That done, he almost seemed relaxed. He caressed his manifesto.
By mangling Darwin, he’d managed to convince them of the urgency of ridding the city of: the misfits, the handicapped, the vulnerable, the weak, the pitiful.
Bethany thought it was a crock, but Bine gave her a cold icy channel for her rage, so she acted as if she bought into his motives. And though she despised herself, she had such a lust for him she was prepared to go along with whatever frenzy he’d envisaged. It sated her need to have to lash out alone.
Bine said,
“James?”
Jimmy leapt to attention, went and got the nose candy, a mini headstone, with cocaine done in nice consecutive lines and, naturally, presenting a fifty-euro wrapped note, offered the gear first to Bine.
He did three lines fast, moved the stuff to Sean, who did similar, then Jimmy, and, finally, Bethany.
She didn’t give a proverbial toss that they were as chauvinistic as the very society they decried, she did four lines just to fuck with the system.
She smiled as the dope jolted and at their almost boyish cries of “Sweet Jaysus,
Darwin rocks,
Bring it on muthahfuckahs.”
She watched Bine carefully, even as she felt the icy dribble down her own throat. Christ on a bike, that was A-1 dope, she was in danger of speaking, such was the potency. She knew the K could take him either way: magnanimous or malevolent.
He caught her stare, asked,
“The knife?”
She produced the new Japanese blade he’d ordered, serrated edge and as sharp as a bishop avoiding child molestation allegations.
He studied it, asked,
“And this for whom?”
She bit down, said,
“As you desire.”
Fuck, even to her own self she sounded like a wench in an Elizabethan drama or, worse, a bad Russell Crowe medieval romp. He moved his finger along the edge, letting the fine blade draw blood, sucked at it, the blood on his lips, his eyes on fire, and she knew, sex would be rough, and violent, and the stupid bollix, he’d probably bring the knife to their bed. Men and their macho toys. He said,
“Mmmm…in keeping with our strategy, I want a retard, but I want him gutted.
Can you do that?”
She wanted to say,
“How fucking difficult can it be, kill a handicapped person?”
Went with,
“When do you want it to happen?”
He smiled. If warmth had ever touched that expression, it had long since fled. He had his teeth filed down to points, adding to the sardonic effect. He said,
“As soon as you find a suitable dribbling idiot.”
She wanted to say,
“Have you been in the pubs in Quay Street recently?”
But irony was not his strong point.
He suddenly leapt to his feet, the Japanese knife curled in his right hand. He said to Sean,
“More drinks me-finks.”
Sean knew when Bine tried to speak Brit, shit was coming down the pike. And hard. He poured the Wild into Bine’s tumbler, trying to disguise the tremble in his hand. Bine began to move down the table, humming, We are the champions. Stopped behind Jimmy, who began to turn till Bine laid a hand on his shoulder, asked,
“Why does the priest live?”
Almost a metaphysical question.
Before Jimmy could mutter some answer, Bine leant forward, slashed his cheek from eye to mouth. Blood gushed onto the headstone. Jimmy gasped, raised his hand to stem the flow.
Bine said,
“Let it bleed.”
Cue to Bethany, who moved to the sound system, put on Exile on Main St. As Jagger began to moan and Keith laid on the heavy thump, Bine moved back to the map of the school, said, “December Eight, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, they’ll be having their special treat of turkey in the canteen.”
Swung around, eyed his crew, said, as he literally cackled,
“A turkey shoot.”
God holds unique plans for those who label others
….handicapped.
– Jeff, dad of Serena-May
Tom Reed had been born with Down syndrome.
“Mild,” the doctor had said.
Tess, Tom’s mum, nearly screamed,
“Fucking mild to you, you golfing bastard!”