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A new perspective, a violent foe, a song from the heart
Malevolent follows Arkham Investigator Arthur Lester as he unravels the mysterious circumstances that have befallen him.
At this, the 34th part in our journey, we see things from a new perspective. Arthur is being hunted by the Butcher; a ruthless and merciless killer who will stop at nothing to end Arthur's life. Can Arthur avoid his gaze long enough to slip away?
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PART THIRTY-FOUR: THE BUTCHER
Transcripts made by KM, spoof, and jack!
CWs: Murder, sounds of gore (blood dripping), gun violence, police violence, racism (against Irish), discussions of torture, discussions of suicide, kidnapping/captivity, discussions of fingernail trauma
(BEGIN Part 34.)
(A piano rendition of ‘Peggy Gordon’ slowly plays, intermixing with sounds of a street and pouring rain. A vehicle approaches; a car door opens and shuts. Someone walks out and the vehicle drives away. A man hums along to ‘Peggy Gordon’ and knocks at a door as a dog barks at him.)
DANIEL (behind the door): Did you tell someone to come here, too?
ARTHUR (behind the door): Sorry – (Indistinct.) Daniel! Why did you say ‘why not at the hotel’? Hold on.
DANIEL: What do you mean?
(Continued knocking on the door over indistinct conversation.)
DANIEL: Well, that’s why you’re here, no?
(Daniel and Arthur continue to speak, muffled. Knocking continues on the door, followed by a throat clearing and a gun being loaded.)
DANIEL (from behind the door): I told you to knock, which is why it was odd that you rang.
ARTHUR (panicked): Daniel, don’t answer the door!
DANIEL (from behind the door): What?
(The man clears his throat and readies his gun. He knocks on the door.)
ARTHUR: Daniel, get down!
DANIEL: Down?
(A sudden blast and splintering of wood. Daniel cries out in pain.)
ARTHUR (screaming): Daniel!
COLLINS (singing ‘Peggy Gordon’): Oh, Peggy Gordon. (The sound of blood pouring and the background hum of choir-like music.) (ARTHUR: Jesus Christ!) You are my darling!
ARTHUR (panting): Jesus Christ! (He runs.)
OSCAR (muffled, over the phone): Parker!
COLLINS (singing): Come sit you down upon my knee!
ARTHUR (running): Jesus Christ! Fuck!
(A gunshot blast and door splintering, followed by Arthur’s shriek.)
COLLINS (singing): And tell to me… (Distant door slamming shut.) The very reason. (Distant sound of struggle.) Why I am slighted so by thee! (Muffled sound of a shelf falling.)
(The pumping of a shotgun and another blast. Piano version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ plays underneath Collins’ singing.)
COLLINS (singing): I wish I was in some lonesome valley. Where womankind cannot be found.
(Muffled sounds of struggle as Arthur gasps with exertion.)
COLLINS (singing): Where little birds do change their voices.
(Shotgun pumping noise and another blast, followed by Arthur making a noise of fear. Collins steps forward.)
COLLINS (calmly): I can see you. (Arthur grunts as he runs, and music draws to an end.) Sorry about the mess! Normally I prefer to use a quieter method. (Arthur pants.) But you already seemed to elude me once. So, had to go with a more… (Arthur grunts with pain.) Scattered approach. (Shotgun pumps. An empty shell falls.) Now, don’t… move.
(Shotgun blast. Another shell falls to the floor. Furniture is pushed aside as the door creaks open.)
ARTHUR (hyperventilating): You killed him! You killed him, you –
COLLINS: You better start running, mouse!
ARTHUR: We can’t outrun him.
(Suspenseful string music starts. Doors are kicked open. Collins walks forward.)
COLLINS (reloading): Five… four… three… two… one. Here… I… come.
(Shotgun is pumped, followed by the sound of glass shattering. Sounds from the street as a grunting Collins chases a panting Arthur.)
COLLINS (out of breath): Keep climbing, lad. (Sound of a metal fire escape clanging.) Never go… Never go up. (Irate.) Never go up!
(Collins grunts as he climbs after Arthur. Below him, birds chirp and cars pass by. He pauses and slides open a window. Jazzy music plays on the radio. He grunts and he steps inside.)
STRANGER (stammering): D-D-D-Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, don’t shoot, please. Please.
COLLINS: Calm down, calm down –
STRANGER: I-I didn’t see anything.
COLLINS: Is he in here?
STRANGER: Please! I-I –
COLLINS: T-Take it easy, take it easy. Whereabouts is he? (Gentle.) It’s alright.
STRANGER: H-He went into the other room. He-He ran right past me!
COLLINS: Brilliant.
(A short pause. Another shotgun blast, followed by a grunt of pain from the stranger. Blood squishes and drips.)
COLLINS (loudly): Climbing into someone’s apartment, eh, lad? (He pumps the shotgun.) Put another life taken on that list of yours. What reckless abandon you’ve brought! After just wasting one, too… No use in hiding, lad.
(Collins walks. A tap turns on, water pours. Collins slams open a door and steps inside to the sound of trickling water.)
COLLINS (to himself): Sneaky lad. (He turns the tap off.) Very sneaky. (Piano notes of ‘Peggy Gordon’ play.) I must say, lad, I was quite impressed by that little stunt you pulled. Having a pin out of the train car and all. Not like me to not see it coming. And you? (Almost amazed.) Well, I didn’t see you coming. (A grunt and sigh.) That’s why the… well, in your mind, ‘loss of elegance’ today. Must seem like I’m making a mess of things here. But I see it as an escalation of order… A building of momentum like the climax of a musical piece. I normally work in pianissimo, but sometimes… just sometimes… fortissimo is required –
(Shotgun blast. Collins pumps the shotgun, a cartridge ejects.)
COLLINS (walking forward): Just like a beautiful song, sometimes, it’s in the dynamics. The unheard melodies, and the changes you don’t see coming that really make the piece come together. (Piano notes of ‘Peggy Gordon’ play.) Can you hear it? The song we’re making? I hear it in my head. Oh boy, do I hear music in my head… and what beautiful music it is. (Loudly.) There’s only two of us in this apartment, boyo. Do you really think you can hide? Fe… Fi… Fo… Fum… I smell the blood of an Englishman.
(Collins steps forward. A sudden sting of suspenseful music as Arthur bolts, followed by a gunshot.)
COLLINS: Oh no, you don’t! (A gunshot and a shatter of glass. Arthur makes noises of pain.)
ARTHUR: God damn it – ! (Another gunshot, and another, along with the clattering of metal.)
COLLINS: Keep running!
ARTHUR (at a distance): As fast as I can! (His noises fade.)
(Panting, Collins moves forward.)
COLLINS: Oh, I got you. In the shoulder. (He chuckles, readies the gun. A door creaks open and shut. Sirens are audible at a distance, and Collins signs. A piano version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ starts.) Well. Don’t the devil send cooks. (He handles the gun.) There you go, there. Stay there.
(Mumbled, unintelligible talking. A door slams open.)
OFFICER 1: Hold – !
COLLINS: Aye, copper, I’m just leaving. (The cop approaches.) I’m just leaving.
OFFICER 1: The hell you are! Get out here, now.
COLLINS (annoyed): Hey. No need for the iron. I’m coming. I’m peaceful. I’m just leaving me house.
OFFICER 1: Someone’s shooting at the damn place and you got blood on your shoes. You think I’m an idiot?
COLLINS (indignant): I cut myself shaving, take her easy!
OFFICER 1: Get out here, now.
COLLINS (scoffing): Alright.
OFFICER 1: This way!
COLLINS: Alright. (They exit through a door.)
OFFICER 2: Jones, is he heeled?
OFFICER JONES: Turn around, you got a piece?
COLLINS: I ain’t got no piece, I’m telling you. I cut myself.
OFFICER 2: What, you’d nip an artery?
COLLINS: Near fatal.
OFFICER JONES (commanding): Over here, now.
COLLINS: Listen, you don’t want to do this, boys.
OFFICER 2: Don’t we?
OFFICER JONES: He was behind the stairs inside. Go see what he was doing. (Officer 2 walks off and enters the door.)
COLLINS: What’s your name, officer?
OFFICER JONES (threatening): Listen here, mick. You best keep your mouth shut before I fill it with your broken teeth. Now turn around.
COLLINS (sighing, quiet): Let me go. (A piano version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ begins.)
OFFICER JONES: Are you fuckin’ deaf?
COLLINS: You got a wife. Kids. A family.
OFFICER JONES: I’m not going to ask you again.
COLLINS (calmly): They want you home tonight, lad. I promise you that. Listen to me.
OFFICER JONES: Kahn! (The door opens and shuts as Officer Kahn approaches.)
OFFICER KAHN: Shotgun, stashed behind the stairs.(He handles the gun.)
OFFICER JONES: Neighbors heard scattergun fire. I’ll call it in.
COLLINS: Don’t. If you do, I –
OFFICER KAHN: If we do, what?
OFFICER JONES: This mick is telling me that if I arrest him, I won’t be coming home tonight.
OFFICER KAHN: Who do you think you are?
(A low, ominous tone plays.)
COLLINS (after a pause): The Butcher.
OFFICER KAHN (disbelieving): The Butcher? Heh. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Jones.
COLLINS: You know. Don’t you?
OFFICER KAHN (slightly worried): Jones? Jones!
COLLINS: You’ve heard of me.
OFFICER KAHN: Are you fuckin’ serious right now? This guy was hiding a shotgun, he was stashing it. (A piano version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ starts again.)
OFFICER JONES (quiet): Kahn, just let me think.
OFFICER KAHN: T-Think about what? How –
COLLINS: Thinking is a smart call, lad.
OFFICER KAHN: I’ve heard enough.
OFFICER JONES: Kahn! (Some steps. At a whisper.) The Butcher. Remember the barbershop? On East 66th?
COLLINS: Kahn, was it? There are forces here you don’t want to be messing with. Look. You two are good lads. Doing your jobs, I get it. So let me do mine.
OFFICER KAHN: I got no idea what’s gotten into you, Jones, but I’m not just going to let this guy go. (More steps.) Keep your hands behind your back!
OFFICER JONES: Kahn!
COLLINS: I’m warning you.
OFFICER KAHN (shaken): Just keep your g-gun on him, Jones. Jesus Christ. What do you think, he’s some kind of – (A gunshot, and then another. Choir-like music plays atop a version of ‘Peggy Gordon’. Blood starts to drip. Officer Jones starts to choke on his own blood.)
OFFICER JONES: No, no – !
(Collins tuts, sighs, and drops something to the floor. The officer gurgles and chokes throughout.)
COLLINS: Your friend had kids, I take it. You should’ve listened to him. He knew me. You… well. Our time may have been brief, I hoped you’d learn many things. You’ll notice I left you alive for now. That wasn’t by mistake. Your friend, however? (Collins grunts, steps.) He… had the bad luck of being my size. (Collins shifts the body, grunting in exertion.) Many people don’t realize the effort it takes, the commitment. (A string version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ starts to play.) The perseverance.
That’s the real ticket. People think the hunter is the hunter because… he’s a crack shot, or… the fastest. Or the smartest. Sure. They all play their parts, but. The thing that really breaks the mold… is the moving forward. You know? You know. (Blood continues to drip.) The unrelenting pursuit, it’s… it’s dedication. Devotion. A bond. (He laughs to himself.) Sounds a bit like falling in love, doesn’t it? (He grunts.)
Maybe… Maybe I suppose you could say I’ve fallen in love with each and every one of them. With each and every animal. (He shushes the gurgling officer.) But this one? Think he may be like me, in a way, or seems to be. (Admiring.) Driven. Always pushing forward to something. Not just running, like. Like so many prey do. Always looking over their shoulder. I admire him in that way. (He grunts, sighs.) Alright. Do I look the part? (The officer gasps for breath.) Thanks for listening.
(Collins strikes the officer, and he makes no more noise. He takes a gun, readies it, and begins to whistle ‘Peggy Gordon’. Collins heads through a door, into a building.)
Alright. Where were we?
(An ominous, low-droning echo plays. Collins sighs and walks.)
COLLINS: You’re bleeding, boy.
(More footsteps. Collins sniffs the air and sighs.)
COLLINS: Where did you head?
(The footsteps quicken.)
COLLINS: You didn't leave the building. You went up.
(More footsteps, accompanied by grunting as Collins climbs a set of stairs. The footsteps slow.)
COLLINS: What did you do up here?
(Soft, suspenseful piano music begins to play.)
COLLINS: Boy. Well, didn’t you make a mess of things.
(More footsteps.)
COLLINS: Hmm. Did you take the window?
(As Collins approaches the window, distant street noise grows louder. He grunts, walks, and knocks. Multiple dogs start to bark.)
COLLINS: Fair enough.
(Collins walks, knocks again.)
UNKNOWN MAN: (from behind the door, slightly muffled): Yes?
COLLINS: Police! Open up, please.
(A pause. Slow steps..)
COLLINS: Open up.
(More steps. The door opens..)
COLLINS: Afternoon, sir. How are you?
UNKNOWN MAN: What is this about?
COLLINS: Did you hear anything in the hallway a few moments ago? I’m following a… dangerous suspect.
UNKNOWN MAN: Nothing, Officer…?
COLLINS: Jones. But are you sure about that, sir? There’s a lot of blood out here in the hallway, as if they were pacing. (The jostling of metal.)
UNKNOWN MAN: Well, maybe they went out the window there at the end of the hallway.
COLLINS: It would seem like that, wouldn’t it.
UNKNOWN MAN: Yes.
(Soft, suspenseful piano music begins to play.)
COLLINS: Is your neighbor home? The one with the dogs?
UNKNOWN MAN: No, no, he works during the day. Keeps those poor things in there alone.
COLLINS: Well, sorry for bothering you.
UNKNOWN MAN: No problem, officer. Have a great day.
(The door creaks.)
COLLINS: Actually —
(A thump. Collins intercepts the door.)
COLLINS: Before you go. Do you mind helping me with one thing?
(The man grunts questioningly.)
COLLINS: Could you come out here and help me for a moment? I’d like to check the roof. But I wanna make sure I don’t lock meself out.
UNKNOWN MAN: I really cannot. I have the kettle on –
COLLINS: It’ll only take a moment. Please.
(The man gives a reluctant grunt of assent.)
UNKNOWN MAN: Of course, Officer Jones.
COLLINS: Thank you.
(The door swings shut. They walk.)
UNKNOWN MAN (distant): I can hold the window open –
COLLINS: Yes, come here. Please.
(More footsteps.)
COLLINS: See there?
UNKNOWN MAN: There’s blood on the window.
COLLINS: Aye, quite a bit. This… man… is wily. Clever. And… and while this window here looks like he may have climbed out, and there’s even a bit of blood on the frame outside… look at the roof.
(Steps.)
UNKNOWN MAN: Where? I don’t see it.
COLLINS: Yes, you do. What’s it missing?
UNKNOWN MAN: I suppose… there isn’t much blood.
COLLINS: There isn’t any blood out there.
UNKNOWN MAN: Well, maybe he climbed up. There… There are pipes that head straight to the roof.
COLLINS: Maybe. Or maybe some kind soul saw a man in pain and offered to help.
(An ominous sting.)
UNKNOWN MAN: I have no –
COLLINS: This man is dangerous. I’m only trying to help you, you understand?
UNKNOWN MAN: I have nothing to –
COLLINS: Listen. He’ll use any means necessary to get what he wants. He’ll lie. (Jostling of metal.) Manipulate. Deceive. He’s a killer, sir. He’s a cold blooded murderer. (The man sighs.) When you looked into his eye, tell me you didn’t see something. Something shifty about him. Something… nervous.
UNKNOWN MAN: I…
COLLINS: I don’t blame you. You did nothing wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? You did what you thought was right.
UNKNOWN MAN (weakly): He… He’s not a… I’m sure –
COLLINS: It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.
UNKNOWN MAN: I’m sorry –
COLLINS: Don’t be, don’t be!
(A piano version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ starts to play.)
COLLINS: I need you. Look, I could’ve burst in there the moment I suspected. But he’s clever. He’s wily. He’ll just slip out the back if he suspects I’m onto him. But he needs this moment. I know he does. (Brighter.) So here’s what we’ll do. Can he see the front door?
UNKNOWN MAN: No.
COLLINS: Look, we’ll head back. Both of us. You talk to me as if I’m still at the front door. Outside here, like. Apologize for not being more helpful and shut the door. As if I’m on me way to the roof. Alright?
UNKNOWN MAN: Okay.
COLLINS: But I’ll be in there with you. Then, you lead me to where he’s holed up. And I’ll escort him out, nice and easy. And let you get on with your day.
UNKNOWN MAN: Okay. I’m sorry –
COLLINS: Don’t you worry about that now.
(More footsteps. A door opens.)
COLLINS (louder): Well, thank you anyway.
UNKNOWN MAN: Yes, I-I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help, but I-I’m sure that the roof will take you to his whereabouts. H-Have a great day.
(Door closes. More footsteps. Suspenseful music swells.)
COLLINS: Thanks for your help.
(A gun cocks.)
UNKNOWN MAN: I just don’t want any –
ARTHUR: Stop!
(Furniture shuffles as Arthur emerges.)
ARTHUR: Stop, stop! Wait, wait!
UNKNOWN MAN: I’m sorry, I –
ARTHUR: Officer… I’ll come quietly. Peacefully. Just… don’t shoot.
UNKNOWN MAN: I’m so sorry, young man, I –
ARTHUR: It’s alright, Mr. Privett. I’m sorry I put you in this situation. And I’m happy to go with the officer, so long as there is no bloodshed. (Vehemently.) None.
(A string version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ begins to play.)
COLLINS: Of course! None needed. This person is just helping an officer of the law.
COLLINS: Thank you, Mr… Privett. (To Arthur.) Come along, now.
ARTHUR: I’m sorry.
(Footsteps. A door creaks open.)
COLLINS: Have a nice day, Mr. Privett.
(The door closes. Arthur grunts.)
COLLINS: Walk. Down.
(Footsteps as they descend the stairs.)
COLLINS: That was… quite the decision you made there.
ARTHUR: I couldn’t have another person’s blood on my hands.
COLLINS: At the risk of your own life? Quite the decision-making skills.
ARTHUR: I’m not like you! I’m not… capable of this kind of carnage.
COLLINS: Is that so? Keep walking.
ARTHUR (distasteful): Yes, it’s so. I’m not… a tool to be used the way you are.
COLLINS (surprised): A tool?
ARTHUR: You’re just… a hammer. Being swung by more powerful people.
COLLINS: Turn. Keep going. Down.
ARTHUR: Yes. People who… you don’t know. Just… monsters in their own right.
COLLINS: Oh, I hear you, lad. But I don’t think ‘tool’ is really the right word.
ARTHUR: No, you’re right. (Disgusted.) A dog is more apt. A dog whose owner sics them on unsuspecting people.
COLLINS: Stop.
(Footsteps stop.)
COLLINS: Turn around.
(A pause.)
COLLINS: I am a dog, boyo. A snarling, hungry, wolf-like animal who cannot wait to get his teeth wet. Whatever you think you’re doing, it ain’t working. Now move. To the basement.
ARTHUR: The basement?
COLLINS: Don’t need more neighbors calling the coppers. Gonna put you down nice and easy in the boiler room. Walk.
ARTHUR: Fine, fine. You’re an animal. You just… you like that, don't you? You lavish in it… you’ve… you’ve earned it.
COLLINS: Right.
ARTHUR: Well… well, I know something you… you don’t realize.
COLLINS: What’s that?
(Arthur sighs. Two pairs of footsteps echo. Occasionally, a gun is jostled.)
ARTHUR: I’ve heard of you before.
COLLINS: Is that so?
ARTHUR: Yes.
COLLINS: And what have you heard?
ARTHUR: Elijah Strong sends his regards.
COLLINS: That’s right.
ARTHUR: You know him, don’t you? I know you more than you realize. (Sarcastically.) ‘Boyo’.
COLLINS: He sends his regards, does he?
ARTHUR: That’s right.
COLLINS: How’s that work from beyond the grave, then?
(A short, suspenseful thump. A string version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ plays.)
ARTHUR: He… He… well, he isn’t…
COLLINS: Oh, yes, he is. (Arthur takes a breath.) You think I didn’t know that?
ARTHUR: I have heard of you, though.
COLLINS: And what of my run-in with Elijah Strong have you heard, then?
ARTHUR: He told me himself. He and his partner, Teddy Ca– (He stumbles over his words.) –Aine… finding the senator’s daughter, they…
COLLINS: Aye, I remember.
ARTHUR: You remember?
COLLINS: I remember. It was a fucking circus.
ARTHUR (insistent): Tell me! Tell me.
COLLINS (grim): Walk. (They start walking again. The hum of incandescent light grows and fades intermittently.)
ARTHUR: I know you kept them alive. You let them both go.
COLLINS: Did I?
ARTHUR: Yes! Yes, you tortured them, but.
COLLINS: I do like you, lad. Have I told you that? I like the way you carry yourself. You got a gun to your back and I can tell you’re squirming, but. Well. Sometimes it’s the best part, to be straight with you. I like your angles.
ARTHUR: What happened?
COLLINS: Didn’t your boy Elijah tell you?
ARTHUR: No, no. Only… that… only about you. I only know his side of what happened and nothing else.
(The footsteps stop.)
COLLINS (sighing): Come on.
ARTHUR: You said that we’re the same, didn’t you? You and I.
(They start walking again.)
COLLINS: Friends now, are we?
ARTHUR: I don’t see it, no. But illuminate me.
COLLINS: Bottom step, boy. (Arthur sighs in annoyance.) Door to your right. (ARTHUR: Yeah. Right.) Your fuckin’ right!
ARTHUR (annoyed): Yes. (A door swings open. Machinery hums in the background.) Look, it’s over anyways. I’m about to die, aren’t I? So what difference does it make, what does it matter?
COLLINS: Through the door. (They step in. The door creaks shut. Collins sighs. A string version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ starts to play.) In those days, it was much more difficult to get me into a job. I had specific ways of wanting to be contacted. Not so much anymore. The show of it all waned on me. No more calling cards, neither. Down the stairs, lad. (Arthur grunts, as if in pain, and walks. At a distance, water drips.) Man named Christian. Andrew Christian. Hired me to get a suitcase from a man, Michael Higgins. I track him down, time it to be there for when his train rolls in, and retrieve said suitcase. It was attached to his hand, but. (He chuckles.) Well, not for long. Seemed like an easy grand.
And then I get another job, in the city. A bloke named William Carter hires me to kidnap the first man’s daughter. (A choir-like hum begins in the background.) He didn’t know I’d just done a job for him. Ah, and… I don’t have reason to tell him that, so. So I do the job. I hand her off, and I’m another grand richer.
Now, open the door. (A door squeaks open.) To the chair, lad. In the center of the room. (The door shuts. They walk in.) There you are. Yeah. Right there. (Arthur sighs.) Sit. Good boy. Don’t move, now. (The rustling of rope.)
Then the strange part! (A piano version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ begins.) The first man, the man with the missing daughter, Christian, hires me again. Not just to find her, but to kill her. Imagine that.
ARTHUR (confused): What are you… (More rope rustling.)
COLLINS: Tying you to the chair, lad.
ARTHUR: You’re not going to, uh. (Collins shushes him. The chair squeaks.)
COLLINS: You wanted the story. So in order to find the girl, I made your friends bleed. Quite a bit, if I do say so myself. I’m capable of quite the elaborate means of getting what I want out of someone.
ARTHUR: I have nothing to tell you, I…
COLLINS: Oh, far as I know. But you gave me a hankering for the old days, and you know what? Figured I may as well check. See if they… want anything pulled out of you. Then I’ll finish you. I always do.
ARTHUR: But they left? Elijah survived, and…
COLLINS: Did he, now?
ARTHUR: Yes, you… well. He eventually killed himself, but.
(Very quick-paced strings play.)
COLLINS (thoughtful): Hm. (He sucks in a breath.)
ARTHUR (something is dawning): Wait. N-No, no. No.
COLLINS (pleased): Oh.
ARTHUR (in horror): No. No, no. Wait.
(A choir-like hum begins in the background. A string version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ briefly plays. Whispers rise in the background, unintelligible.)
COLLINS: There it is.
ARTHUR (aghast): How?
COLLINS: Now you’re playing the game at my level, lad.
ARTHUR: How?
COLLINS: How else? Accident, suicide, random acts of violence? Whatever works, lad.
ARTHUR (horrified): You… what are you?
COLLINS: I’m the Butcher, lad. (Arthur starts to hyperventilate.) Now don’t go anywhere. (He starts to walk.) I’ll be right back.
(A door opens, shuts. Water drips in the background. Collins walks, picks up and dials a phone.)
PHONE OPERATOR: Operator.
COLLINS: Operator. Get me Larson. 55, 18.
(Water drips. The phone rings three times before being picked up. On the receiver’s end, someone sings distantly.)
UNKNOWN VOICE (over the phone): Larson residence.
COLLINS: The big man.
UNKNOWN VOICE: Who?
COLLINS: Your master.
UNKNOWN VOICE: One moment, please. (Footsteps, fading away. The song still plays. Collins sighs, and then footsteps approach and take the phone.)
LARSON (over the phone): Who is this?
(A string version of Peggy Gordon plays.)
COLLINS: Evening.
LARSON: Well. Is it done?
COLLINS: I have your boy tied to a chair in a small, dark room next to the boiler at an apartment complex next to the house I tracked him to.
LARSON: Is it secure?
COLLINS: The door to the basement deadbolts from the inside. There ain’t no one coming down here.
LARSON: Well. (He sighs.)
COLLINS: I know the job was for him pushing up daisies, but since I have him. Figured I’d give you a moment to decide whether or not you’d like me to chat with him. Maybe have me pull something out of him.
LARSON: Interesting. I can’t speak at the moment. (Applause in the background.) Stay at this number. I’ll call you back shortly.
COLLINS: Understood. (He hangs up, walks, opens and closes the door. Arthur’s chair squeaks.)
ARTHUR (vindictive): How was your master, dog?
COLLINS (chuckling): That tickles me. (He walks closer.)
ARTHUR: Does it? I suppose it doesn’t take much to make a dog happy. (Arthur is punched, groaning in pain. Something drips. He breathes hard.) Ah. So I’m getting to you, then. (He spits.)
COLLINS: How is that?
ARTHUR: Hit me when you don’t have a clever retort. You stopped me on the stairs and threatened me, I-I see you roiling with anger, just beneath. The faux lightness you pretend to bring to every interaction, to hide the blind hatred…
COLLINS (patronizing): Quite the perspective from you, lad. (Metal scrapes.)
ARTHUR: Your owner gave you the green light, then? R-Ready to start p-pulling teeth? (The chair squeaks.)
COLLINS: No, not as such. But… I don’t think he’d mind if I had a little fun nonetheless. (A string version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ begins.)
ARTHUR: Oh, trying to disobey your master now? Something to prove me wrong? (Scathing.) Dog.
(Metal scrapes across the floor, Collins walks. The chair squeaks.)
COLLINS: I know you’re trying to fit me into your version of what I must be. But it just ain’t working.
ARTHUR: So you’re… off-leash. (Collins grunts, and the chair squeaks. Arthur gasps in fright.)
COLLINS: I spared your pal Privett, lad. How does that fit into your narrative? (Arthur breathes shakily.) Huh? (Collins slaps him.) Cat got your tongue? See, the truth is, lad, I don’t fit into your picture because you don’t understand me. You can say that you do. (Choir-like music starts.) You can compare me to a dog because it suits the way your brain scrambles to make sense of my actions. But the plain truth of it is… you can’t comprehend me. (He fiddles with some metal.)
ARTHUR: You did let Privett live.
COLLINS: Aye.
ARTHUR (sorrowfully): Then why? Why did you kill Daniel?
COLLINS: Ah. I heard you call out for him. Who’s he to you, then?
ARTHUR: He was… (He sighs.) No one. It doesn’t matter.
COLLINS: Is that so? (A piano version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ begins.) He left quite the message for you at the hotel. Shame, really. He led me straight to you.
ARTHUR: Why?
COLLINS (upbeat): You weren’t playing fair, lad! Decoupling the train like that, making me look bad.
ARTHUR: And so you killed him.
COLLINS: Memento mori, boyo. But… if it helps, you’ll be with him soon. (Metal shifts.)
ARTHUR (cautious): So you’re… going to…
COLLINS: Have my fun.
ARTHUR: With… tools, t-that –
COLLINS (cutting him off): Don’t you fret about that. I scrounged in worse places than this. (He grunts in exertion.) You’d be surprised at what you can find in any basement.
ARTHUR: I don’t have anything to tell you.
(Metal clangs.)
COLLINS: For example… (More metal clangs, Collins makes a noise of discovery.) Any copper wire can be threaded neatly under a fingernail. It can be pushed right back to where the nail grows. (Reverently.) And look at this. (Metal clatters.) Someone left a hammer just sitting out. (Quick string music begins, leading into ‘Peggy Gordon’.) Hammer is truly the perfect tool. Toes, knees, fingers. Even teeth.
ARTHUR: B-But what do you hate, Butcher? Yourself, your… your job? Your lot in life?
COLLINS: Mondays.
ARTHUR (pfft): We know what you love, what you crave.
COLLINS (surprised): We?
ARTHUR: Me, we.
COLLINS: You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you, lad. What’s wrong with your eyes?
ARTHUR: What do you mean?
COLLINS: You’re never quite looking at me. Always in the vague direction, but never at. It’s like there’s… something off with you. (A brief, low hum.) What is…
ARTHUR: Do you hate yourself, Butcher? Did Daddy not love you? Did you…
COLLINS: No, he didn’t. But you do that a lot, too. Pausing at strange times, changing the subject, like you’re deciding in your mind what to say next.
ARTHUR: Some would call that a c-conscience.
COLLINS: Would they?
ARTHUR: Don’t you hear it? The voice in your head that tells you what’s right and… wrong.
COLLINS (dismissive): Nah, lad. I told you already. I only hear music.
(A short pause.)
ARTHUR: How?
COLLINS (a scoff and a sigh): I hear the strings first. (String music starts, slow and gospel-like.) The heart of the orchestra. The violins. The cello. Without the heart, there’s no love. No beat.
ARTHUR: And what song plays for you, Butcher?
COLLINS: It’s always changing. But right now? It’s ‘Peggy Gordon’.
ARTHUR: Is that what you were singing?
(Flute music joins in, playing the melody of ‘Peggy Gordon’.)
COLLINS (shushes him): Then the flutes are bringing in the melody. The playful, delicate eyes. You can see right into the soul. Oh, how they make me weep.
ARTHUR: What do you – (Chair squeaks, metal clangs.) Just, just! Just wait.
COLLINS: Oh, and when the harp comes in! (Harp music joins the rest.) Oh. It’s as if it makes the world come alive in music, as its mother. (ARTHUR: Wait!) And as the song swells, and the music builds, I can feel my heart race! (A choir-like hum joins the symphony.) (ARTHUR: Just, h-hold on! Just – let go, hold on, hold on, hold on!) I’m alive. And then the piano! (A piano starts to play ‘Peggy Gordon’, with the rest.)
ARTHUR (a noise of pain): I’m a pianist, I’m a pianist! (All the music stops.) I am, I am.
COLLINS (surprised): You are?
ARTHUR: I am, yes.
COLLINS: What kind of music?
ARTHUR (scared): Before this, before all of this? I was a composer of music. Trying to be, at least. I… I wrote a few songs that e-ended up being published, even. Do you know Hoagy Carmichael?
COLLINS: What’s wrong with your finger, lad?
ARTHUR: I – it’s a long story.
COLLINS (laughing): You’re like a good book I can’t put down.
ARTHUR: Look, I-I can… I can play for you. If you’d like. I can play.
COLLINS (sighing): These fingers won’t be good for much after I’m done.
ARTHUR (desperate, voice rising): No no no no no no – ! (The chair squeaks violently, the symphony begins again, and the phone starts to ring, cutting it off. Collins sighs in annoyance.) Should, shouldn’t you…?
COLLINS: I suppose so.
ARTHUR (frightened): Right. Y-Yes.
COLLINS: Be right back. (He walks, opens and closes a door.)
ARTHUR (to himself): I know, I know.
(Collins picks up the phone.)
COLLINS: Yeah.
LARSON: I’ll be there within the hour. Address?
COLLINS: 930 Park. In the basement. I’ll let you in when you –
LARSON (cutting him off): No, you’ll leave the door unlocked. He’s in a secure place, yes?
COLLINS: He’s in a smaller room, yeah. I can lock it. You don’t want me to wait for you?
LARSON: You have work to do.
COLLINS: Is that so?
LARSON: You have loose ends. (The piano version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ starts to play.)
COLLINS: Come again?
LARSON: Apparently, you have trouble hearing as well. You left a witness.
COLLINS: Where is he?
LARSON: Lenox Hill. He’s only just arrived. I imagine they’ve taken him into surgery.
COLLINS: Understood.
LARSON: Find out who brought him there, as well. Someone must know something. (Emphatic.) Wipe the slate clean. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be good at?
COLLINS: Aye.
LARSON: Leave. Now. (He hangs up. Collins replaces the phone, slaps himself, breathes hard, and returns to the previous room.)
COLLINS: Well, lad. Looks like you’re saved by the bell.
ARTHUR: What?
COLLINS: Well, I’ve got good news and bad news. Your pal Danny Boy is over at Lenox, holding on for dear life. Stings to say out loud.
ARTHUR: Daniel? (The chair squeaks.)
COLLINS: Well, that’s the good news. The bad news is, there’s not going to be any time to celebrate.
ARTHUR: Please.
COLLINS: Don’t make a lick of difference, lad. You’re done as well.
ARTHUR (more raggedly): Please.
COLLINS: Sit tight. And… if you want my honest advice? Rest up. Get a wink in. I know men like Larson. I don’t expect it’ll be a quick death.
ARTHUR: No!
COLLINS: Well, it’s been a pleasure, lad, truly. The hunter is nothing without worthy prey.
ARTHUR (shouting): No!
COLLINS: And you are worthy.
ARTHUR (anguished): No!
COLLINS: Ta, lad! (Collins starts to whistle Peggy Gordon.)
ARTHUR (anguished, growing distant as Collins leaves): Leave him alone! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! Don’t touch him! No! Come back here! Come back here! Don’t touch him!
COLLINS: Once more, with feeling.
(The previous symphony of ‘Peggy Gordon’ begins to play again, including strings, flute, and the harp.)
(A click, followed by static.)
(END Part 34.)
