They kick BJ in balls.
They laugh when BJ fall to knees in pain.
They pick BJ up off floor.
They sit BJ on a chair.
They tie BJ to it, hands cuffed behind and a bag on BJ’s head.
They leave BJ.
The Black Angel, the hair in his eyes and the blood on his teeth, he is standing by the window in the Church of the Abandoned Christ on the seventh floor of the Griffin Hotel in the ghost bloodied old city of Leodis.
‘Skin the cunt alive!’ he screams into BJ’s blindfolded face.
BJ pass out in a pool of BJ’s own piss.
The Black Angel, the hair in his eyes and the blood on his teeth, he is standing by the window in the Church of the Abandoned Christ on the seventh floor of the Griffin Hotel in the ghost bloodied old city of Leodis. His clothes are shabby and his wings are burnt.
They slap BJ’s face.
BJ awake inside bag.
They slap BJ again.
BJ nod.
They kick chair.
BJ try to speak through gag.
They laugh.
BJ cry.
The Black Angel, the hair in his eyes and the blood on his teeth, he is standing by the window in the Church of the Abandoned Christ on the seventh floor of the Griffin Hotel in the ghost bloodied old city of Leodis. His clothes are shabby and his wings are burnt. There is a white towel upon the bed.
There is light.
Maybe it is morning.
There is bright light.
BJ’s mouth dry and cracked on gag, wrists cut and bleeding from handcuffs.
Piss has dried upon BJ’s crotch, upon BJ’s trousers.
Maybe BJ be alone in room.
BJ move slightly toward light.
Telephone rings.
Footsteps coming.
BJ drop down head.
Someone picks up phone.
A voice, a voice BJ know saying: ‘Eric, you worry too much.’
I got to think -
‘Don’t say a bloody word, Eric.’
Think, think fucking fast:
‘Eric for fuckssake.’
Eric Hall, Bradford Vice; dirty every which way, dealing drugs with Spencer Boys, pimping Karen Burns and Janice Ryan; Janice stepping out with Bobby the Bobby Fraser, Leeds Murder Squad and son-in-law of Badger Bill; Janice dead, some saying Eric, some saying Bobby, some saying Leeds bloody Ripper.
‘Eric, I know Peter Hunter and he’s not a problem.’
Peter Hunter, White Knight; Mr Manchester Clean.
‘Yeah, that’s what I say and you’ll do what I fucking say.’
Eric shitting bricks.
‘Eric, don’t fucking start.’
I got to think, think -
‘Eric, we’re the only friends you’ve got,’ he says. ‘So stop fucking around.’
Think, think fucking fast:
‘Or we’ll start fucking around with you.’
They got BJ over Morley or they got BJ over Jack?
Long pause, then: ‘I know you are. We all are.’
They gonna kill BJ or they gonna not?
‘No, you’re not.’
I got to think, think, think -
‘It won’t come to that.’
Think, think fucking fast:
‘We’ll look after you.’
Eric Hall already dead.
The Black Angel, the hair in his eyes and the blood on his teeth, he is standing by the window in the Church of the Abandoned Christ on the seventh floor of the Griffin Hotel in the ghost bloodied old city of Leodis. His clothes are shabby and his wings are burnt. There is a white towel upon the bed. He draws the curtains and places the wicker chair in the centre of the room.
Head down, out for count.
Same voice, same phone: ‘It’s me.’
Me: West Yorkshire Metropolitan Police Force.
‘He’s still out.’
Someone keeping BJ alive; someone, somewhere.
‘Eric called.’
Eric, Eric, Eric.
‘Hunter the Cunt.’
Peter Hunter, White Knight.
‘Eric’s Bob’s mate; I say Bob does it.’
Bob: Craven, Douglas, or Fraser?
‘Yeah? Where?’
Please god, no -
‘Bring him here.’
Fuck -
‘Now.’
Fuck, fuck -
‘Tonight.’
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The Black Angel, the hair in his eyes and the blood on his teeth, he is standing by the window in the Church of the Abandoned Christ on the seventh floor of the Griffin Hotel in the ghost bloodied old city of Leodis. His clothes are shabby and his wings are burnt. There is a white towel upon the bed. He draws the curtains and places the wicker chair in the centre of the room. He takes off my shirt.
They are coming -
They are coming-
They are coming into room -
They are here:
They shout: ‘Wakey, wakey.’
They kick BJ’s chair.
They slap BJ’s head.
They take bag off.
