Monday, 9 September 2013

Getting Away with Murder.

'I buried him behind the shed. Yeah, I did. Had to, didn't I? What else was I to do, huh?'
'So you admit you murdered him?'
'Didn't say that, did I? I was the victim. Not him.'
'But you admit you killed him?'
'No, the bastard killed himself.'
'He managed to smash his own skull in then, did he?'
'No, I did that alright. After. Smashing a dead man's skull ain't murder, is it?'
'Depends. And the broken bones? The fingers cut off, his genitals mutilated?'
'After. Wish he'd been alive, mind. Bastard deserved to suffer.'
'So he just dropped dead and then you attacked him.'
'That's it. Dropped dead as a stone, his fucking fingers still inside me. That's why I cut 'em off. The evil fucking bastard.'
'But you invited him into your house, right?'
'Couldn't do nothing about that. He wanted his money.'
'He was lending you money?'
'Don't give me that shit copper, you know all about the bastard, that's why I buried him. What help would you be? I know you're all bent as fuck. Bastards.'
'How do you know that?'
'Cause I got his little black book, ain't I? Yeah, keep thinking. Not so fucking chatty now, eh? And no, it ain't fucking here. It's safe. As long as I am. Well?'
'I think you're right. Clear a case of self-defence as I can think of.'

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