“Turn that noise down or I’ll come in there and belt ya!” Timothy did as he was told by his papa… as he always did.

It was his favourite film: Il buono, il brutto, il cattiuo. The West was loud and lawless, and bad men like papa always met a deserved fate.

But with his mother in hospital, again, and his sister a runaway, Timothy had no gang with which to run his papa out of town.

“I like big fat men like you. When they fall they make more noise. And sometimes they don’t get up.” Tim could hear his papa in the kitchen.

“It’s not a joke, it’s a rope Tuco. Now, I want you to get up there and put your head in that noose.” Tim considered bad men’s fate.

“When that rope starts to pull tight, you can feel the Devil bite your ass.” Timothy had no rope or gun. But accidents occur all the time.

“Boy! You’re like your mum! You useless…” The abuse from the kitchen tapered off. “Oh, you might be surprised Pop.” Tim thought to himself.

“When you have to shoot, shoot, don’t talk” Silence from the kitchen. Booze had silenced his papa. Tim could wait until the movie finished.

Beer on the floor. A blow to the head. It’d look like the drunken slob had slipped and fallen. He didn’t deserve a hero’s death anyway.

“They formed an alliance of hate to steal a fortune in dead men’s gold”. The credits rolled and Timothy got up to go into the kitchen.

By Paul