The scene unfolds inside the plush interior of the Randolph Park Hotel in the centre of Tucson, Arizona. In one of the grand suites on the upper floors, attempting to relax is Butch Parker, attired in light-blue jeans and a plain Adidas white t-shirt. After having been bombared by women's rights and anti-homosexual groups and activists sending him hate-mail and angry phone calls, Butch has tried to cut himself from the world, at least for the time being.

As he fixes himself a self-poured pint of Strongbow cider from the extensive minibar, the hotel room phone that he specifically ordered to be cut off starts to ring. Butch takes a large gulp from the glass of cider before rolling his eyes and grunting frustratedly before making his way over to the phone table, grumbling to himself as he does so.

(Butch): Useless shites...

Butch picks up the phone forcefully and places the reciever against his ear.

(Butch): What is it? I made clear that I wanted this phoneline disconnected from my room because I didn't want to be disturbed; so this better be good or so help me God.

The voice on the other end of the line stammers nervously.

(Porter): S-sorry Mr Parker, please accept my humblest apologies but there is someone downstairs who insists on seeing you.

Butch's face fills up with blood and he exhales heavily with anger.

(Butch): You've got to be f***ing kidding me! I specifically ask for my phone to be cut off because I don't want to be bothered by anyone and you phone me up to tell me that some journalist wants to talk to me. Boy, you better hope you've life insurance because when I get downstairs, I-

(Porter): Sorry, Mr Parker but this isn't a journalist, he says he's family and that he isn't going anywhere, what shall I tell him?

The colour that filled Butch's face only seconds earlier, drains away almost as quickly and he feels a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

(Porter): Mr Parker? What should I tell him, sir?

Butch chews on his bottom lip for a second, before snapping back to reality.

(Butch): Tell him...tell him I'll be down in a minute.

Butch doesn't wait for the porter to make any form of reply as he forcefully hangs up. He picks the pint glass of cider and swifly downs the remnants of the glass's contents before storming out of his room and making his way downstairs.

About five minutes later, Butch is staring at one of the most unlikely faces he ever expect to see.

(Sean): Hello, Butch.

Butch doesn't look happy to see his nephew staring up at him from his wheelchair with an equally unimpressed look on his face as they exchange glances in a private room on the ground floor at Sean's request.

(Butch): Don't think I don't know why you're here Sean, and before you start, it's not going to work. Who's looking after the kids anyway?

(Sean): My mum is and they're fine before you ask, although they keep asking about you and Diane though, and Wisdom. A long holiday is going to fly for so long; Jake's starting to get suspicious.

(Butch): I guess you'll have to think of something else then...

An awkward silence soon strikes up that lasts a good thirty seconds before Butch breaks it.

(Butch): Look, we both know why you're here so let's not play games. Say what you've gotta say and then you can be on your way.

Sean laughs sarcastically, waving his right index finger from side to side.

(Sean): Ohhhh no, no no. You don't get away with that easily.

Butch places his hands on his hips and looks disparaginly at his nephew, who in turn, adopts a very serious expression, one reminiscent of Butch in his younger days.

(Sean): What the f*** do you think you're doing?

(Butch): What do you mean, "what the f*** am I doing"?

Butch turns away for a moment but Sean quickly wheels his chair around to face his uncle and raises another angry finger at him.

(Sean): Don't you dare try and act innocent with this shit, Butch, don't you f***ing dare! First Diana gets checked into some private home that no one has been given contact details for.

Sean holds his arms out in bemusement, his expression backing it up aswell.

(Sean): Then, I witness about six weeks of you being a complete f***ing arse, punching out fans, being Senester's new bum boy then attacking Wisdom, Vanessa and Jason. Then, I get a call from Wisdom practically ordering me to take Jake and Sarah off her. So what the f*** is going on?

Sean lounges back in his chair, folding his arms, awaiting Butch's response.

(Butch): Sean, I don't know what you want me to say. This is way above beyond anything you can-

(Sean): -beyond anything I can think of, there's no way I can possibly imagine and you couldn't tell me even if you wanted to right?

Butch just stands there looking like he just had the words taken right out of his mouth. Sean on the other hand just sits in his chair, looking at Butch, raising his eyebrows in a questioning manner.

(Sean): You can rattle that bullshit off a million times with Wisdom, with Hans, Heinrich but it won't work with me.

Butch rolls his eyes, and bites his bottom lip, the cogs in his head turning a million miles per hour, trying to conjure up some sort of verbal response.

To Be Continued...