Dishonour Read Online Free PDF

was a hell of a long time. Freddie Thompson found it was all he could think about and it was beginning to fuck him up.
    How had he got himself into this situation? After all, he was Freddie Thompson. The Freddie Thompson. Since he’d been legally accountable, the longest he’d spent behind bars was eighteen months. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been able to get out of something, whether it be grief from his wife for boning some Tom from the clubs, some ruck with the South London boys or even the other charges of murder he’d been up for. He’d always been able to talk, to pay or threaten his way out of the situation; hell, he’d even had his original sentence reduced to a streak of piss, but as he sat in his cell, Freddie realised there was no getting out of this one.
    He wanted to cry but he didn’t know how to. Tears were as foreign to him as a heatwave was in the Arctic. He couldn’t cry. He couldn’t escape. He was fucked.
    ‘Hey, Thompson. The governor wants to see you. There’s been a phone call.’
    Freddie looked up. Eyeballing the prison officer with as much contempt as he could muster, he snapped, ‘Ain’t you heard of knocking? Don’t walk into my cell again without a tap. Anyway, what phone call?’
    Without thinking the prison warder snapped. ‘How do I know, Thompson? I’m not a mind reader.’
    Freddie Thompson stood up. He stepped towards the officer, purposely standing within an inch of him, watching as the screw gulped and the colour drained away from his face.
    ‘I may be in here, but that don’t stop me getting to you out there. One nod from me and my men will come looking. And it won’t take five minutes to find you. How do you fancy being woken up in the morning with a fucking axe in your head, Officer Davies?’
    ‘All … all I meant to say is, I don’t exactly know what the call is about. But I think it might be about your son. I think there’s been an accident.’

5
    ‘You must think me awfully rude. I’ve spent all this time with you and I haven’t even told you my proper name. It’s Arnold, but my friends call me Arnie. It means powerful eagle you know, derived from a Germanic name.’
    Arnold beamed, whilst thinking how much smaller than usual she looked as she lay naked, curled up shivering in a foetal position on the single bed, her hands tied.
    He couldn’t understand why she was still shivering. He’d turned the radiator up to full blast even though he knew it would cost him an absolute fortune. But still, he didn’t want to be selfish.
    A horrifying thought came to Arnold’s mind as he gazed at her. A fleeting, disturbing thought passed through his mind. Perhaps she was unhappy; perhaps she wanted to go home, instead of being with him?
    Dismayed, he caught a reflection of himself in the mirror which was placed above the small white bookcase. He saw the worry lines etched into his forehead and he saw the anxiety in his eyes. He had to stop this. He had to stop torturing himself thinking she didn’t want to be with him. Why wouldn’t she? He wasn’t going to let himself start thinking negatively, especially not today of all days.
    ‘Are you still cold Izzy?’
    ‘My name’s not Izzy.’ She spoke and it shocked him. He wasn’t sure if it was the Scottish accent which he didn’t remember her having when they’d first met, or the obvious hostility in her voice. It made her sound coarse. But what shocked him the most was her denying her name was Izzy.
    The other girl had said the same thing. Telling him over and over again her name wasn’t Izzy and he’d got the wrong person. Though eventually he’d seen she’d been telling the truth. He’d got the wrong person. He’d made a mistake and he didn’t mind admitting it. How he’d thought she was Izzy, he didn’t know. He’d been wrong. So very wrong. She’d been nothing like her.
    The girl spat her words. ‘You’re fucking sick, you know that? My name’s Lucy, fucking Lucy, you sick