Headstone Read Free

thirteen black candles. A
    flat slab of granite in the rough design of a
    headstone was supported by beer crates and acted
    as a table. Three ordinary kitchen chairs were
    placed thus:
    Two on the right side.
    One, almost forlorn, on the left.
    Top of the table was an ornate throne, rescued
    from a theatrical shop—like most businesses, gone
    bust, and the throne had been dumped in the skip. It
    had been cleaned up and now was alight with
    velvet cushions and a decorative banner,
    proclaiming “The New Order.”
    Behind, pinned on the wall were:
    A—a large swastika.
    B—a black-and-white reproduction of a
    school.
    C—a worn, battered T-shirt of one of the
    death metal groups.

    On the right side of the table were two brothers,
    Jimmy and Sean Bennet. They could have passed
    as twins but Sean was actually three years older.
    They both had long black hair that they seemed to
    take turns in flicking out of their respective eyes.
    They came from one of the wealthiest, oldest
    Galway families and had inherited, aside from
    shitloads of cash:
    1—Arrogance.
    2—Entitlement.
    3—Deep seething malignant resentment.

    An Irish version of the Menendez brothers but it
    was unlikely they’d even heard of that infamous
    duo. They had a limited range of knowledge, like
    the product of all the wealthiest schools. They
    smoked continuously, Marlboro Red, and had
    identical Zippos, chunky ones with the logo:
    Headstone.
    Opposite them was the girl. Currently answering to
    Bethany. That changed as frequently as her mood.
    Her current look was Goth, deathly pale face,
    black mascara, eyeliner, lipstick, and, of course,
    raven hair to her shoulders. As Ruth Rendell titled
    her novel,
    An Unkindness of Ravens.
    She was very pretty beneath all of the gunk and she
    knew it. More, she knew how to use it. She was
    twenty-three, burning with a rage even she no
    longer knew the motive for. She had embraced
    hatred with all the zeal of a zealot and relished the
    black fuel it provided.
    On the throne was Bine.
    Older than all of them and so intoxicated by power
    he never even thought of his real name anymore. In
    front of him was a small bust of Charles Darwin.
    Bine had studied and completely misunderstood
    what he read.
    His crew were as he’d ordered, dressed in black
    sweatshirts, combat pants, and Doc Martens. With
    the metal toe installed. To his side was a wooden
    crate containing:
    Six grenades.
    Three assault rifles.
    A riot of handguns.
    Eight sticks of gelignite.
    Two years, count ’em, two fucking years, to bribe,
    cajole, steal to assemble that arsenal. They were,
    he felt, almost…………… almost ready. He
    gestured to Bethany, said,
    “Drinks.”
    Like most raised in privileged fashion, he had no
    fucking manners.
    A fleeting frown crossed her face but she rose,
    fetched the bottle of Wild Turkey, the inevitable
    bottles of Coke,
    …………………...……….. cos everything goes
    better with it, right
    Brought them to the table, thinking,
    “Same old macho bullshit.”
    Jimmy, always anxious to please, fetched the heavy
    Galway Crystal tumblers and Bethany poured
    lethal dollops of the Turkey, with a splatter of
    Coke, handed the first to Bine.
    He raised his, toasted,
    “To chaos.”
    As was the custom, they near finished the drinks on
    a first attempt and all managed to stem the
    “Holy fuck”
    that such a dose of Wild demanded.
    Bine, his cheeks aflame, said,
    “To business.”
    Sean stood.
    Once, he’d sat while reporting and Bine slashed
    his face with the Stanley knife. Sean said,
    “Attacks:
    We’ve hit the old priest, the lesbian, and await
    your next target.”
    Bine moved his finger, meaning
    “Refills.”
    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