Christopher

Christopher McCane grew up in a house of screams. He had two feelings, hate and lust; that’s all he ever needed. His brothers knew him to be different, shifted, living with them but alone in his reduced existence. Christopher’s gaze was protracted or fleeting, he laughed longer or not at all, he was still when they were animated, didn’t look for their companionship and they were frightened of him.

Wednesday was kill day in Pigtown’s abattoirs. The welfare system had long since given up on the McCane boys who liked to watch. The animals were corralled before being hung upside down from a conveyer and their throats opened. Christopher stayed long after his brothers were sickened by the slaughter. The butchers took no notice save that Ash Wednesday, when one noticed his dead eyed stare and ran him, but not before he reached two fingers down into the river of blood and made a sign of the cross on his forehead. That was a day when Christopher looked like all the other Pigtown boys.

 On the Island, nothing moved without the family’s approval. They had a network of junkies and dealers who told them everything; they knew not to hold back. Christopher was expert in finding out stuff. He knew about finger nails and testicles, he knew about screaming, he was expert in pain. Gangland hadn’t yet evolved to anything approaching organisation and fear was still its only commerce. If the McCanes had needed subtlety, Christopher would never have been the leader. The brothers knew he’d kill any of them as soon as he’d kill an adversary. 

The McCanes owned night time on the Island including the bars and a dancehall, where they hung out and drank. One night a girl in a white dress smiled at him. She made two mistakes and then hate and lust combined before the brothers got there. She was found the next morning violated, bloody and blue.

 Keep it short and hit him hard. Fitz knew McCane wouldn’t respond otherwise, he despised dealing with him but knew he had the answers, that he knew all the secrets. McCane also knew that Fitz. had a photograph of him and the girl in the white dress.  

Deal, McCane? 

The boys will show you where the body is. Not our work, was just another interfering sap. I need the file now. 

Fitz handed it over and they headed back to a corner of the green where he saw the loose earth. At least she’d have a body.  

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7 responses to “Christopher

  1. Hi Sam, Devin,

    You will of course overlook the plot which was thread bare to begin with and continuity is for news readers, not deluded bloggers. Sam, the McKanos have become a more robust shower of McCanes, like the oven chips.

  2. Dead girls in white are much more poignant that dead girls in navy blue, but navy blue dead girls in white are the most poignant of all.

  3. I like my Moroccan tile! Ta!

  4. The tile came free, like the plastic toy in the cornflake box.

  5. Oh. Huh! Well I don’t care – really I don’t.

    *Runs sobbing from the room*

  6. courage was doin a line with the broad in the white dress that got done. He decided to take care a things but lost his life tryin, but theres a twist, the mccain boys didn’t get him, fitz now knows that, but if they didn’t, then who did?

  7. Cool glasses, you’re following the story too closely. The plot fell apart when I typed the first words. So, the dead girl in the white dress is a hurrier upper, allowing me to finish the damm thing quickly!

    But for the sake of the story, no, Joe was a paragon and wouldn’t cheat on his missus, but Fitz did know that McCane killed her, and yeah somebody else killed Joe, not the McCanes. They were menat to the other showere of scumbags in our little town.

    Good stiff outa you glasses.

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