outside my flat. Tate had gone to bed and Tucker had left. I couldn’t believe that I had planned to shoot Redding, a decent man who to my personal knowledge had never intended to cause me any harm.
My head was pounding because of the drugs Tate had given me and so I went straight to bed. When I awoke later that afternoon and went into the lounge, I saw that my flat was a complete mess. I am an extremely tidy person who likes everything in my home to be in order and so I was absolutely livid. Tate had recently held parties at my flat without my permission or prior knowledge but this mess hadn’t been caused by a party; it could only be described as an orgy of destruction.
When I went into the bathroom, I found two naked teenage prostitutes in the shower, used syringes scattered around the floor and empty champagne bottles in the bath. I threw the girls out and after barging into Tate’s bedroom began shouting about him taking the piss out of me. Tate, who was barely able to focus on me because he was so drugged up, didn’t appear to even realise why I was so upset. When I began to tidy up my flat, I found a bag containing my kettle, a toaster and various other electrical goods. I had no idea why either Tate or Tucker would have put them in the bag. I certainly didn’t think that they had planned to steal them. Before I could ask Tate, he left the flat with his two prostitutes in tow.
The following morning I opened the drawer in my bedroom to get some underpants. Hidden among my clothing I found a black leather bag stuffed with drugs and money. I was livid. Tate had hidden his drug stash in my room so if the police raided the house I would be accused of possession. He had not yet returned home and so I walked into his bedroom and packed his meagre possessions into a suitcase and left it by the front door. When he came home and saw the suitcase in the hall, he asked what I was up to.
‘You hid drugs in my fucking room. I don’t want you or your drugs in my flat. You’re a junkie and you don’t even know it,’ I shouted. Tate looked at the suitcase and back at me before replying.
‘I am no fucking junkie. I control the drugs, they don’t control me.’ Tate said that he had nowhere to go and pleaded with me to let him stay until he had sorted somewhere else out to live and, like a fool, I agreed. As I continued tidying up my flat I found a saucer in the lounge with what appeared to be cocaine on it. Tate had gone back out and so I tipped the powder in the sink and washed the saucer with boiling water. When Tate did arrive home that night, he was incoherent and barely able to stand and so he didn’t notice that his drugs had been disposed of.
The following morning, when I got out of bed, Tate had already left the flat. When I entered the lounge, I found a crack pipe and a cocaine-like substance on a saucer so I threw the pipe in the dustbin and washed the saucer. When Tate walked into the flat later that day, he was with his brother Russell. As soon as Tate saw me he began shouting about me throwing away £600 worth of crack cocaine.
‘Are you so fucked you don’t realise you are taking it? There was less than a gramme of that shit on the saucer,’ I said.
I reminded Tate that I thought that he had become a junkie and I didn’t want him or his drugs in my flat. Russell stood in the hallway without saying a word but when he took out a cigarette and went to light it I asked him not to do so. When he asked what my problem was, I explained that I did not smoke and therefore I did not like people doing so in my home. Russell put the cigarette in his mouth and asked me what I intended to do if he didn’t stop.
Before I could reply, somebody had knocked the door and I went to answer it. A man in a suit began telling me how meaningless my life must be without the particular product that he was selling and so I thanked him for his advice and closed the door. When I went back into the lounge, I saw that Tate and
My head was pounding because of the drugs Tate had given me and so I went straight to bed. When I awoke later that afternoon and went into the lounge, I saw that my flat was a complete mess. I am an extremely tidy person who likes everything in my home to be in order and so I was absolutely livid. Tate had recently held parties at my flat without my permission or prior knowledge but this mess hadn’t been caused by a party; it could only be described as an orgy of destruction.
When I went into the bathroom, I found two naked teenage prostitutes in the shower, used syringes scattered around the floor and empty champagne bottles in the bath. I threw the girls out and after barging into Tate’s bedroom began shouting about him taking the piss out of me. Tate, who was barely able to focus on me because he was so drugged up, didn’t appear to even realise why I was so upset. When I began to tidy up my flat, I found a bag containing my kettle, a toaster and various other electrical goods. I had no idea why either Tate or Tucker would have put them in the bag. I certainly didn’t think that they had planned to steal them. Before I could ask Tate, he left the flat with his two prostitutes in tow.
The following morning I opened the drawer in my bedroom to get some underpants. Hidden among my clothing I found a black leather bag stuffed with drugs and money. I was livid. Tate had hidden his drug stash in my room so if the police raided the house I would be accused of possession. He had not yet returned home and so I walked into his bedroom and packed his meagre possessions into a suitcase and left it by the front door. When he came home and saw the suitcase in the hall, he asked what I was up to.
‘You hid drugs in my fucking room. I don’t want you or your drugs in my flat. You’re a junkie and you don’t even know it,’ I shouted. Tate looked at the suitcase and back at me before replying.
‘I am no fucking junkie. I control the drugs, they don’t control me.’ Tate said that he had nowhere to go and pleaded with me to let him stay until he had sorted somewhere else out to live and, like a fool, I agreed. As I continued tidying up my flat I found a saucer in the lounge with what appeared to be cocaine on it. Tate had gone back out and so I tipped the powder in the sink and washed the saucer with boiling water. When Tate did arrive home that night, he was incoherent and barely able to stand and so he didn’t notice that his drugs had been disposed of.
The following morning, when I got out of bed, Tate had already left the flat. When I entered the lounge, I found a crack pipe and a cocaine-like substance on a saucer so I threw the pipe in the dustbin and washed the saucer. When Tate walked into the flat later that day, he was with his brother Russell. As soon as Tate saw me he began shouting about me throwing away £600 worth of crack cocaine.
‘Are you so fucked you don’t realise you are taking it? There was less than a gramme of that shit on the saucer,’ I said.
I reminded Tate that I thought that he had become a junkie and I didn’t want him or his drugs in my flat. Russell stood in the hallway without saying a word but when he took out a cigarette and went to light it I asked him not to do so. When he asked what my problem was, I explained that I did not smoke and therefore I did not like people doing so in my home. Russell put the cigarette in his mouth and asked me what I intended to do if he didn’t stop.
Before I could reply, somebody had knocked the door and I went to answer it. A man in a suit began telling me how meaningless my life must be without the particular product that he was selling and so I thanked him for his advice and closed the door. When I went back into the lounge, I saw that Tate and
Similar Books
