Just for you, I typed up the entire Billy interrogation scene. Enjoy!
At first, Billy Bone thought it was a nightmare. It was his flat, there could be no question of it, and there was his quadrophonic sound system and the switches for his psychedelic lighting and everything, but the room had been ransacked. And the three creatures in it - they had to be a nightmare.
It wasn't just the stocking masks they wore, though heaven knew that was frightening enough; it was the way they moved, the way they behaved, as if all this were just as much a part of a job as making a telly. And like making a telly, there was no reason why the job wouldn't be over as soon as they'd put the pieces together - or taken them apart.
The slim, elegant one said: "You're late."
Behind Billy, the big one, the positive giant, the one Billy was pretty sure was a space, shut the drawing-room door and leaned against it. That left the other one: average height, average build, and yet after one look at him, Billy was even more afraid of him than the others.
The slim, elegant one spoke again. "I said you're late."
Behind Billy, the giant moved, picked him up like a clumsily wrapped parcel, searched him in a manner both painful and degrading, and dropped him on a sofa.
"Tell us why you're late," said the slim, elegant one.
Billy heard himself say that he'd dined at the Terrazza, danced at that new place everyone said was marvellous.
"It doesn't matter," the slim, elegant one said. "It gave us time to look around. You have got guilty secrets, sweetie."
He gestured, and Billy looked at a table with wrought iron legs and a marble top. On it were some white packets that looked like tea-bags, only the stuff they contained was white. Billy Bone knew then that this wasn't a nightmare: he was already awake.
The slim, elegant one said: "You're going to tell us, sweetie. You're going to tell us everything."
"I don't know what you mean," said Billy Bone.
The slim, elegant one laughed: just that, no more, and yet Billy found that he was sweating, and the sweat was cold. The slim, elegant one drew on a pair of thin, leather gloves.
"Oh dear. Manual labour again," he said.
"You need us?" asked the one of average build. His voice was bored, and that, for Billy, was the most frightening thing of all. "I mean, we'd rather like a cup of coffee."
"Go ahead," said the slim, elegant one. "Twosomes are by far the most fun."
Callan and Fitzmaurice drank coffee and listened to the sounds from the drawing-room. They were very nasty sounds.
"There are times," said Fitzmaurice," when I dislike my job."
"That's heroin he's selling," said Callan, and Fitzmaurice drank coffee in silence. When Meres called them back in, Billy Bone was weeping.
"Billy Bone has a chum," said Meres. "A perfectly adorable chum called Helmuth. Helmuth gets him the dream powder so cheap, one would think it must be love - but Helmuth isn't like that, is he, sweetie?"
"Helmuth's tough," said Billy Bone. "My God, he's tough."
"Tougher than us, sweetie?" said Meres, and Billy Bone was silent. "No, no. Tell us all about Helmuth," said Meres. "I promise you we'll be as quiet as mice."
Billy Bone told them, and Callan said: "That's it then." He looked at Billy Bone. "Shall we keep him?"
"Oh, I think so," said Meres. "There's still lots about heroine that he can tell us about." Meres hated heroin as Callan did. He reached down and patted Billy's cheek. "Sweetie," he said, "you've been overdoing it. We're going into the country for a while. Good, wholesome food and fresh air. And do you know what? When you're feeling strong enough, you're going to tell all."
Billy Bone groaned.
"Oh, but I mean it," said Meres. "Every single thing, to the last teeniest detail."
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Date: 2019-06-30 04:31 am (UTC)At first, Billy Bone thought it was a nightmare. It was his flat, there could be no question of it, and there was his quadrophonic sound system and the switches for his psychedelic lighting and everything, but the room had been ransacked. And the three creatures in it - they had to be a nightmare.
It wasn't just the stocking masks they wore, though heaven knew that was frightening enough; it was the way they moved, the way they behaved, as if all this were just as much a part of a job as making a telly. And like making a telly, there was no reason why the job wouldn't be over as soon as they'd put the pieces together - or taken them apart.
The slim, elegant one said: "You're late."
Behind Billy, the big one, the positive giant, the one Billy was pretty sure was a space, shut the drawing-room door and leaned against it. That left the other one: average height, average build, and yet after one look at him, Billy was even more afraid of him than the others.
The slim, elegant one spoke again. "I said you're late."
Behind Billy, the giant moved, picked him up like a clumsily wrapped parcel, searched him in a manner both painful and degrading, and dropped him on a sofa.
"Tell us why you're late," said the slim, elegant one.
Billy heard himself say that he'd dined at the Terrazza, danced at that new place everyone said was marvellous.
"It doesn't matter," the slim, elegant one said. "It gave us time to look around. You have got guilty secrets, sweetie."
He gestured, and Billy looked at a table with wrought iron legs and a marble top. On it were some white packets that looked like tea-bags, only the stuff they contained was white. Billy Bone knew then that this wasn't a nightmare: he was already awake.
The slim, elegant one said: "You're going to tell us, sweetie. You're going to tell us everything."
"I don't know what you mean," said Billy Bone.
The slim, elegant one laughed: just that, no more, and yet Billy found that he was sweating, and the sweat was cold. The slim, elegant one drew on a pair of thin, leather gloves.
"Oh dear. Manual labour again," he said.
"You need us?" asked the one of average build. His voice was bored, and that, for Billy, was the most frightening thing of all. "I mean, we'd rather like a cup of coffee."
"Go ahead," said the slim, elegant one. "Twosomes are by far the most fun."
Callan and Fitzmaurice drank coffee and listened to the sounds from the drawing-room. They were very nasty sounds.
"There are times," said Fitzmaurice," when I dislike my job."
"That's heroin he's selling," said Callan, and Fitzmaurice drank coffee in silence. When Meres called them back in, Billy Bone was weeping.
"Billy Bone has a chum," said Meres. "A perfectly adorable chum called Helmuth. Helmuth gets him the dream powder so cheap, one would think it must be love - but Helmuth isn't like that, is he, sweetie?"
"Helmuth's tough," said Billy Bone. "My God, he's tough."
"Tougher than us, sweetie?" said Meres, and Billy Bone was silent. "No, no. Tell us all about Helmuth," said Meres. "I promise you we'll be as quiet as mice."
Billy Bone told them, and Callan said: "That's it then." He looked at Billy Bone. "Shall we keep him?"
"Oh, I think so," said Meres. "There's still lots about heroine that he can tell us about." Meres hated heroin as Callan did. He reached down and patted Billy's cheek. "Sweetie," he said, "you've been overdoing it. We're going into the country for a while. Good, wholesome food and fresh air. And do you know what? When you're feeling strong enough, you're going to tell all."
Billy Bone groaned.
"Oh, but I mean it," said Meres. "Every single thing, to the last teeniest detail."