#187c

For a moment reality short-circuited and the world went all weird. Something very delicate had popped inside my head. Up against the door frame I looked at Little Dick in horror, though it wasn't Little Dick I saw, but John – albeit a much lardier version.

I was a confused rattle of a million thoughts and feelings. Such emotional traffic was passing through me that I was rooted to the spot, put on pause even from my breakdown. As earlier Little Dick had addressed me as 'Bill' now I addressed him as 'John'. But no sooner had I mouthed the words than I realized how crazy it was... that no matter what my brain wanted to see, it wasn't John in front of me.

Little Dick Tracy's police head caught onto my turmoil. A sadistic smile spread across his face and his eyes narrowed into slits. I guess it was the look that comes to him whenever a suspect cracks under interrogation.

“The games almost up Mr Spencer," he said, “Looks like I'm gonna win, again.”

I heard his words perfectly well but still asked “What?” as if I didn't.

Where in previous encounters Little Dick Tracy had been lightening quick in his responses now he was paint-dryingly slow, purposely torturing me with every tiny action he made. From his shirt pocket he removed his cigarettes. He flipped the top of the carton over, counted how many were left, shook one loose and drew it out in slow motion. The cigarette in his hand he smoothed it down, twirled it around and bounced the filter end off the packet. Ever so gently he placed the cigarette between his lips and struck up the slowest flame in history to light it with. His puff was a long measured pull, a piece of tobacco crackling as he sucked the burn slowly down. He exhaled, and then said quite casually:

“I said: you're fucked!”

By then I had calmed down. Little Dick no longer resembled anything but his own disgusting self. A disgust which when coupled with a complete lack of humanity, made him physically repulsive. I looked at him sitting there smarting and then it just came out....

“Me fucked? No Inspector, it's you who's fucked.... and way more than any soul you have ever sent down or ruined. Even doing a twenty five year stretch I'd not be as fucked or as lonely as you... Because you are fucked from the inside out. And no matter how many men you manage to have sent away, it'll never make you feel better about yourself, only worse. You are running scared... mean and void of emotions because if you can't feel or love then it can't be true that it feels so good to have a bit of “Bill”.... put your dick in another mans arse. Everything you do is to cover up what you're really ashamed to be. And only after drinking yourself silly does 'Bill' begin to exist outside of your secretive, closeted life. And what a miserable existence he must have. Another person confined... another to take the brunt of your conflict. 'Wipe my arse Bill!' D'you know why, Inspector? D'you know the real reason reason why you treat 'Bill' so wretchedly ? It's to blame him... for YOU! It's his fault for being there to fuck, not yours for wanting AND enjoying to do it. People like you think they can empty homosexuality out their balls... kinda get it over with for the month. Then you spend the next weeks punishing the world for that ten minutes of pleasure... that small fantasy that is ruining your life. It's you with the life sentence, one of shame... it's you who's really fucked.”

As with all people like Little Dick Tracy he stopped listening the moment he realised that the conversation had been turned on him... and worse, turned on the internal Little Dick. That's probably whey he choose the police as a profession, so as it was always him shining the spotlight and asking the questions. It's a little like the office joker, always playing pranks and taking the mickey out of others so as his big nose or missing leg doesn't come under attack. Have you never noticed how comedians are mostly always odd looking people? Well, that's exactly why they've become comedians. It's a defensive thing.

Completely ignoring my breakdown of his character Little Dick Tracy scrunched his cigarette out on the arm rest of the green chair then flicked the butt ways over towards the bookshelf. He rattled his ankle like a fairy making sure the Super Dong chain gave out a little tinkle.

“Very clever hiding things in the toilet cistern Mr Spencer, I've only come across that one twice. Pity you wasn't a little smarter, you would have submerged it and any evidence would have been long gone by now.”

“What are you talking about? The glasses were in my jacket in the dresser, why would I put them in the cistern?”

“Not the glasses, the fucking ankle chain! The ankle chain that Brian bought for John and which John swore he'd never take off. “Someone would have to kill me to remove it” Mr Screecher reports John as saying. Well, it looks like somebody did just that!”

“I don't know what you're talking about. I never put any chain in any cistern. It must've been John after we fought over it and I said I would not support him wearing sex jewellery from other guys – even keeping it.”

“So he removed it?”

“Must have.”

“So you were the domineering force in the relationship... he feared you? Feared the repercussions of what may happen if he didn't abide by your demands?”

“No. You know John was the tyrant. But sometimes I could get angry and forceful as well. After all it's my flat and John had nowhere else to go... not that I knew of. When I was really serious about things I would use that... tell him he would have to leave.”

“Hmm. Very sympathetic... threatening a paralysed man with the streets. That'll go down well in court,” said Little Dick.

“Save it for the real culprit!” I replied “Your threats don't scare me. I've done nothing!”

“Well, if you think killing a man is nothing you'll certainly be up on murder charges and not manslaughter. And as for 'nothing NOTHING', our little piece of Super Dong treasure here should pull you up on that. There'll be a trace of blood, a speck of DNA, something that'll match the of the chopped off cock found in the area. And as soon as that match is confirmed, you Mr Spencer will be starting a very different kind of life. And don't think about running away. From today there'll be a man on permanent watch over you and this place.... there's no way I'll let a murdering bastard like you scoot off to Brazil .”

Little Dick stood up. He balled his socks up, stuck them in his back pocket and put his shoes on over bare feet still wearing the ankle chain. Without asking he went over to the phone, dialled a number, said: “Pick me up in five. Place Y.” Then he gathered up his cigarettes, loose change and tucked his shirt in over his gut and into his jeans.

For a moment we just stood there staring at each other. Little Dick wore John's broken glasses very badly. Far from having any kind of a fetishistic quality, on him they just looked like something a retard would chew and suck on between meals. From outside there came a beep.

“OK, well that's me.” said Little Dick “Are you coming?”

“Coming? Where?” I asked

“To lower the unsolved crime stats... to make a confession!”

“A confession? from me? Ha! A man on strong tranquilizers, in the midst of a complete mental breakdown, unwashed, unshaved, un-anything for months... It'll never hold water, Inspector, you'd be best going with what you've got.”

Little Dick smiled, rattled his ankle once more and then done the stupidest thing any detective (real or fictional) has ever done:

He took off John's glasses, folded them up neatly and handed them to me. “Wouldn't want you coming down with migraines,” he said “or get in the way of your important reading!”

I was so shocked that I nearly never reached out to take them. The ankle chain was dubious evidence but these! God, they were on John's face when I smashed it in... they fell and rested in congealed blood for almost four days. Then I wondered if this was Little Dick's idea of a joke? A kind of warped version of that handshake trick where you offer someone your hand in friendship and when they give you theirs you pull yours away and blow a big raspberry at them? I reached out and took the glasses. No raspberry followed, just a second beep from the car outside. And with that Little Dick Tracy was gone and I was left alone, the last broken remnants of John clutched tightly in my hand.

12 comments:

  1. well worth the wait...tristram, i am impressed w/ how you handled little dick! ;)

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  2. Lena: With everything I've got... they won't get me. X

    Stacy: It's the Big Dicks of this world which are harder to handle... the small ones are a disappointment at most. X

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  3. I can't remember if he's ever seen John.

    Maybe he doesn't know they were his glasses. He never mentioned them as evidence.

    But then why put them on?

    I love the thought of him suddenly remembering them, speeding back to the sight of you sitting,feet up:

    'Glasses? What glasses? You really were in such a state last night I do think you've been hallucinating'

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  4. Oh and:

    Get rid of the glasses!

    And the contents of the window box!

    Even if you have to cook John and eat him yourself...

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  5. potted meat and Little Dick. Oh my. Tristy, you may need those blue glasses and a pair of tweezers.

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  6. Abigail: No, Little Dick Tracy has never seen John and so the glasses are more associated to him through our familiarity (even more Tristrams fetish for them). So the glasses were on Tristrams jacket pocket, not really hidden but not on display. The police finding them would think they were an old broken pair of his. Little Dick on handing them back though should have clocked, but that's why it goes down as a massive balls up.

    he put them on not really realizing what they were... just a sign he'd gone through Tristrams private space and even haf the nerve to take what was not his and put them on. One of those weird things. In the book I will make sure i cover these things though. The glasses will have one final big storyline and so I couldn't let him walk out with them.

    Too late to get rid of anything now... Tristram Spencer is under surveillance. X

    Seriously Grouchy: I think I may need a lot more than that... a miracle comes to mind. X

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  7. But, Tristram, will Bill ever come up again? I want to give the poor fuck a telethon.

    Have you seen Black Swan yet, by any chance? I think you'd like it.

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  8. i want to tell everyone i know about this.
    without a doubt.

    all the beast,
    d.

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  9. Oh you are good.. you are getting the best of that Lardy Detective.. I don't know who will win in the end but you are not going without a fight..By the sound of it the ankle chain rather suits him well he quite fancies himself in it.. I think you might be right about his Bill fantasies too..
    You are stronger than you appear Mr Spencer, and it suits you xx

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  10. Simon: No, I don't think Bill will ever come up again... I hadn't planned it. It was more a way to show that Little Dick Tracy leads another life and 1) he is just as mean within that 2) it is very secretive and he has quite a lot of shame and anger within him.

    No, I've not seen Black Swan. I Googled it and you're right it looks really interesting. I buy a couple of DVD's each week and so will have a special look out for that one. X

    Dusty: Tell the world... but no-one will listen! If only you were head of MGM or something... we'd all have it much easier. X

    Ruby: Kind of, but I think I'm only winning because my back is so far up against the wall I've nothing else left to do but try and wriggle free. In all honestly I think I'm fucked... I think Little Dick will take the game. How can I compete against a man with the law on his side? A man who can walk in here whenever he likes and walk out with whaever he likes? I can't. But what I can do is make his victory so sour that it tastes llike defeat... that's about the best I've got. X

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  11. It just came out in theatres, though I don't know about the UK...

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