copyright © Andi Dawson
Life in Belfast, how would you describe it? I bet you’d use words like dull, boring, grey. Those are the words I would have used anyway, now its just like living in a nightmare. I know I should be more positive, more up-beat, but at the moment I just feel awful. Apart from anything else, I’ve no money, a crappy job and a social life that could be the death of me. This has all been building up for about 6 months now and I just can’t seem to sort anything out. Maybe you can help me?
I know my problems may not seem like much, but everything is getting to me at the moment and now that I'm nearing the end I can't help but think I've wasted my life. I can't seem to catch a lucky break and its driving me mad. Last month I was walking into town, heading to work and a car drove past me and splashed the biggest puddle in the world all over me. I just stood there, soaked from top to toe. Then I saw that the driver was waiting at the traffic lights, so I decided to take a dander up and get an apology. I tapped on his window and after he wound it down I told him that he had splashed me. He did say sorry, but I didn’t think he meant it, so I punched him in the face. I cut my bloody fist open, I just couldn’t believe it.
After a few days my hand was still swollen, so I went up to the City hospital and after waiting for nearly two hours I got an x-ray done. I had cracked my knuckles on the guy’s teeth, so I had my hand plastered and was told it’d be fixed in about 4 weeks. I was gutted obviously, but I figured I’d get by, after all I could hold a pint with my left hand if I had to.
I went back to the City to get the plaster off yesterday. The nurse was an absolute fox, really tall with gorgeous red hair. She was obviously only interested in causing me pain though, so I decided not to touch for her. The plaster came off and although it felt like she had broken my arm, the x-ray showed that it was all fine and I was free to go home. I went down into Lavery’s instead, just to test out my hand. It worked well, but in order to make sure I had to keep testing it and testing it and testing it some more.
Several hours later I was on my way for a kebab when I fell over. I landed face first in the gutter and I guess I must have knocked myself out, and that is how I guess I ended up here. I wish that I was in the City, but I know that I am definitely not. For a while I hadn’t a clue where I was, but I’ve figured it out. I’m in the establishment of one of the most notorious tarts in Belfast. She must have got someone to pick me up off the pavement, because I certainly didn’t walk here. I would never walk here, not after the last time. I only ever came here once, but once was enough. If I’d had any sense I would have got out of Belfast 6 months ago, but I didn’t. After a few months had past without any major incidents I decided it was safe to stay; that was my second mistake.
The first mistake was thinking I had got away with doing what I did. I should never have thought that I was smarter than Penelope Gaylor. Hindsight is a wonderful thing when you’re lying in a dark cellar. It smells really musty in here and I’m lying in a puddle, I just hope its water and not my own piss. I can hear movement above me, high heels click-clacking on the wooden floors. I know someone will be down to see me soon; this is just a waiting game.
Since I came round I’ve been thinking hard, although I haven’t come up with an escape plan of any sort. I have decided that I’ll do whatever it is she wants me to, not that I’ll have any choice. More than likely she’ll want me to die and that’s ok, as long as it’s quick and painless. It won’t be though; it’ll be slow and very, very sore.
The thing that annoys me the most is that I didn’t actually do anything apart from have sex with one of her girls; I even remembered to pay. What I didn’t remember to do was make sure that the case of herpes I’d had, had cleared up completely. Apparently, I infected the girl, who then infected another client, who then went home and infected his wife, who then went to the doctors and had the infection confirmed. Not too bad you’re thinking. If only the wife hadn’t then gone home and confronted the husband about his continued cheating and then arranged for him to have a nasty accident; and if only the husband, more importantly, hadn’t been the chief of police who was turning a blind eye to Ms Gaylor’s establishment.
After his death, the establishment was raided on a weekly basis. Finally, Ms Gaylor was charged and found guilty of running a brothel, jailed for 18 months and fined an undisclosed sum. When I read all this in the papers I was going to leave for the mainland, but I didn’t think that they would be able to trace it all back to me; after all I gave a false name when I booked the girl and used a stolen credit card to pay. God knows how they found me, they must have really looked hard.
The cellar door has just opened and interrupted my thinking. Here they come, the boys, and wouldn’t you know it, its going to be sore; the chainsaw and blow torch have given that away.
