Gang of One: One Man's Incredible Battle to Find His Missing Read Online Free PDF Page A

what . . . you want . . .’ he stuttered. ‘You want my finger up your ass, boy?’ Dave exploded. Thrusting his face right into mine. The parrot was positively beside himself.
    ‘He wants your finger up his ass, boss. He wants it up his ass!’ he hollered as if he had just won the lottery.
    ‘You want my finger up your ass?’ Marshal Dave screeched again.
    ‘No, sir. No, sir,’ I repeated again, my aching arms still thrust up in the air.
    ‘’Cos I can put my finger up your ass, boy, if that’s what you’re wanting,’ he raged.
    ‘No, sir,’ I barked out. ‘I don’t want your finger up my arse!’
    He stood very close to me. We were both breathing hard. I was still naked. I still had my hands above my head. My heart was pounding. I was desperately trying not to look at him or RoboCop in the corner. The silence seemed to last an age.
    ‘Git your boxers back on, then git dressed,’ he finally said, as he stormed towards the door, adding charmingly, ‘Let’s get these British faggots locked up.’ Gratefully, I started to reassemble my clothing, minus my belt and my laces, my welcoming party to America complete.
    On the eve of my incarceration, my extradition and those first few hours in the United States already seemed a lifetime ago. Marshal Dave never did have the pleasure of locking me up, a political fix between the Blair and Bush governments ensuring we had the dubious pleasure of spending the next twenty-two months on tag and curfew whilst restricted to a small area of Houston. Now there was only one night left before the next stage, the worst stage, of my journey would begin. I wondered if that first experience of American Law Enforcement would be typical, and the thought made me shiver. I looked at the grey suit once more in the cupboard and decided I would leave it there tomorrow. I couldn’t eat and I didn’t want to drink. I didn’t want to call anyone at home in England or do anything other than just lie there and breathe. I closed my eyes to wait for tomorrow and tried not to think about how scared I felt.

2
    THE PROMISE
    M Y ALARM WENT OFF AT 4.30 A.M. I stumbled into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. Good, four days of growth, just what I had calculated as the optimum level. Long enough to give me an unkempt ‘hard man’ look, but short enough so the grey parts of my beard didn’t age me and diminish the impact. My hair was shaved very short – gone were the curls.
    But who was I kidding? I didn’t look intimidating. In for fraud and feeling like a fraud. I’d get devoured as soon as I arrived. What the hell would they do with a British guy? Why did I have to get the tough prison when Giles and David got easier time? I breathed out slowly. ‘Come on,’ I said out loud, breaking the eerie silence of the last few days. ‘You can do this. You will do this.’ It felt strangely comforting to hear my own voice and I played around with some facial expressions, trying to look tough.
    ‘Fuck, who am I kidding?’ I thought, as my fearsome look revealed something more like suppressed terror. ‘They’re going to eat me alive.’
    I pulled on an old pair of blue jeans, no belt, a white T-shirt and some slip-on shoes, clothes I never expected to see again and which wouldn’t reveal me for the banker I once was. The taxi would already be downstairs waiting for me. I looked again at the only things I would carry – my mobile phone and my wallet. I would call Calum for the last time before I went in; I didn’t want to but I knew I had to. It was Wednesday today, so Calum, six hours ahead of me, would be sitting in a lesson at school in England. Gazing out of the window, perhaps? Thinking about this moment? I hoped not. What do you tell your son just before you begin a thirty-seven month stretch inside? Stay in touch? I won’t be long?
    At the end of the last of many trips he had made to see me, I’d told him I would definitely be going to prison for a while. Just