that’s my motto, and it’s stood me in good stead. Same rules.
It’s as if she can read my thoughts, cause she sort of blushes and looks at the clock. – Well, she goes, – we’d better be making a move back.
Ah’ll fuckin well make a move on you in a minute ya cunt . Probably game as fuck n aw.
Lennox is talking to Amanda Drummond. Most likely trying to slip her a length, the dirty fucker. Although with Lennox it wouldnae be much ay a length. Drummond catches me staring at them and looks away. I’d give her one, if only to pass the time of day. Maybe a knee-trembler in the bogs, if I had a bit of time between finishing the crossword and piece brek. Lennox’s index finger rubs the side of his beak. Ice-cool cunt Ray Lennox’s give-away that he’s telling porky pies, that underneath it all he’s a suffering bag of nerves.
Aye Lennox ya cunt, you’ll ken.
So we get back into it. Clell’s playing the nice cunt, Gus is winding them up, and I’m keeping stumpf. It’s hot and I’m starting to feel a bit nauseous and shaky. My guts feel sick and heavy. It’s like there’s something in me, I can almost feel it growing, getting stronger. A tumour perhaps, like the one that did in the auld girl. Prone to it, our family. But she was . . . I’m starting to sweat heavily, a panic attack’s coming on.
I’m losing it.
Fuck that.
I’m not like Busby or any of those long-term sick-through-stress saplings that can’t handle the big time. The cunts here’ll never fuckin know, they’ll never fuckin ken cause I’m better than that, better than all of them, stronger than the fuckin lot of those cunts put together.
I excuse myself and go to the bogs. Inside the lavvy I’m shaking and my teeth are hammering together. I sit on the toilet seat. My arse is itching really badly. I want to sterilise those piles: some boiling water, a sharp pain and then that’s it. The bog paper is just that harsh council-issue garbage. Fuckin cunts! How do they expect me . . .
I give my piles a clawing until my eyes water. The pain is something to focus on. My breathing is slowing down and the shaking’s subsiding. I try to have a wank, attempting to picture the chinky bird, then Amanda Drummond, in the buff, but nothing’s coming to me. I should have sneaked out the paper. I don’t know who the shag was on page three, I haven’t seen her before.
When I get back in, I’m still a bit jumpy. All the eyes are on me.
– You don’t look very happy Bruce, Amanda Drummond says, – are you okay? Are you feeling okay?
Attack is the best form of defence. I look her in the eye. – I’d be a lot more okay if I knew what I was doing here. Like several of my colleagues I’ve been involved in a murder investigation: I’m trying to solve the murder of a man from an ethnic minority group. I’ve been taken off that to spend time here. I say this in such a way as to let her know that I don’t consider her to be on the case. – Answer me this if you can: what advances racial harmony most: this course or solving that crime? Cause we sure ain’t gonna solve no crime sittin here, sister, I tell her.
– Hear hear! Gus says, and starts clapping, and some of the other boys follow suit. Peter Inglis whistles.
This gies the hoor a beamer and a half.
– It’s not a question of one or the other, we need to do both . . . she says weakly, then adds with a bit of gusto, – as the strategy paper makes quite clear.
Oh, the strategy paper is it now? I wondered when we were going to get on to that particular pile of fucking pish. Well I’ve done my homework, dykeface, thank you very much. – I’m glad you mentioned that because if I could quote a circular from Personnel relating to the strategy paper, and I quote: – ‘There are no sacred cows in a modern organisation like the police force. Everything is up for grabs, everything has a priority value.’
– Exactly. The fact that you’re here shows it has priority, she snootily
It’s as if she can read my thoughts, cause she sort of blushes and looks at the clock. – Well, she goes, – we’d better be making a move back.
Ah’ll fuckin well make a move on you in a minute ya cunt . Probably game as fuck n aw.
Lennox is talking to Amanda Drummond. Most likely trying to slip her a length, the dirty fucker. Although with Lennox it wouldnae be much ay a length. Drummond catches me staring at them and looks away. I’d give her one, if only to pass the time of day. Maybe a knee-trembler in the bogs, if I had a bit of time between finishing the crossword and piece brek. Lennox’s index finger rubs the side of his beak. Ice-cool cunt Ray Lennox’s give-away that he’s telling porky pies, that underneath it all he’s a suffering bag of nerves.
Aye Lennox ya cunt, you’ll ken.
So we get back into it. Clell’s playing the nice cunt, Gus is winding them up, and I’m keeping stumpf. It’s hot and I’m starting to feel a bit nauseous and shaky. My guts feel sick and heavy. It’s like there’s something in me, I can almost feel it growing, getting stronger. A tumour perhaps, like the one that did in the auld girl. Prone to it, our family. But she was . . . I’m starting to sweat heavily, a panic attack’s coming on.
I’m losing it.
Fuck that.
I’m not like Busby or any of those long-term sick-through-stress saplings that can’t handle the big time. The cunts here’ll never fuckin know, they’ll never fuckin ken cause I’m better than that, better than all of them, stronger than the fuckin lot of those cunts put together.
I excuse myself and go to the bogs. Inside the lavvy I’m shaking and my teeth are hammering together. I sit on the toilet seat. My arse is itching really badly. I want to sterilise those piles: some boiling water, a sharp pain and then that’s it. The bog paper is just that harsh council-issue garbage. Fuckin cunts! How do they expect me . . .
I give my piles a clawing until my eyes water. The pain is something to focus on. My breathing is slowing down and the shaking’s subsiding. I try to have a wank, attempting to picture the chinky bird, then Amanda Drummond, in the buff, but nothing’s coming to me. I should have sneaked out the paper. I don’t know who the shag was on page three, I haven’t seen her before.
When I get back in, I’m still a bit jumpy. All the eyes are on me.
– You don’t look very happy Bruce, Amanda Drummond says, – are you okay? Are you feeling okay?
Attack is the best form of defence. I look her in the eye. – I’d be a lot more okay if I knew what I was doing here. Like several of my colleagues I’ve been involved in a murder investigation: I’m trying to solve the murder of a man from an ethnic minority group. I’ve been taken off that to spend time here. I say this in such a way as to let her know that I don’t consider her to be on the case. – Answer me this if you can: what advances racial harmony most: this course or solving that crime? Cause we sure ain’t gonna solve no crime sittin here, sister, I tell her.
– Hear hear! Gus says, and starts clapping, and some of the other boys follow suit. Peter Inglis whistles.
This gies the hoor a beamer and a half.
– It’s not a question of one or the other, we need to do both . . . she says weakly, then adds with a bit of gusto, – as the strategy paper makes quite clear.
Oh, the strategy paper is it now? I wondered when we were going to get on to that particular pile of fucking pish. Well I’ve done my homework, dykeface, thank you very much. – I’m glad you mentioned that because if I could quote a circular from Personnel relating to the strategy paper, and I quote: – ‘There are no sacred cows in a modern organisation like the police force. Everything is up for grabs, everything has a priority value.’
– Exactly. The fact that you’re here shows it has priority, she snootily
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