Gregory's Torture

So Aloysius is away down the country to look after the cats of a pal who’s had to go on the run after getting herself involved with a big drugs man who I’ll name Gregory for the sake of my arms and legs and general well being.

The pal arrived yesterday morning at the streak of dawn in her electric blue Ford Coupe. Appropriately she had this song playing at full blast, (I think she uses it as a sort of shtick):



which woke all the nosy wee weemen and aroused the churning tight-eyed suspicion of the local men who stood with folded arms in their driveway.

I sent Aloysius on his way with a non-fruit hug and told him to stay in touch and that he could rely on me for a gun* if needs be should things gets hairy.

Two hours ago he sent me a text:

Am safe. Hav arvd at loc. took here in chopper that met me at ards airstrip. Cats are w/me. All is fine.

He went on to give an account replete with colours, feelings and lurid metaphor, of how the chopper took off as the sun was coming up and banked southwesterly, skirting over Scrabo Hill. He signed off by saying he felt like an underworld spy.

I am glad Aloysius is safe, but this last hour I have become afraid that Gregory will get wind Aloysius was staying here and decide to come round and use me as a hostage so that Aloysius’s pal will give herself up and face the consequences. Part of me feels that putting my safety before that of a girl is v.un-gentlemanly, but if this pal was giving a drug dealer the run around then who am I to stand in the way of his retribution. No hero me, and anyway, whatever happened to women’s lib and gender equality. Equal in one way, equal in all, including the receiving of beatings.

It will either be for that reason Gregory will batter my door down or he will think I know where she is and torture me so’s I ‘fess up. I was on the phone to an old jailbird pal the other day and he tells me one thing they do to nonces inside is to put superglue up their hole and down their dick through the jap’s eye. Gregory, having learned these torture moves when he was inside (I’m sure he must’ve been), might assault my shitepipe like this then threaten to do the same with my dick. I would tell then - I’d tell lies, detailed and exact, as to the girl’s whereabouts. Anyone who thinks torturing terrorist suspects is a good idea is wrong for definite. I’m sure of that, right this minute, thinking over the prospect of torture upon my own person. Even the thought of it has me already stocking up on fabricated info to trade in to stop Gregory’s torture. Fuck it! I’m going to put the drawers against my front door and make a weapon. I’d do a shiv but I’ve no toothbrush.

*I was promised one ages ago when I ran into some trouble.