Butcher Part II

His next customer was tall, well muscled but not too big, and eyes that twinkled with intelligence. He was a good husband, he provided, took care of his wife and kids, there was never anything lacking in their lives, he loved them. He also had a problem. He cheated on his wife with many other women, several of whom he had kids with. Each one of them knew. The files had told the butcher all of this. He never spoke a word of it to the man. He didnt need to. When the time came, however, he would use all that information. The butcher was, what the organization called a mablug, he didnt know what language it was, but he suspected it was some Middle Eastern one, because of how they spoke with the mucus in their throats, when they pronounced the word.

The air conditioners gleamed and hummed. The butcher asked about the man’s wife and kids, and the man flashed him a smile. When he first came in, when any of his customers from this class of society first came in, they were uncomfortable, never really used to doing things for themselves. They always had their servants come run the errands, or had things delivered to their homes. The butcher had a rule however, he had very few rules, but this one was writ in stone, and when the organization had recruited him, this was one of their requests, the kind you don't say no to. He hadnt understood it then, but as he carried out his mission, he did. He began to understand. No class of society can be insulated from the plan. The super rich, especially the men, after they got over their initial discomfort, actually thought it was charming, that they had to ‘hunt’ for their own food. Had to go out and procure it on their own. Making human connections was the motto plastered outside his door. Everyone thought it meant he was trying to encourage more face to face interactions in this day and age where everything was done at the tap of a few buttons on a phone. Maybe he was.

This man was now very comfortable, and spoke about his family as the butcher chopped the meat he had already set aside for him. As he chopped it, and turned it into neat little cuts, the butcher wondered if the man would ever tell him about his infidelity. He was probably like all the others though. The same. Selfish. Uncaring. Pathetic. Weak.

The butcher wondered how the man would react if he were tied to a chair in his freezer. The steely glint of his knife shining in the light, mist swirling all around, hungry. Would he scream? Would he cry? Beg, plead, bargain? Would he be angry, defiant? Would he be in denial, refuse to accept it was anything but a dream? What would he do, the butcher wondered as he cleaned the meat, and packaged it.

In a way, it would be justice, the wife and kids would probably get enough from the will to live on for the rest of their lives. They would never have to be cheated on. In a way, it would be justice, he thought slowly as he sharpened his blade.

The man did not cry, beg, spit. He glared angrily. Refusing to say anything to the end. The mist swirled around, as blood fell.