I originally wrote JUST LIKE HAMLET BLUES (aka HAMLET'S RECKONING) as song for my band The Hostiles, but since we were struggling with songs that barely cracked the two minute mark, I felt like it would be pointless to bring them six pages of lyrics for a song I figured would probably be about ten minutes long. So I stuck it in a notebook and rewrote it a couple of years later.
Been hot like this all week long. Air so thick you drink it. Town's being over run with vicious insects. They attack anything warm that moves. Blood thirsty little beasts. Barely anything moves until the whistle blows at the cotton mill. The men come out slow, heads low, round shouldered, red faced, slit eyed. Ol' Ben starts setting beers on the counter as the men shuffle in, silently, save for some moaning or sighing. Some stop under the ceiling fan, but it's not really helping. None of them look over at John Kelley, sitting in the corner with his boys, and some of the town whores from the other side of the square.
Kelley looks the men over carefully, seeing an enemy in every one of them. He knows his time is short, and he keeps one hand over his pistol, and the other on his glass of whiskey.
None of them have more than three beers before they shuffle out and home for their dinners. Their shirts cling to them like a second skin. Weighing them down so much, they can hardly lift their feet when they walk.
Those who see it, just shake their heads at the stray dog hobbling toward them. The bitch already half gutted with those damn bugs. One eye socket filled with a hundred of them. They're crawling out of her nose, mouth, and ass. The dog collapses in the middle of the street with a cracked whimper and a jerking belly.
It looks like something burning when the immense black cloud appears over the horizon, and begins blocking out the sun. The whole town stops dead when the ice cold wind shoots through, making all the men in their sweat drenched clothes shiver. Then comes the sound like a train or thunder, but it’s neither. People are coming out of their houses, lining up on Main Street. Drawn out by curiosity then rooted with fear.
There are cries of terror when they finally see what’s coming. Five black Cadillacs, taking up both sides of the highway. The town's people know what’s coming. The men are shaking in their boots. The women hold tight to their children, and pray for it to end soon.
The Cadillacs pull into town, blocking up Main Street. Men begin piling out, four in each car. Tom Kelley steps out from behind the wheel of the lead car, and scans the crowd, looking for him who he has come to kill. One of his men brings up Tom's gun belt. Tom straps it on, and caresses the ivory handles of his revolvers. He pulls his shotgun from behind the front seat, resting it on his shoulder. He stands regal, in his black silk shirt with the shining silver buttons, and silver bolo tie, black jeans and black leather boots with silver tips. His face is expressionless and pale behind his black shades. It sounds like shots when he walks.
Tom's gang is armed to the teeth. Sizing up the town. Casually walking back and forth with their machine guns, shotguns, rifles, revolvers, and so on. They don't pay attention to the whores from the other side of the square who slither up, weaving around the cars, rubbing up against the men in second hand dresses and ripped fish nets, giving off their scent, trying to entice the men to come back with them. The women caress the barrels of their guns, and flick out their tongues, winking, long eyelashes and heavy eyeliner, hiding the long dead eyes. But all they get are low guttural growls. The women shrink away, hissing, baring their teeth, back to the other side of the square, cursing the whole lot of queer-dirty-bastards.
Tom pulls a cigarette from behind his ear; it's lit for him. He puffs away staring down the street, at the young boy peeking out the door of Ol' Ben's saloon. The boy is frozen, mouth hanging open. Tom can see the boy's heart beating through his shirt. That boy is all that Tom can see right now. He's oblivious to the rest of the town that's pointing and whispering, and yelling for the sheriff, who still haven't shown up.
John is getting nervous looking at that boy hanging out the door. He's already asked him five times what the hell it is, and he still hasn't got an answer. One of the girls tries to calm John down by nibbling on his ear. She loses two front teeth.
The boy finally steps back through the door, he's white as a sheet, shaking, going for his pistol, and pissing himself. John doesn't need to ask him again what's going on. Every one leaps to their feet, going for their guns. Ol' Ben bolts out the back door, saying to hell with the whole damn place. The women run out the front door, and cop a heel as far back into their part of town, that they'll hardly hear anything that's about to go down.
Tom's gang is anxious. Locked and loaded, hot to go to work. They start heading for the saloon, but stop, when they realize he isn't moving.
Tom reaches into his shirt and pulls out a small locket on a chain. He opens it to a black and white of Penelope. He runs his finger over the photo, thinking of how she threw herself into the Mississippi River this very morning, while he burned down the plantation and fields. He put the locket back into his shirt, feeling nothing but a burning coal where his heart used to be. He starts to rejoin his gang, but notices the sheriff, with four deputies, and the preacher finally arriving. He flicks his cigarette at them.
The sheriff gets to him first, but before he can say anything, Tom jams the barrel of his shotgun under the sheriff’s chin. The sheriff's eyes bug out and he starts whimpering. Mothers hold their children tight, trying to cover their eyes. Something flickers behind Tom's shades, and the sheriff's neck disintegrates in a red cloud. The deputies back away, and then break into a run, before the sheriff's head has even hit the ground, landing between his own feet, as his body flops backwards.
The preacher is on his knees, shouting a prayer as another cold wind kicks up. Thunder shakes the land. Everyone can hear the rain coming in the distance. Still praying, the preacher leaps at Tom, but is caught by two members of the gang, who throw him back. He stumbles across the street, tripping over the curb, and eating a mouthful of dirt.
Tom cocks his shotgun, and looks around to see if any one else has anything to say. No one does, so he walks on, followed by his gang. Leaving behind a spent shell, that children tear away from their mothers and run for, then fight over, until they are pulled apart, and one small boy goes home with such a prize.
John and his boys are ducking around the windows and door, scared shitless, but trying not to show it. They hold on to their guns for dear life, secretly cursing John for being such a stupid bastard, for not seeing this coming.
Tom moves slowly down the middle of the street, surrounded by his gang, the mean wind blowing at their backs- Rain getting closer. Tom can see his daddy's ghost dancing in the dead oak in the center of town.
"Hey, John!" Tom shouts, as they near the saloon. "I promised you a reckonin'. I'm here to kill ya, John! My daddy says Hi!"
They line up in front of the saloon. Tom raises his shotgun. The men inside begin to loose their nerve outwardly. A wave of rain comes down over Tom and his men. The glass and wood door of the saloon explodes. The windows shatter. Fist size holes in the walls.
John's boys shoot back blindly, aiming their guns out the windows, but keeping their heads down, eyes closed. John himself has already crawled behind the bar, shielding his eyes from the exploding liquor bottles that come raining down on him. In the big mirror behind the bar, he can see Tom out there. He can also see his boys getting shot to shit. He can already smell Tom's cologne and whiskey breath breathing down his neck.
One of Kelley's boys stumbles behind the bar, half his head gone. He crumples on the ground, what's left in his head spills out over Kelley's shaking hand. He scoots away, pulling the hammer back on his pearl handled nickel-plated pistol, that his brother had given him. The only time the pistol was never fired was to strike his brother down.
One of Kelley's boys does a herky-jerky dance burning down with machine gun fire, sinking between barstools, without his face. Lucky shot takes out one of Tom's men; his head looks like a balloon bursting. Bits of skull and brain blind his cousin behind him. Another lucky shot tears the cousin's neck apart. Boy comes out surrendering, begging for his life. His chest explodes, and he tumbles back inside. One boy tries to run for the backdoor, but catches one in the back of the head. Spits his teeth across the room.
Tom steps up on the porch with a burning coal in his chest burning through his shirt.
"C'mon out, John. All yer men're dead."
Kelley wipes the sweat and tears out of his eyes. He keeps telling himself that he has to get out of this. He's not gone this far to lose everything. But another look in the spider webbed mirror at the carnage that used to be his crew tells him he will not get out of here alive.
The room is filled with smoke, the floor slick with blood, deadly with shards of glass and splintered bone. Tom loads fresh shells walking across the room. His men relieve Kelley's boys of their boots, guns, money, and jewelry. They ignore the frantic spirits whirling around the room, as they exit.
Tom thinks of his mother and scratches himself. He spots a bottle of whiskey and licks his lips. He fills a blood-splattered glass to the rim. First sip feels good. Second sip shatters in his hand. Bits of glass sticking in his lips. Blood running down his chin. A hole in his hand. He doesn't move. Kelley can see himself in those black shades. Tom's face has no expression. Kelley's gun drops to the floor. His mouth working with pleads. Tom brushes the glass off his mouth. With his good hand he reaches across the bar and grabs Kelley's tie. Pulling him across the counter and out into the street.
The town's people are huddling in the church praying and hiding from the storm. But when they see Tom dragging John Kelley out toward the center of town, splashing through the flooding street, they timidly follow.
Kelley is brought to his knees when one of Tom's men slaps him in the back of the knees with his rifle. Tom tells someone to pop the trunk…bring out the gifts. Kelley moans a woeful blues as they pull the familiar body of Tom's mother from the trunk. There is just a black crusty stump where her head should be.
Her head comes out next, carried by the hair. Tom takes it gently, and raises it to Heaven like an offering. He begins to speak, but instead brings his mother's head to his chest, before handing it to Kelley. Kelley takes it, and cradles it like a new born.
Tom pushes through the crowd and grabs the preacher.
"You have work to do."
He puts his arm around the preacher's shoulders, and leads him to where Kelley kneels. Some of Tom’s men are already preparing the rope in the dead oak. Others start dragging Kelley up to his fate.
Tom turns to Kelley. "Now don't you pray for yourself, or anything, John. You don't deserve salvation. You hear? Preacher, you damn him proper."
The preacher nods his head spastically until his hat falls off.
A table was brought out from the saloon, and set under the dead oak. They hoist Kelley on to it, and put his head through the noose, they take the head away from him. Tom reaches up and grips Kelley's belt buckle.
The rain passes on, but the skies remain black.
"John, I burnt down the house and the fields and everything. Ain't nothing left. I reckon I'll be burnin' down this town next. No reason for that. Just gonna do it."
"Please! It was your mother! She put me…forced me…to do everything!..."
"Shut up!"
Tom grips the table with his good hand and Kelley's leg, the best he can, with the other. With out a word, he jerks the table over. Kelley's neck snaps. Body convulses. Bowels let go. Shit and piss run out the cuffs of his jeans.
Tom looks out at the crowd, then back at his men. "Burn it down, boys."
He walks through the crowd, ignoring their cries and pleads. He goes back to his car and slides in to the back seat. Sinking down. Closing his eyes.
One of his men looks in. "Where to next, boss?"
"We'll go west. Tell everyone...We'll go west."
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