still as tight as a bodhran,” said Chris, making a face. “I should take you up on the offer, just to see the tears in your eyes.”
“That’s unfair. Financially, I can hardly breathe. Crooked lawyers and a ball-busting ex-wife are fleecing me. Besides, there’s a few quid in this for you. I wouldn’t call that being tight.” Karl sounded quite offended.
“Yeah,
few
being the operative word. I’ve just had to use my entire insurance claim on a security system. I doubt if what you’re giving me would pay for a mousetrap.” Chris nervously rubbed his massive forearm, like a genie being called up.
Karl knew the sign. He waited.
Covering most of Chris’s muscular torso was a gallery of tattoos, the most striking of which was a Heavy Metal skeleton painted on his forearm playing a guitar. Upon closer inspection, the guitar was shaped from a large erection protruding from between the skeleton’s legs: a boner with a boner. The more Chris stroked his forearm, the more the skeleton seemed to move in masturbatory slow mo.
It’s the only way I can get an erection these days
, laughed Chris, when first showing it to Karl, a couple of years back, shortly after the attempted murder bid. The laugh, Karl noted at the time, was void of emotion.
“Okay, here is what I have,” said Chris. “Not much, but more than your scumbag brother-in-law is probably telling you.”
“Let’s not get personal.”
“Personal? You don’t know the half of it. Wilson’s one of the Seven Great Wankers of the Western World.”
“Agreed. Now, can we move on? Please.”
Chris spat a fragment of tobacco from his mouth. “Wesley Milligan used to be a bailiff before progressing naturally to the lower rung, becoming a screw. He worked mainly in Woodbank, the prison for women and men, many years ago. I’ve spoken to a couple of my lady friends who spent some time in that hellhole. They told me he was the devil’s bastard.”
Silence.
From a tree, a nosey squirrel, its tail curving into a hairy question mark, watched the two men.
“And? That’s it? A screw bastard? That’s headline news?” said Karl. “C’mon, Chris. You can do better than that.”
Sighing, Chris continued. “He and a few of his mates pimped some of the women prisoners, those on drugs, leasing them out to high-placed establishment figures at private functions.”
“What kind of establishment figures?”
“The usual shit-bag collection of politicians, judiciary, clergy – and
cops
.”
“I take it that there is little love lost between you and the aforementioned gentlemen and pillars of society?”
“Most of those leeches would benefit from an early death. Ever see one of the bastards drive a second-hand car?”
“Point taken.”
Karl scratched his arse, digging his finger in, wondering if he should surrender his reluctance, have a doctor check his engine?
“I’m not trying to annoy or offend you, Chris, but all that sounds a bit far-fetched. The only one you left out was Mother Teresa. Sure you’re not just trying to spice it up, make the information sound important?”
“Take it or leave it.”
“And into the bargain, you’re trying to convince me that the women prisoners were simply released each day, and then returned of their own free will? Why didn’t they simply abscond, once outside the prison walls?”
“You’re such a suspicious bastard, it makes you naive.” Chris swivelled the wheelchair expertly, cutting across the toes of Karl, forcinga grimace on the private investigator’s face. “They got paid in small amounts of H, you fuck. That would have made them as loyal as homing pigeons just to get their fix. They weren’t going anywhere, but back to the coop for their next feed. Besides, most of them were so-called illegal aliens – though what the fuck possessed them to come to this pimple on god’s arse, is beyond me.”
“H? You mean heroin?”
“No, I mean H for Happy fucking Meals at
McDonald’s
.”
Karl’s
“That’s unfair. Financially, I can hardly breathe. Crooked lawyers and a ball-busting ex-wife are fleecing me. Besides, there’s a few quid in this for you. I wouldn’t call that being tight.” Karl sounded quite offended.
“Yeah,
few
being the operative word. I’ve just had to use my entire insurance claim on a security system. I doubt if what you’re giving me would pay for a mousetrap.” Chris nervously rubbed his massive forearm, like a genie being called up.
Karl knew the sign. He waited.
Covering most of Chris’s muscular torso was a gallery of tattoos, the most striking of which was a Heavy Metal skeleton painted on his forearm playing a guitar. Upon closer inspection, the guitar was shaped from a large erection protruding from between the skeleton’s legs: a boner with a boner. The more Chris stroked his forearm, the more the skeleton seemed to move in masturbatory slow mo.
It’s the only way I can get an erection these days
, laughed Chris, when first showing it to Karl, a couple of years back, shortly after the attempted murder bid. The laugh, Karl noted at the time, was void of emotion.
“Okay, here is what I have,” said Chris. “Not much, but more than your scumbag brother-in-law is probably telling you.”
“Let’s not get personal.”
“Personal? You don’t know the half of it. Wilson’s one of the Seven Great Wankers of the Western World.”
“Agreed. Now, can we move on? Please.”
Chris spat a fragment of tobacco from his mouth. “Wesley Milligan used to be a bailiff before progressing naturally to the lower rung, becoming a screw. He worked mainly in Woodbank, the prison for women and men, many years ago. I’ve spoken to a couple of my lady friends who spent some time in that hellhole. They told me he was the devil’s bastard.”
Silence.
From a tree, a nosey squirrel, its tail curving into a hairy question mark, watched the two men.
“And? That’s it? A screw bastard? That’s headline news?” said Karl. “C’mon, Chris. You can do better than that.”
Sighing, Chris continued. “He and a few of his mates pimped some of the women prisoners, those on drugs, leasing them out to high-placed establishment figures at private functions.”
“What kind of establishment figures?”
“The usual shit-bag collection of politicians, judiciary, clergy – and
cops
.”
“I take it that there is little love lost between you and the aforementioned gentlemen and pillars of society?”
“Most of those leeches would benefit from an early death. Ever see one of the bastards drive a second-hand car?”
“Point taken.”
Karl scratched his arse, digging his finger in, wondering if he should surrender his reluctance, have a doctor check his engine?
“I’m not trying to annoy or offend you, Chris, but all that sounds a bit far-fetched. The only one you left out was Mother Teresa. Sure you’re not just trying to spice it up, make the information sound important?”
“Take it or leave it.”
“And into the bargain, you’re trying to convince me that the women prisoners were simply released each day, and then returned of their own free will? Why didn’t they simply abscond, once outside the prison walls?”
“You’re such a suspicious bastard, it makes you naive.” Chris swivelled the wheelchair expertly, cutting across the toes of Karl, forcinga grimace on the private investigator’s face. “They got paid in small amounts of H, you fuck. That would have made them as loyal as homing pigeons just to get their fix. They weren’t going anywhere, but back to the coop for their next feed. Besides, most of them were so-called illegal aliens – though what the fuck possessed them to come to this pimple on god’s arse, is beyond me.”
“H? You mean heroin?”
“No, I mean H for Happy fucking Meals at
McDonald’s
.”
Karl’s
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