{"id":542,"date":"2013-01-31T10:00:23","date_gmt":"2013-01-31T18:00:23","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.bukkhead.com\/blog\/?p=542"},"modified":"2013-01-08T11:23:12","modified_gmt":"2013-01-08T19:23:12","slug":"dueling-banjos","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.bukkhead.com\/blog\/2013\/01\/31\/dueling-banjos\/","title":{"rendered":"Dueling Banjos"},"content":{"rendered":"

fiction by Jason Edwards<\/em><\/p>\n

Jeremy Banjo and his brother Emeril standing back to back, in a field, wind softly blowing. Each armed with a Sig Sauer P210 loaded with only one bullet, hardened brass and steel core, one of those so-called \u201ccop killers.\u201d They start to take their paces. Jeremy doesn’t know it, but Emeril’s been practicing. His goal is to fire at exactly the same time as Jeremy, and hit Jeremy’s bullet with his own. He doesn\u2019t want to kill his brother, but he certainly doesn\u2019t want to be killed either. No, not at all. He\u2019s in his late forties, he\u2019s shorter than his brother, he\u2019s certainly heavier, but he has that wonderful bushy mustache, and he\u2019s well respected down at the firm, he still had his half of the trust in his nest egg, why would he want to die? Just because he\u2019s been cuckolded? No, which is to say yes, there was shame in being cuckolded, surely, but not so much that a man needs to die. Not even his brother, the cuckolder, or whatever you call them.<\/p>\n

A simple note, five words, \u201cI slept with your wife, asshole.\u201d Six words, actually, but Emeril\u2019s not counting that last word, that emotional word. Or maybe he is. It\u2019s interesting, isn\u2019t it, how something as subtle as grammar can have such huge effect, or everlasting effect as it were, or deep ramifications, to belabor the point. Emeril takes his steps, barely keeping count, nearly lost in thought, thoughts he\u2019d had all the while. If the note had read, \u201cI am sleeping with your wife,\u201d Emeril would never have agreed to the duel. He\u2019s no coward, obviously, just ask anyone down at the firm when the CEO is walking around pointing out things that are inefficient while Emeril matches him stride for stride, justifying. No, if Jeremy had claimed to be actively sleeping with Emeril\u2019s wife, there would have been divorce proceedings on both sides, custody battles, perhaps a drunken attempt at revenge sex with Jeremy\u2019s wife herself, no looker, but then Emeril never did like the skinny type.<\/p>\n

Which confuses him because of course Jeremy does go for the skinny type and Emeril\u2019s wife is assuredly not that, no not at all. Which was probably why he wouldn\u2019t claim to be actively sleeping with her, just that he slept with her the one time. And even there, a confession like that, blurted out on a single piece of paper, typed out and with Jeremy\u2019s sloppy signature beneath, that might have been dealt with using the usual anger and perhaps a drunken binge of sorts and some kind of public humiliation.<\/p>\n

But poor Jeremy, adding that last word, that \u201casshole,\u201d he was clearly ashamed of himself, knew he had done wrong, was disguising his self-hatred in bravado and insults, and so the duel was very much in order. Still, Emeril had no intention of killing his younger brother, no, he\u2019ll shoot his bullet right when Jeremy does, the two bullets will hit one another, will ricochet to heaven knows where, hopefully some tree, and in the rush of fear Jeremy will see what a fool he was to seek death for something as petty as adultery. Or double adultery, as it were.<\/p>\n

Afterall, they are brothers, had known each other all of Jeremy\u2019s life, and their wives were, what, recent additions, only around for half of that time? When this is all over, of course, Emeril will take the matter up with his betrothed, talk to her in a stern voice, and show her a little of what the CEO gets when he comes stomping through the firm\u2019s corridors, oh yes she would!<\/p>\n

The duel arranger, a tired old man, looks on, seemingly impassive.<\/p>\n

Three steps now, two, one. Turn. There he is, the short fat little fuck. The squat little motherfucker. Because that\u2019s what he is, his older brother, a real motherfucker. He fucked his wife! The mother of his children! Nevermind that he hated his wife, hated his children. Hated them. Hated his brother, always had, since he was born, Jeremy doesn\u2019t remember being born, doesn\u2019t remember much of his childhood, doesn\u2019t remember much of anything except maybe high school when he was the shit and he had more sex than was probably legally allowed for regular people. But if he ever went to a psychic, and if they weren\u2019t all bullshit, and she hypnotized him and regressed him to his birth, he\u2019s pretty sure he\u2019d come out screaming and see that fat little fuck with his propeller beanie and his bow tie and his lollipop and think to his one-minute-old self \u201cthat\u2019s my older brother? Fuck me!\u201d<\/p>\n

Which wasn\u2019t the point, even though it sort of was, Jeremy is secretly glad to have this chance to shoot this stupid motherfucker and kill him and be justified in it. He lifts the gun and points, a scowling smile on his face.<\/p>\n

Which makes him so angry, so incredibly angry that this little cuntlicker is giving him exactly what he\u2019d always wanted. Jeremy hates that, hates how Emeril is always there for him, protecting him, taking care of him, bailing him out of jail and getting him jobs and talking the lawyers into advancing Jeremy\u2019s portion of the trust when bills are due and his harpy of a wife was harping about some harpish thing or another. Skinny broad. Not that Emeril\u2019s wife is any better. Yeah, if Jeremy had to choose, he\u2019d choose the skinny one over the fat one too. So it makes sense that Emeril had fucked her.<\/p>\n

And so what, he hated the bitch, let them have each other, there were plenty of young things fresh out of high school who recognized his picture next to the trophies in the trophy case. But the audacity! Sending him a note! \u201cI must confess, dear brother, I had unnatural relations with your wife. I expect you\u2019ll demand satisfaction. Pistols at dawn?\u201d And signed with that effeminate scrawl. Twenty words, one for every year he\u2019d been married to the whore. And so, yes, Jeremy is looking forward to this, looking forward to killing this little faggot for having \u201cunnatural relations\u201d with his wife, the mother of his children! What the hell were \u201cunnatural relations\u201d anyway? Did he put it in her ass or something?<\/p>\n

The duel arranger allows himself a very small entirely imperceptible grin.<\/p>\n

Emeril\u2019s hand isn\u2019t shaking, its steady as a rock, he\u2019s sighted the barrel of the Sig Sauer P210 \u201cLegend\u201d perfectly inline with Jeremy\u2019s, finger resting on the trigger, pressure there, not much, just enough. Jeremy squeezing his gun as tight as he can, his palm and thumb three fingers but his index finger won\u2019t move. Why won\u2019t it move? Emeril is waiting. He needs to see Jeremy pull the trigger. The bullets fly so fast, he has to time it just right. The guns are heavy. Their arms are getting. Has it been ten minutes, standing there, 47 years, or three seconds?<\/p>\n

The duel arranger presses a button, and both guns go off. The Banjos drop. Clean shots. The duel arranger walks over to Jeremy, confirms he\u2019s dead, walks over to Emeril. He was worried Jeremy would miss. Hard to do at this range with a Sig Sauer P210, but still.<\/p>\n

The duel arranger retrieves the guns, wipes them down, puts them back in the box. He\u2019ll clean them later. He calls the coroner. Walks over to his car, has a cigarette. He has more letters to write. The dueling business isn\u2019t what it was, but it\u2019s getting better. The Banjos come from a very large, very rich, very stupid family.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

fiction by Jason Edwards Jeremy Banjo and his brother Emeril standing back to back, in a field, wind softly blowing. Each armed with a Sig Sauer P210 loaded with only one bullet, hardened brass and steel core, one of those so-called \u201ccop killers.\u201d They start to take their paces. Jeremy doesn’t know it, but Emeril’s … <\/p>\n

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