Another Billy the Kid - by Tom Fynes

 

His flashing teeth hit you as soon as you saw him.

Laughing, happy, a twist of the head.

A big smile, black jacket, tight jeans, Nike's.

A red scarf, mischief in movement.

Eyes big, alert,….. alive.

He played guitar. So where were the spiders?

Ziggy classics a Billy specialty.

Borrowing a guitar to busk. Generating cash for beer to smooth talk easy girls.

All girls came easy to Billy.

Saw him in a restaurant with twelve girls, and he still left them to check out some-more.

Confident. So sure,….. always so sure.

I warned him about stealing from a restaurant we dish-washed in.

Rat-faced on expensive wine. Piss-eyed on cheap kitchen brandy.

There we worked long happy hours, exhilarated by the warm afterglow.

He moved down South, got married. Had a kid and thought he was happy.

No money no happy.

Too young to die young.

Fell in with the Gallic wrong crowd.

Smoked pot dropped acid got bitter.

Owed a living by someone.

You perhaps?

Said he didn’t mean to shoot. It was the cop’s fault.

Spoke on the phone to him about his trial.

Murder is so final. But life is not life.

Laughed and said he would be out in five. Guilty not him.

Prison was easy. A Bad-Boyzz club.

Free every weekend to catch the latest Movie.

Yes! He did drive the getaway car. He liked fast cars.

Yes! He did have a shotgun. He liked guns.

The cops had stitched them up.

Waiting.

Like Dirty Harry………Are you feeling lucky?

Yes! A gun went off and somebody died. But it wasn’t his fault.

How could it be?

He’d gotten away. Driving fast.

Dumped guns in a river….Buried cash in a forest….Went home to a wife.

He would never work with Frenchmen again.

I asked him who could he trust.

His guitar. It played true every-time.

They bugged our meeting!!!

Knew our every move. Could’ve stopped us at any-time.

So, whose fault was it really then? Not his.

The jury loved his teeth, his smile,…. his logic.

Misguided getaway driver for thieving murdering Johnny foreigners.

Stupid…..Yes.

Promise, it wouldn’t happen, ever again.

Please, let me go back to the Bad-Boyzz club.

Billy got away with it…..This time.

The body on the stretcher coming out of the woods had his favourite Nike's on.

I saw it on TV.

I knew it was him.

He just had to go back and check on his pension plan.

Never trust a Frenchman.

Are you feeling lucky punk?

He laughed, he dropped acid, he sang Ziggy songs, he smoked pot, he died.

Blown away by an avenging Gallic Garrett.

Never cross a Frenchman.

Billy told his Mum he was an entertainer on a Cruise-Ship.

I stood with her as they lowered him down.

I said at heart he was a good person.

But I knew the lie.

At heart,…….he was just Another Billy the Kid.