The Butcher and the Butterfly

by Ian Dyer

  ‘My good Sheriff. It is so nice to see you again. We are well met on this fine morn, so we are. Happy birthday for the other day. Sadly I didn’t get an invite.’ Wilson looked at his two brothers and grimaced, ‘But I guess we don’t warrant an invite, do we boys?’

  The Sheriff fell silent and began tapping his foot upon the boardwalk.

  ‘Look, Mr Sheriff, me and the brothers are just passing through and thought we might pick ourselves up some grub, that’s all. No more – no less. I am in a good mood today and I don’t want nothing to happen to spoil it.’

  The Sheriff shook his head, his face becoming red and flustered. What arrogance they have.

  ‘You are not welcome here, Wilson, you nor your brothers. Now be on your way before I call the force. We are certainly not well met!’

  Wilson looked to the floor, his brothers took a step back. Things were turning sour. The air grew hotter and the sun seemed to smile down on the group of men below. Finally Wilson smiled.

  ‘As always Sheriff, your hospitality is as warm as the moon. You boil my blood, aye, you’d do and I don’t give a fart in the wind if we are met in favour or not!’ Wilson thumbed behind him, pointing aimlessly at his two brothers. ‘Look, I have already been to your office this morning and spoken to John assuring him that I mean no harm to day. Nobody here will feel our wrath. Not today. You have my word.’

  The Sheriff laughed loudly; his belly rolling from side to side. The small crowd about him followed suite. If there was anything that got the Quint brothers backs up then it was being laughed at. How they didn’t draw their weapons and kill every last bastard in this town God only knows. Wilson took in a deep hot breath and calmed himself down. He glanced to each of his brothers his eyes telling them to do likewise. Jameson, realising that he may have taken this a little too far stopped his laughter and it wasn’t long before the small group had returned to silence.

  ‘How can we trust the word of a murderer, of a thief? Tell me that, Wilson Quint. You promise! I spit on your word. Your words mean nothing.’

  Wilson scratched at his irritating stubble. The day was getting hot now, too hot for such bullshit as this. He wanted to be in the shade, dusting off his boots, maybe even buying himself some cunny before the afternoon was over. The eldest brother bit his lip and rolled his eyes in contempt.

  ‘You can trust my word because it is I who have given it! I mean what I say, Sheriff. Don’t be a fool.’

  The Sheriff wasn’t afraid of the three brothers. He never had been nor ever would be. The only thing that scared him was what they might do if forced to leave the town. There would certainly be gunfire and death would soon follow.

  ‘Do what it is that you came here to do and then be gone. I won’t have you or your brothers disturbing the peace. By the time the Travellers is locked up I want you well on your way. You understand?’

  The brothers nodded.

  ‘You have my word, Sheriff. Bane and Boyd will do as I say. Just remember, though, if any hands come between us then we will retaliate. You can trust my word on that.’

  The Sheriff shook his head and hurried off toward his office where he no doubt would give the Deputy a serious talking to. He had lost a lot of the colour that had earlier filled his fat face. The eldest brother turned his attention to his two younger brothers whom had gone back to their horses.

  ‘That man boils my blood and he fuckin knows it too!’ He watched the Sheriff walk off into the heat haze of the horizon wishing for the chance to blow his head off.

  ‘One day Sheriff you are going to find yourself peering down the barrel of my gun and praying to whatever God it is that you worship, for a quick end.’

  6

  For the rest of the day the men hunkered down in the Travellers Last, keeping much to themselves. Passers-by would peer through the windows as the three brothers sat playing nine cards, drinking neat whiskey and eating their way through half a cow. With their presence; business was slow in the Travellers, even old Morrie kept his distance.

  As the sun began to set, mere moments before Stephen walked through the batwing doors, Wilson and Bane left the bar leaving Boyd to go about his chores. He considered approaching the young filly that stood behind the bar – taking her our back for a good fucking- but he thought better of it and simply left his money upon the table and trundled out into the cooling early evening air.

  7

  Wilson and Bane sat upon their horses at the path leading to the Drive household holding their reigns tight and their horses quiet. The darkness swamped them and they were one with the night. The gold and jewellery they got form this mansion would be enough to keep them in boots for the rest of their lifetimes and if things got short...well, Wilson had no qualms about killing to get what he wanted. Brotherly love and all that don’t stand for much – if anything, in the desert, especially when it comes down to life or death.

  The two men watched the path for some time. Just as doubt began to set into Wilsons mind, Mrs Depor, the house help and child minder came strolling down the path accompanied by the Deputies five children all dressed in their summer fineries. The minder nor the children saw the two men waiting in the night shadows and they happily went on into town to sing songs to an unhearing God at Church.

  he eldest brother held fast for another five minutes letting the children and Mrs Depor get well away and the house to fall silent. Wilson flicked the reigns, as too did Bane and the two men silently rode the horses down the shingle path and further away from the promise that they had made to the Sheriff to keep the peace. A promise the Sheriff knew, deep down inside, that the Quint brothers would never keep. And Wilson never disappointed. To survive out in the desert you had to be ruthless, cut throat and deadly. The Quint brothers were all those and much, much more. To get food and water you had to kill and steal; it was as simple as that. No great science was needed. No shades of grey out here in the desert.

  Nearing the main door of the house Wilson gestured to Bane to dismount. The horses were tethered to a nearby tree and the two men walked quietly up to the house. The floor boards creaked under their boots as they made their way up the stairs. The moonlights reflection shone in the brass doorknob and knocker and Wilson’s hatred for the richer way of life gathered like a thundercloud in the summers sky.

  Spoken quietly, Wilson said, ‘Remember, Bane; we grab her, tie her down, have some fun, grab the loot and get the fuck out of here. We leave what we can’t carry and takes what we can. I will finish off the old lady. Agree?’

  Bane nodded. Oh how I could yarn about simple Bane. But now is not the time for his evil far out ways that of his brothers. Soon my long time readers. Soon you will see the true face of evil. But not yet.

  The brothers were now stood in front of the door, slightly bent over so not to appear in any of the windows. Wilson gestured with his boot how the door was to be opened and held up four fingers. He and Bane stood back.

  Wilson mouthed the countdown ‘One...Two...Three...’ and with a splintering crack of old wood the door flew off its hinges and the silence of the town was broken.

  Bane ran in first; gun drawn hearing screams in his mind that weren’t actually there. Surely there must be screams? There were always screams during this type of work. Only the ticking of the large Grandfather Clock could be heard. Nothing stirred in the Drive residence tonight. Bane moved his head from side to side hoping to catch a little movement. But he saw nothing. He gestured to Wilson with a wave of his gun hand. The eldest was sure he saw a wink of comic shock in the eyes of Bane.

  Wilson boots left dark stains on the rug as he strutted in; one gun still holstered the other hanging low to his right. A creaking of floor boards came from the large room to the right and he and Bane looked at each other; eyes wide. Both men moved in that direction; their shadows stretching out in front of them.

  ‘GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!’ a woman’s voice boomed from a far off dark corner as the shadows walked through the doorway.

  Bane, as nonchalant
as Bane always was just kept on walking holding his brother back with a limp hand. How he loved to be the first through a door; to juggle death; to taunt it every time he had the opportunity.

  As Bane stepped through the doorway and his shadow disappeared into the darkness the voice screamed out again.

  ‘GET OUT OF MY HOME, YOU BASTARDS!’ The woman’s scream however was cut short as a huge gunshot, cannon like in its roar, echoed around the room leaving two great tattered holes in an armchair not two foot away from Bane. Two barrels glowed red hot in the far right hand corner of the room. The air filled with the scent of cordite and burnt upholstery. If the light had been on then you would have seen Banes eyes filled with joy and a cruel little smile upon his face. But the lights weren’t on and Wilson used this to his advantage. He charged through the room, leaping over tables and dodging small tables adorned in many a fine trinket. Within only but a few heartbeats the eldest brother was in front of the shooter his own gun raised to her head. The smoke still wafted from the barrels and the ends were still red hot. Slowly he placed his left hand on the wooden stock and prised it from her shaking hand. He could see her eyes; bloodshot with the cordite but wide with fear. Wide with hatred. Admirably she made a move for the gun and not so admirably Wilson punched her in the face with his right gun hand sending her sprawling to the floor with a thump. He threw himself around to check on his brother and as he did the lights flicked on temporarily blinding him.

  Blinking he raised the heavy shotgun that was in his left hand and admired the weapon the lady had used. Rare to see an ancient shotgun, especially one that fired. By the Maker it was old, older than he had ever seen. But that still wouldn’t have stopped it from ripping Banes guts out and knowing this he turned his attention to the smouldering armchair that Ellen had somehow hit.

  ‘Jumping Man Jesus! This fucker would have torn you to fucking bits, Bane!’ Wilson younger brother shrugged and pointed to the woman at Wilson’s feet.

  Ellen was conscious again and trying to crawl her way to freedom. Wilson chuckled to himself.

  ‘Grab me some rope, Bane and a not too damaged chair.’ Throwing the gun to the floor and kneeling onto Ellen’s back he stifled her screams by yanking back her long brown hair.

  ‘Gonna have to tie yer up now, lovey. You’ve got some balls, aye, ya have but that just makes the end a whole lot worse!’

  8

  Within twenty minutes the woman was tied to a chair and the loot rather uncaringly stashed into many travel worn sacks which were in turn piled up by the smashed doorway.

  Ellen had fallen unconscious whilst being tied up and she sat slumped in her favourite chair, drool and blood pouring from her cut mouth. Wilson and Bane stood in the doorway to the sitting room where John had spent the last night on the couch. The eldest brother tapped Bane on the shoulder. ‘It’s about time we woke up old fussy breaches and ended this charade.’

  Walking over to Ellen he removed a small silver vile. Uncorking it, he placed it under her nose and moved it between her nostrils. Slowly the wife of John Drive came back to the real world. Bane leant against the woodwork watching his brother; wishing he were the one sending Ellen on the path.

  After a couple of minutes, Ellen was awake. Pain etched in her eyes; blood encrusted around her mouth. Her dress was stained with her blood and torn in some places. She went to talk but found it hard at first. She looked at Wilson then back down to the floor. Finally she asked ‘What are you doing in my house?’

  Wilson scratched his left cheek. ‘Robbing it. Pretty fuckin obvious really.’

  ‘What are you going to do with me?’ Ellen’s voice cracked as she pushed back the tears.

  ‘Straight to the point as always, my dear Ellen.’ Wilson leant forward, barely a noses length away from Ellen and then said, ‘I am going to kill you Ellen. Simple answers for simple questions.’

  The woman struggled in her chair, not trying to free herself but trying to get away from the man that stood in front of her, but it was no good; her bonds were far too tight. She sobbed as she realised her struggles were futile. Her eyes darted around the room.

  ‘No one here to save you I’m afraid, Ellen.’

  ‘John...John...John...JOHN!’

  Wilson waved her words away, ‘No good calling for something that aint ever going to come. John aint coming to save ya.’

  Ellen sniffed back the snot dribbling from her nose and blinked out the tears as she looked straight at Wilson. ‘Why? What have you done with him?’

  Wilson laughed. ‘I aint done nothing to him, Ellen. Swears on my Ma's grave.’

  ‘Then why won’t he come?’

  Wilson quickly looked to his younger brother whom gestured with a twirl of his fingers to hurry this along. The eldest turned back and took in a deep then let out a deep sigh. Regretfully Wilson said, ‘Because he was the one that sent us, Ellen.’

  Ellen shook her head. ‘Liars. Cold face LIARS! He wouldn’t do such a thing! FUCKING LIARS!’ Spit and blood ran down her chin as she yelled and Wilson pulled away as the torrent finished. He raised his voice above hers and she soon silenced.

  ‘Yes he would Ellen. He would and he has. He wants it all Ellen and if that means that you have to walk the path and find Palaluka then so be it. To be honest with ya, Cathy and John have been planning this for months.’

  Ellen shook her head violently but realisation came quickly. She was going to die. She looked up into the face of the man doing the deed and realised that he had no remorse for what he was about to do. She sucked in all the snot she could and spat it out violently. The ball of mucus flew hard and fast and splatted across Wilsons right eye. The blood and snot dribbled down his cheek. Behind, Bane looked to the floor and shook his head in dismay.

  ‘You bastard! You heartless bastards!’ screamed Ellen.

  Wilson wiped the muck from his face with a piece of cloth and threw it upon the floor.

  ‘I can’t argue with you there Ellen. I am heartless, but I am afraid time is getting short and we have to be making tracks.’

  Ellen struggled to free herself one last time but she couldn’t; her wrists were torn and her back ached. She let loose one final flurry of insults hoping that they would bring down her killers.

  ‘You bastard son of a slut! You have no place on this world. May your mother shun you and your father strip you of any name you hold. My you and your family rot in all hells and be the bitch for the Demons cock - ’

  Wilson raised his gun and shot Ellen in her right kneecap and the insults came to end as her shouts turned to screams. Blood oozed from the wound and ran down her leg pooling on the wooden floor below.

  ‘Now you listen to me you old fuckin cunt and you listen good! I killed my mother and my father and I don’t give a fuck where I ends up as long as I have a good time when I’m there. Now stop fuckin screaming!’

  Wilson unloaded another slug, this time into Ellen’s left kneecap. She screamed out as the pain increased and the blood splattered across her face. Her eyes rolled back into her sockets as her mouth contorted. Her screams were becoming bestial now and the whole image was beyond description.

  Wilson stood back, and he pulled the trigger twice more this time shooting out both of Ellen’s elbows. Blood spurted and poured and the floor was awash with it. Finally her screams came to an end as the pain heightened. She had run out of breath to scream with and her body slumped in the chair. With all the strength she could muster she lifted her head and stared at the man holding the gun to her forehead.

  ‘I...Love you John. For...all...your sins...I love –‘

  Wilson pulled the trigger one final time. Ellen’s head exploded as the bullet tore through and splattered her skull and brain all over the fucking place.

  Just imagine my little reader, imagine if you dare, that Bane, stood in the corner like an admiring school boy, is far more dangerous than Wilson could ever dream of. One day his story will be told.

  9

  Blue streams of moonlight poured t
hrough the window as Stephen, dressed and ready to go down to the bar, sat at the end of his bed. The voice of the gun holstered comfortably on his right side burned into his skull – it had tormented his few hours of sleep he had gotten and forced him to wake.

  Can’t stay here, Stephen. I am hungry, she is hungry and we need to eat. You need to kill

  What do you expect of me, Jonah? To walk down there and start shooting?’

  It would have come to that if it wasn’t for the brothers that are currently heading out of town.

  ‘What brothers?’ Stephen stood and headed over to the window gazing at the full moon that filled the sky. It was bright enough to hide the stars.

  The Quints. They have been up to no good, Stephen and need punishing.

  Stephen was quiet. He had no urge to kill, no need.

  Yes you do, Watchman! Yes you do. Don’t forget what will happen if I remain quiet. Your future and the future of all the others teeter on you now, Stephen. Would you risk that?

  ‘No.’

  Then listen to me. Hangman’s Hill is where they is at. You’ll have to run, much time has already been lost. Be careful of them Stephen, the Quints are ruthless and as sharp as knives.

  ‘I have to have a reason, Jonah, I just can’t go around recklessly killing? I may have changed from the man I once was, but I still have a conscience of a sort.’

  Jonah laughed and it was loud enough for Stephen to fruitlessly grab at ears in an attempt to silence the metallic killer.

  Once day you will look back at these days and laugh and wonder how stupid and weak you once were. I know of your path, much like that old crow I have witnessed you bump and grind through life, finally ending up here with me at your hip. I am good for you, Stephen, trust in that. I won’t see you come to any harm but you have to listen to me, follow me, especially if you want to impress those that have trusted in you.

  Stephen moved away from the window and looked into the mirror. ‘A reason, Jonah.’

  The Deputies wife has been killed, Watchman. The Quint brothers shot her to bits. Not for the gold, though they will take that gladly, they did the dirty deed all for John and Cathy. You saw them looking at each other. You sensed it and I am confirming it. Her death will leave five kids motherless, and fatherless when the will is read. Cathy and John have been fucking like rabbits this past two years everyone knows it apart from the wife.