The Butcher and the Butterfly (12 page)

‘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.