But I spotted him again, this time not in the park but on the high street. He wouldn’t recognise me assuming he was as stoned as he looked. I crossed the street and followed him hoping he’d walk where I wanted. I was far enough behind that the most prominent effect of the hash he felt was complete obliviousness rather than paranoia at being followed. We passed the alley and I sped up to catch him. He turned and looked straight at me as I pulled out my gun.
‘Wallet,’ I said.
‘Oh for fuck…’ and he begrudgingly reached for his inside pocket. ‘There,’ he said in a huff handing it to me. ‘Don’t move,’ I said. His ID checked out – I had the cunt of a one-time school bully with me. Usually I would not have wanted to risk a wrong mark – but he’d been something of a long term project I couldn’t have dared risk passing up lest I kick myself forever at the lost opportunity.
‘Move,’ I said, simply, wondering if he’d ever recognise my voice or if I’d have to remind him of enough to register who I was. Clocking the empty alleyway with what little peripheral vision I had I fired and he fell to the floor unconscious. It was time to ring Frankie – risky again to phone unannounced and without a plan, but Frankie was not busy and arrived soon to help me carry our limp friend down the stairs and through the flaking doors. We locked up behind us and faced the conflict between such a hot day and the need to restrict ventilation and keep up the sound proofing. We tied Cunt up with chains at his wrists and ankles and cut off his garments, which we put in a giant, industrial, long and low biscuit tin under where he hang.
‘I’d best get back to the office and report sick,’ Frankie said. I opened the door as Cunt began to stir, his fat bothersome lummox of a being making the chains clank. ‘Frankie?’ he repeated back to me confused.
I didn’t let him stir long before I injected him twice – once with a little general anaesthetic and once with Viagra. I realised at this point what they key difference was between us. Cunt had never amounted to anything, but I had made something of myself – and I’d also made quite the lair; electricity, running water, indoor plumbing and a basic television. I decided to put something on in the background as I got changed.
’Hey Frankie man, what ya’ watching’ man? Does he get the girl, er I mean what happens?’
‘Francis. My name is Francis. Not Frank, not Frankie – Francis,’
I changed into my apron with the lapels, rolled up my sleeves and fastened my bowtie. I was in a cheerful mood and hummed to myself as I filled a pipe with dope and scattered fragrant oils over Cunt’s clothes in the biscuit tin. I put the record player on and sealed it behind the protecting glass I’d stolen from my trip back to my old school one night last bank holiday weekend. Dada-do dada-bedo dada-bedo dada-do da-do. Dada-do be-da da-do. Da-da. Dada-do be-da da-do. Da-da. Dada-do be-da da-do. Da-da. Dada-do be-da da-do. Da-da. Dada-do be-da da-do. Da-da. Dada-do be-da da-do. Da-da. Do-ba-do ba-do da-do.
Cunt began to stir but, naturally, couldn’t rub his eyes or scratch his strained balls. ‘Where’s Frankie?’ he asked sleepily. ‘’Gone to make movies on the west coast of America,’ ba-bum ba-bum bar-bum ba-bum ba-bum bar-bum ba-bum ba-bum bar-bum ba-bum ba-bum bar-bum, do da-da-da da-da-da-da da-da da-do, da-da da-do, do da-da do. Do-da da-do do-da-do. I made tea, which brewed just in time for when Frankie returned. Cunt was gradually becoming more aware at this point and was starting to sweat, although he stayed silent as he stared as his erect, throbbing, useless cock. I put the circular saw, ready, propped up against the cupboard where we kept essentials like the tea strainer and sugared almonds. Da-da da-do da-do da-do. Da-da da-do da-do da-do. Da-da da-do da-do da-do. Da-da da-do da-do da-do. Da-da da-do da-da da-do.
Frankie drank tea and I calmly put the first coals into the tin, alight, as well as a twelve month old copy of The Daily Star. Shooting stars never stop, even when they reach the top. Shooting stars never stop, even when they reach the top. There goes a supernova, What a pushover-yeah. There goes a supernova, what a pushover.
‘Frankie, shall we?’ Cunt whimpered as Frankie fired up the circular saw. I needed to be angry to shout at Cunt, but the caffeine from the tea helped.
‘Do you remember when you threatened to rape my sister?’ I yelled, ‘Do you remember? Huh? You yelled ‘I’ll fuck you with my huge dick – my big erection, four times, again and again, I’ll fuck you, I’ll fuck you, I’ll fuck you. I can’t wait to hear you cry!’ and she shook at home and cried in my arms – she was fourteen, you Cunt!’ and Frankie sliced through his dick, cleanly, just above the base. ‘Well,’ I yelled on, ‘We’ve dealt with your huge dick now, haven’t we? And your balls aren’t so much as an eighth of the size you made them out to be – much as I expected. Did you ever even use your cock, like you claimed to? I hope for once you weren’t bullshitting, because it’s too late now!’ And Cunt was crying. Screaming and whimpering, crying like when his parents had caught him smoking and shown that all you really needed to slice through the exterior of his tough guy act was to ground him. Frankie handed me the saw and I slowly, carefully, took him out at the shoulders. His head dropped onto the bottom of the tin with a clink and he paused as he bit his tongue and then cried more and more.
We’re a long way from home! Welcome to the Pleasuredome! On our way home, Going home where lovers roam. ‘Long way from home, Welcome to the Pleasuredome.
‘You thought you were so big, so cool, so tough – you were full of fucking shit!’ and I noticed one of the less desirable affects of his amputation was that piss was seeping out of his wound and dampening the flames below. ‘Not so fucking big now! Are you?’ I demanded as I took him out above the knees. He was screaming and bleeding and the ends of veins and muscles were wriggling as they got used to being newly exposed. ‘Shall we see if you’ve any substance? Is there anything inside you, at all?’ I handed back over to the more experienced Frankie who took off Cunt’s outer chest to expose his organs for his final moments of life. He was crying silently now, exhausted. As Frankie worked methodically I kept talking. ‘And why leave anything to identify you as a man, when you’ve never once acted like one? When you so well illustrated my case that ‘Human Rights’ should be reserved for those who actually act like humans?’
Cunt’s face was screwed up even though we hadn’t maimed him there, but I found it totally incomprehensible that he could be feeling any emotion at all as I scraped out the inside of his testicles (messier than I’d’ve liked) before slicing off the casing. As Cunt whimpered on the verge of unconsciousness Frankie carefully scalpelled out his lungs and he suffocated without us ever touching his neck.