As the two rounded their way up through the bend in the road, a low hum of voices grew to a steady roar within the air. The dense wooded area opened up, leaving the trees to wrap the perimeter of the Butcher’s camp. A throng of people gathered outside the restroom entrances carved into the hillside just below the white gazebo—dueling steps climbed the grassy hillside toward the top. One man stood outside the bathroom stirring a large pot—a weak fire below it—cooking what smelled like stew.
They pressed their way through the crowd, walking the street that circled back on itself, taking in what they could, observing everything it had to offer. An older man parted the crowd carefully with his shopping cart, ensuring that his goods were visible and doing his best to avoid people’s feet. “Get your rubbers!” the man shouted, as he accepted chits into a bucket and filled their empty hands with condoms.
Thomas took to the outside of the crowd and walked past the clusters of multi-colored tents that rippled occasionally from the wind. The gusts carried the foul stench of unwashed bodies throughout the camp. Women and men came and went with the sound of zippers. Muddy footprints painted a collage throughout the street. It was overwhelming, and being a natural introvert, Thomas found himself observing from where they first entered.
“This place is nuts, man,” James said. Two naked women ran past, and he couldn’t keep his eyes from them. “I’ve never…” A few others walked the other way, men’s arms slung over their shoulders. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“There’s too much going on here. I don’t know how we’re going to get accurate numbers. How the hell can we?”
“Shit, man. I don’t know.”
“Just stay cl—”
A scream—a woman staggering, clutching the side of her face as she made her way toward the gazebo from a collapsing tent. Blood ran down her arm. She sobbed while shouting, “Get him! Get him!” Her finger dripped with blood, pointing, sentencing the man running from the tent. Her knees hit the pavement, another woman bent down to receive her, wrapping her in a blanket to conceal her naked body.
“One hundred chits to whoever grabs that coward!” An unknown voice rang out.
With a single shoe and nothing else, the man stole for the walkway, his gait teetering with every step as most of the crowd turned to give chase. Thomas looked on as the man made for his escape, running straight toward him.
The plan of keeping to themselves had just been decided not but fifteen or twenty minutes ago. This event would make him the sore thumb, but even worse, an early enemy if he let the man escape. It left him with little choice as he grabbed hold of the man, jerking him by the arm and swinging him violently to the ground. The man’s face erupted with a crunch as it hit the pavement. Thomas stood there, unmoved, stoic while looking down at a still body once again.
“One hundred chits to that man and his crony.” The unknown voice confirmed. Thomas scanned the crowd, but it seemed that anyone could have said it. The entire horde of people became engrossed with what occurred. A staggered line of people stood opposite them, staring from across the empty pavement. “Step forward, proud victors!”
A man stepped forward from the others—tall and slender. He glided toward them. His demeanor, his own sense of worth placed him above everyone else. It was surprising he had not been noticed sooner. While everyone else was dressed in mostly blue jeans, t-shirts, or jackets, he sported a suit, vest and all—a business man.
As he approached, it appeared that he had a facial disfigurement but not as pronounced as the others—a slightly raised discoloration on his left cheek. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”
“Thomas.”
The man presented his large mitt to him. “Folks call me the Butcher, horrible name I know, but one that is quite fitting.”
Thomas accepted the handshake—although he hated to—although deep down he was murdering him through a sequence of vignettes that grew darker with each revolution. This man would not live to see tomorrow. There wasn’t a chance, and Thomas knew this, giving him a harsh squeeze as the Butcher went to remove his hand. All the Butcher could do was hide his pain behind a distorted grin. He could show no weakness in front of his brood.
The Butcher turned from Thomas briefly and signaled to a couple of his guards with a snap of his fingers. Rushing to his side, the two men seemed eager, almost pleasured by the opportunity to serve. “It’s nice to have obedience within the ranks,” the Butcher said while turning back toward Thomas. “You want to help these two string this example up by his neck?”
Thomas shook his head. “I’d rather not. I’m not here to make friends or enemies. I’m here to get what I want and leave.”
“I can respect that.”
The Butcher’s guards lifted the unconscious man from the street, one held him by the arms and the other by the legs. The man’s head began to sway as he worked to come back to this world. He groaned, and his eyes began to flutter as he was carried off. Thomas looked on, not necessarily feeling sorry for what occurred. The man had certainly asked for trouble.
“Where can we pick up those chits you were talking about?” James spoke up. “We got these books here too.”
The Butcher gestured over his shoulder. “Head over that way to the U-Haul up the hill.” He took out a notebook, scribbled quickly, and ripped the page from the binding. “Take this and get your chits. Enjoy yourselves.” He gave an awkward wink as he handed it over. Thomas took it and glanced over the note. “Thanks again for grabbing this fool.”
“Don’t worry about it,” James said.
The Butcher removed himself from their presence and pressed onward up the hill, following behind the doomed man that swayed within his subordinates’ grips.
“I didn’t attack her!” he yelled, clearly aware of what was happening now that he had come to. “She tried to rob me in my sleep.” The group of onlookers parted themselves from the intended path of the Butcher’s men as he continued pleading his case. “I didn’t mean to. I was asleep and—” He groaned from a few cheap shots taken by members in the crowd. “I felt someone dig— her digging through my stuff, damn it! I thought I was being robbed. It was an honest mistake!”
Thomas could hear some of the men laughing, others grumbling amongst themselves. A mixture of thoughts tangled up with what to do with the man.
“Had I known it was her I would have just reported her!” he cried.
More and more people emerged from their tents and the immediate tree line—everyone seeking out the cause of the commotion. The whispers continued—some eventually grew to shouts. A few wore blank stares as the story spread. The attention had been drawn from Thomas and James and toward the gazebo.
They used this opportunity to circumvent the crowd, slogging through the damp grass and mud behind the tents and up a steep hill toward the U-Haul and pickup trucks. Thomas caught James’s eyes bouncing from person to person within the crowd.
“They’re crazed,” James said.
“Just keep your head down and move.”
From the corner of his eye, Thomas could see them preparing the man, could hear his screams from across the park. The Butcher stood to speak and the crowd quieted.
“Keep him awake for the whole thing!” the Butcher shouted.
The man pleaded for mercy, but it fell upon deaf ears.
“Gag him and I don’t care how much he struggles, do not knock him out!” The Butcher continued with his orders, but they gradually faded as Thomas and James made their way up the hill.
“One hundred chits my good man,” James said while smiling, even though it was Thomas that slid the note over to the guard. He lifted the paper from the tabletop and read. James stood there with his arms crossed while nodding.