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“The law will find you- already the dogs are on the way-” By this point, Dutch’s words had scared a hoarseness into Bronte’s words, a tremble in an otherwise confident man.
“Oh yeah.” The formerly mentioned laughed, climbing on top of Bronte with a huff. “Oh, you’re right.” He was just as breathless as the man below him. Ringed fingers locked around Angelo’s neck, pushing his tied body to face the edge of the canoe, overlooking the edge.
“They are good at smelling filth, huh?” Dutch readied himself, “So filth has got to be-” pulling his body up before his hand thrust into the swamp water, forcing Bronte down. “-disposed of!”
His voice was a rough yell at this point, when his voice broke as if lumber being hit and torn, falling.
“Your friends, the Pinkertons, gonna come and rescue you?”
Water spit back into his face as Bronte tried to push against Dutch’s palm, Dutch only forced his trembling hand deeper- locking with Bronte’s hair as lungs filled with liquid filth.
“You repulsive little maggot?!”
Each word was accompanied by the broken gasps and splash of water, a cacophony of pain and desperation from both men muddling together into a brutal dance of power.
“Call them now- You call them!”
Was all the warning there was before Bronte went limp, thrown off the side of the boat: disposed. A nearby alligator swam close, allured by the waves as Bronte’s body sank, low.
Arthur was the first off the canoe, pulling at the docks as the others looked back at the previous struggle and chose to flee as casually as they could. John stayed back, waiting for Dutch to stand before his voice broke the tense silence, “Jesus.. What part’ve your philosophy books cover.. feedin’ a fella to a goddamn alligator, dutch!?”
It was barely a question, more an interrogation– gruff and loud with its accusations. Dutch answered regardless. “The part that… covers- weakness. That part.”
Again, the younger’s voice tried to force out an “I don’t know–” but Dutch always had quicker words. Harsher, too. Only he had the liberty to lace them up pretty.
“Well I do. It ain't nice, I know. But it is us… or him. I figure it might as well be him.”