I invested in my street ministry. I had been in the service, deployed to Iraq 2 tours and 1 in Afghanistan. I'd seen enough to know that I didn't want to live the military life; I wanted to be a force for peace and greater understanding among people, if I could. I'd seen killing and done some. I did not like the look on the face of the dead. I was trying to put it behind me, perhaps atone for some of my transgressions. At least, I wanted to encourage people to find a more excellent way from what we all seem to be slipping into.

That night, the night of Tamara's rape and beating, I dropped the ball on my own standards. "Oh, wretched man that I am, that which I would rather not do, I do it; that which I want to do, I don't do it". Violence is the first resort of the coward, the last resort of the brave.

Still, to protect someone from abuse was my duty, it is the only way I could see it. There were four of them and that meant the odds were stacked against me, so deadly force was in my training and makeup as justifiable.

I am 6'4" and I weigh 220 pounds. I am kind of an imposing figure, I've been told, and I have sandy hair and hazel eyes, broad shoulders and small hips with a flat stomach. My complexion is clear and I have a ready smile. I have been told by lots of folks that I am quite good looking. Just saying.

So, Tamara told me that her dad wanted to meet me and asked me if she could take me over to their house. I said, "I'll just follow you, how's that?" We were still in the parking lot of the television station.

I got there, to her house and it is quite the mansion. It has a big circular drive lots of bedrooms, library, dining room sitting room and who knows what all. This is a big house.

Her dad and mom were in the Kitchen. They were working together to make lunch. Tamara had apparently called ahead to tell them we were on our way. I was kind of shocked to see people with this kind of wealth, preparing their own food, and doing it together.

They welcomed me, after Tamara introduced me as "Bill Wilkerson, the man who saved my life and virtue", with gracious good words and invited me to sit down and enjoy lunch with them. They had prepared tuna salad with sliced fresh veggies; radishes, green onions, tomatoes, celery, baby carrots, and 12 grain bread. They served it with ice cold milk. I had 4 sandwiches, it was so good. They watched and smiled as I ate and ate.

There were lots of signals going between Tamara and her dad throughout lunch. Their eye contact and facial expressions were remarkable and something to watch. So much being said without words was taking place. I wondered what in the world I was in the middle of.