The Butcher and the Butterfly (10 page)

The gun had fallen
silent so he took the opportunity to eat a little jerky and take in
what had just happened. She was a tricky old fool that was sure.
Back in the day she would have been a troublesome resident of this
place; respected for what she could do, especially the healing
aspects, but feared. If he looked back he would no doubt see news
articles of missing people, children and animals with all evidence
pointing to the witch but not enough to convict. Even if there was
want no way a fat old Sheriff and a limpy Deputy gonna attempt to
take down someone like Patience.

Stephen took one
final swig and behind a bush made his water.

Don’t think I’ve
gone, Watchman. I’m still here.

‘Go fuck
yerself.’

Now, now. No need
for that.

Stephen lifted the
back pack and took out the gun. The markings had disappeared
replaced the gun metal he was used too. Apart from the larger
casing it was just a regular revolver. Well, as regular as one of
the ancient weapons could be. Compared to the shoddy handmade guns
made by today’s ironmen these were like diamonds in a sea of
mud.

‘Jonah.’ It was a
strange name, old, one of the first men Stephen had read about. He
un-holstered his usual gun and removed the six bullets; placing
them into Jonah’s casing leaving two spare holes.

That’s it. Baby
steps. I will ignore the two missing slugs.

Stephen closed the
casing and spun it. It was clean sounding with an even turn though
he would use his kit on it tonight just to be sure.

Don’t scrub too
hard

‘That’s enough,
Jonah. Let’s be clear, here. I shall kill; I have no issues there
for I can always find a crook or two but I will not have ya
spouting off every two minutes if it does please ya!’

Tetchy, tetchy,
but okay. I can be quiet, but I can have my uses. For instance,
with yer eyes closed, turn, point me at two o’clock just below
shoulder height

‘No games.’

No games. Do this
and I shall remain quiet until called for

Stephen breathed
out and rolled his eyes before closing them, turning, aiming and
firing. The explosion from the gun was monstrous, echoing through
the small valley and causing dust from the floor to bellow up like
some terrible storm.

Open your eyes oh
great warrior. Your thanks will not be required

Stephen opened his
eyes using his spare hand to shade them from the intense sun. He
couldn’t quite believe what was ahead of him and his stomach
dropped at the thought that he hadn’t seen this coming and once
again that he had been saved by someone other than himself.

Not twenty feet
away, slumped against a rock, blood pumping from a hole where its
heart had once been, covered in old robes and pieces of bolted on
metal work was a sub human creature known to the locals as a
Clicker. Its pale twisted face as shocked as Stephens, its crooked
arms swaying from the impact and its sightless white eyes as
lifeless as they had been in life. Its bowed legs gave way and it
hit the floor hard, dust spooling in the hot air. This pestilent
creature clicked no more.

6

It was well past
five before Stephen walked through the batwing doors and into the
Travellers. Susie had been waiting, somewhat irrationally for him
to return and now that he was back she poured him a beer and had it
ready as he approached the bar.

He didn’t look at
her, focusing his attention on the beer and ensuring every last
drop was poured down his throat. He wiped his wet mouth and stifled
a belch. At the end of the bar a familiar voice chuckled, but that
was quickly swallowed up by Susie.

‘Good day?’

Small talk. Oh the
joys.

‘Aye, Susie. Good
enough. Good enough. Is Cathy about?’

Susie looked
troubled. ‘No, she’s off with John grabbing barrels from out back.
Why?’

Stephen took a
small coin from his pocket and placed it on the bar next to his
pint glass. ‘We mentioned no coin this morning, but best she gets
this. I don’t want you picked up by someone else.’

‘Oh. Okay.’ Her
little smile was coming back. ‘Another beer?’

‘Stephen nodded.
‘Aye, two please. One for the room. I need to freshen up.’ He
turned his attention to his would be apprentice, ‘You get the bits
I asked for, prentice?’

Tommy hopped down
from his barstool. ‘Yep. They is up in yer room already.’ He didn’t
mention the remaining coins weighing down his pocket.

‘Good, good.’

Susie placed the
two beers on the counter and leant over as to shield their
conversation from the rest of the bar.

‘Everything all
right? You seem distracted? Are we okay?’

He smiled and
nodded waiting for a passer-by to move on before he spoke. ‘Tired
and thirsty. That’s all. I’ve not been in company for so long I am
used to keeping much to myself. Look, I will be down tonight at
some point for dinner and then when you finish we can talk then,
okay?

Bright smiles now.
‘Okay, Stephen. I look forward to it. Should be an early finish so
we can spend some time getting to know each other better.’

‘I would like
that.’ Stephen grabbed the two beers and headed off up the stairs
and disappeared into the hallway. Susie heard his door open and
then close with a slam. She wasn’t aware that the bar had fallen
quiet and she blushed as the few locals returned their attention
from her back to their own sorry little lives.

‘What’s he mean,
cold coin so no one else can haves ya?’ Tommy had moved himself
along from the end of the counter to right opposite Susie. It
startled her a little especially as she thought they had kept their
small conversation pretty quiet.

‘Nothing Tommy.
It’s just a joke we had. Now what have I told ya about
eavesdropping?’ She swung her dishcloth at him and he fell back off
his chair landing hard on his bum. The rest of the patrons didn’t
even notice.

‘Not fair, Susie.’
Tommy yelled as he pulled himself up and brushed off the sawdust
and dirt.

‘Get back to yer
beer, Tommy. Leave me in peace for a while and I shall keep it
topped up for ya, okay?’

Tommy slunk back
into the corner and before sitting on the barstool he rubbed his
bruised backside. Up until a few years ago, when the voice had
started in his head, he wouldn’t have been able to sit still or
stop himself from wetting his pants but now, with practice,
Patience could speak to him and no one would suspect anything.

I know you loves
her, Tommy. I know you want to put that dirty pink stick of yours
inside of her.

No, it’s not like
that. I means, I would like too but I want to be a good man to her.
I can be a good man to her. ‘Specially now I’m an apprentice to a
Watchman.

Alright, Tommy,
don’t wet the bed. If ya want her then bring her to me. I can help
you. I know you have loved her for a long time, since you were both
young. I have always promised you that one day I would thank ya for
all the work you have done for me so just bring her along tomorrow
and by nights end I guarantee Susie will be ya little
girlfriend.

But how? She
doesn’t trust enough to come out to there.

Bring her to the
shallow valley. Tell her about the yellow flowers that grow there.
She has always liked them hasn’t she? I shall wait for ya and if
she puts up a fight we can both deal with it.

Tommy smiled and
back in her wretched hut, Patience smiled back.

For All Your Sins I
Love…

1

That morning,
whilst Stephen and Susie fucked for the first time, John had woken
early, hunkered on the sofa in the back room. His wife’s house, for
let’s not forget that he doesn’t own it and never really will, is
huge, the biggest in Rockfall. His stomach felt fragile, his mind
full of ache. He hated what he was going to do, hated himself but
he had no choice. He had no choice?

A sick feeling
welled up in his gut and he barely got to the downstairs toilet
before throwing up all of lasts nights cured ham and spuds. He
hugged the Porcelain King, hoping that he wouldn’t start puking
again. With four more retches and a spluttering of reddish sick the
knots began to fade away. He staggered to his feet and leant upon
the wash hand basin. Turning on the tap and letting the cold water
pool in his closed hands, he looked at his reflection and hated the
face starring back at him. Feeling the urge to puke again he
splashed the water across his face, not once but five times. The
water dripped from his nose and his mouth and all over the
expensive shag pile under his feet. He cared little. The sickness
was lifting now and his head was a lot clearer.

He wiped his hands
across his face, picked up his dark blue trousers and white shirt
from the back of the chair that he had slept in the night before
and dressed himself. He couldn’t stand it in this house anymore. It
was full of too many memories, too many hurtful memories. Guilt was
a silent killer, a killer that doesn’t get much credit. He had
dreamed last night that the contract had failed upon his wife and
instead of him being the main point on the signed agreement it had
been him and the three brothers had come for him. Come for him and
killed him.

Everything around
John felt cold and empty. Distant, other worldly. His house, his
wife’s house, was that of strangers or a distant family member. The
ornaments, the paintings, the china and the rich trivialities were
all borrowed. Borrowed from her. He felt borrowed sometimes; lent
out to someone who cared little for their new toy and would
eventually throw it on the scrap pile and get a newer, shinier toy
to play with.

He opened and
closed the front door of the giant mansion and the guilt, the
nerves, the trepidation left him. He finished zipping up his fly
and tucking in his shirt and he realised that this would probably
be last time he left this house with a wife to his name. His wife.
The bitch on his arm and the whore in his bed. No that was unfair.
She was a good woman. She was no more a bitch than Susie was a
whore. He was going to pay for what he was doing but hopefully his
payment was years off. He glanced up to the top windows and to the
one that had been his bedroom for so many years. He felt nothing
for her. Felt no hate, no loss. No love All he felt was
self-loathing and hatred towards his own wretched soul for doing
what he was about to do. He knew though, that in time that the
feelings would pass like a stubborn turd passes when given the
opportunity.

As he walked down
the steps leading to the gravel track that led to the gateway a
familiar voice rang out in his head.

How could you
John? How could you do this to me and the children? I gave you
everything, this house, my love, your children and all you do in
return is fuck around and have me killed

John shrugged off
the voice and continued walking down the path. The road to the
station was dusty and barren. The houses were quiet and hardly a
soul appeared to greet the Deputy. The message from his wife did
not leave his mind. He had loved Ellen, once, long ago when he was
a lad and she was a lass. But now, age had gotten the better of
both of them, he yearning for younger more willing pussy and she
with sagging tits a stuck up nose and a tight unwilling hole. His
marriage with Ellen was a sham now and everyone knew it. But it
shouldn’t end like it was going to end. But it would. What made it
worse, for John that is not Ellen, is that he couldn’t simply wait
for her to die of natural causes, oh no, by that time he would be
as old as the hills and her Will would have no record of his name
what so ever.

No, if Cathy and
John were to prosper and live a good life then Ellen must die and
she must die sooner rather than later. His name was in the Will,
that he knew for sure and so leaving it any later put his and
Cathy’s plans on a knife edge. He wished it didn’t have to come to
this, but he loved Cathy. Loved her so very much. He would rather
lose his wife and children than Cathy and the Travellers Last.

My children. My
little babies.

That would be his
greatest loss, his children. All five of them would be sent away,
to be brought up by Ellen’s sister. It had been written and in her
Will and there was little John could do about it. Besides, he
wasn’t much of a father. John booted a stone that lay in the road
and watched it scuttle across it, kicking up little puffs of air as
it went and finally coming to rest outside his place of work. It
finished up next to a hoof of a horse that made up a trio of horses
tied neatly in a row. The brothers were on time. His wife’s time
had run out.

2

The three horses
were roped to the banister atop the boardwalk that surrounded the
building, the sign of which marked it as the Court House. All the
windows were barred and apart from the smoke coming from the
chimney the building looked dead. The court house had space for
four small offices used mainly for filling and junk, one large
office which had the desks of the Deputy and the Sheriff in and six
tight cells. It was a shabby building in a shabby town but none the
less it was the home of the law and was to be respected.

The sand wrapped
around Johns shoes as he stood outside his place of work and he
stared long and hard at the three horses parked outside. They were
big beasts, strong, muscular, with eyes as dark as coals. They
cared little for him, brushing away the flies with their tails. The
guilt began to rise in his gut again.

John spat out a
huge wad of phlegm onto the dusty floor. His shirt became wet with
sweat and his pants hung low in the humidity. It felt as though he
had crapped himself. Three mules, three men and one goal, one plan,
one simple plan; hard to fuck up. They were here to kill his wife.
Simple. Rob the place and then kill his wife. So why my avid reader
did John call upon these three men that ride horses fit for Death
himself? Let me answer that; because these three men are killers.
Long, tall and ugly killers. That is their lot in life. They go
from place to place, taking what they want and caring little for
the people they take it from. They are the lowest of the lows, the
dirtiest of the dirtiest and would kill their own mother – and have
by the by – for a chance to get at some gold. The Quint brothers
are the best boys for the job, but be warned my avid reader for the
brothers can turn quicker than a swirling bullet and they are not
to be trusted. If you want details on how they look or how they
strut then you will only have to imagine for a little while
longer.