The Butcher of Juniper Street

Third Place Winner

By Richard Shideler

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The storefront shutter slammed down like a guillotine.

The streets were as empty as the refrigerator cases; the houses full as the freezer. Parents roasted by the fire; their children neatly tucked in blankets. It was 9 o'clock at night, but the snow blew in with a ferocity usually reserved for witching hour.

It was a chance that brought Nathan into the butcher shop that morning. Chance, and a generously sized sheet of butcher paper in the window, yellowed by the sun, with faded red letters that read "HELP WANTED."

Nathan was real green. Not a whisker over 16. He was quiet, but had a chip on his shoulder. Willie liked that. Mostly because Willie had a chip on his shoulder, too. Especially towards the supermarket chain execs who slinked in waving contracts like gristle. Willie refused to be bought out, squeezed out, sold out, or out-sold. He had the best cuts of meat around, period.

And he wasn't stopping for anything.

Not even for a family. Willie never had the time, desire, or need for one. He was married to the smell of wine and cheap perfume. Occasionally, regulars tried to set him up with their daughter or sister, but he always responded in the same Bukowskian fashion, "There's worse things than being alone."

So he certainly wouldn't be discouraged by a blizzard. The storm forced the other Juniper St. businesses to close early. The candy store, the drugstore, even the Harpoon Brewery over on Northern Ave was deserted. But Willie kept the shop open from 8-8, just like his sign had promised for the past 27 years. He never made an exception.

Since things were a bit slow, Willie led Nathan into the back. Years of butchering had taught Willie that even the very best cuts of meat can be ruined by a hesitant hand. That was Willie's secret. And that was why Nathan had to learn.

Willie stood up a lambchop and stepped back. His blade came crashing down with a force that seemed to rock the whole shop. The chop stood there silent, divided exactly in two. He drew his blade back with Zen-like poise.

Nathan was speechless. The cut rang in his ears. Reverent of the echo, Willie stood up another chop and slid a knife towards Nathan.

The blood was pounding in Nathan's ears as he gripped the still-warm handle. He stepped back, eyed his target, cocked his arm, and released it like a slingshot. What he lacked in strength, he made up for in accuracy. His cut was dead center.

"Clever," said Willie with a menacing smirk. "Where did you learn that?"

"Been working in the kitchen at the orphanage since I was too young to remember," replied Nathan.

"Keep on like that you'll be here long enough to forget. Cut that chop until its transparent, like an onion," Willie boomed.

"You mean transluc---"

Nathan jumped at Willie's mighty blow. Between them, Willie raised a sheet of lamb so wafer thin, Nathan could see each of Willie's bristly nose hairs.

"Transparent." Willie barked, pointing the knife. "Just like you."

Nathan went from afraid to confuse.

"That's right, orphan. I've seen the lot of boys like you. Desperate, pathetic, hungry for work, and just plain hungry. Well, I know some hungry people myself. And after tonight, this sorry world will have one less mouth to feed and one more mouth to feed it."

Nathan stood there sheepishly.

"You think its circumstance my shop is across from the candy store, a mere two blacks from the orphanage? You think its coincidence I have the most tender cuts of meat? You think anyone misses all the boys before you? You think anyone will miss you?

Nathan knew of some of the boys who got jobs at Willie's. He knew, because they used to write letters.

"Nobody misses half-pint orphans! NOBODY!"

But their memory crackled in him like sizzling bacon.

"You're trapped like a pig in a pen, boy!" Willie lunged across the table.

Without a second's hesitation, Nathan stepped back, cocked his arm, and released it like a slingshot. What he lacked in strength, he made up for in accuracy. His cut was dead center.

The next day, the shop opened at 8 a.m., just like always. But the help wanted sign was missing. In its place was another, that read, "Today's Special: Italian Sausage – FRESH!"