off the floor and shoved the weapon into my temple. Spitting phlegm he began screaming at me, ‘Fuck my missus up the arse, would you? Fuck my missus up the arse?’ After 20 or 30 seconds, Tucker shoved me into my bedroom and threw me on the bed. Sitting astride me he kept jabbing the barrel of the gun into my head and mouth and shouting, ‘I am going to show you what this can do.’ I could tell by the froth around his mouth and the crazed look in his eyes that he was high on crack cocaine. Tucker suddenly stopped shouting and ordered Rolfe to search the house for jewellery and anything else of value. He then took a butcher’s meat cleaver from inside his jacket and asked me if I would prefer to lose one of my hands or one of my feet. I thought that if he was going to sever one of my limbs I would at least survive the ordeal and so I could fucking shoot him. I am left-handed and so I held out my right hand, closed my eyes and waited for the searing pain.
When I had finished silently counting to ten, I realised that Tucker was not going to carry out his threat and so I opened my eyes. Tucker was standing over me, his eyes were bulging and he was grinning like a madman. After snapping out of the trance-like state that he was in Tucker put the meat cleaver back in his jacket, turned and walked away. I jumped off the bed and began shouting, ‘What the fuck have I done?’
Cuthbert held me back and repeatedly asked me to calm down but I was incensed. I pushed Cuthbert out of the way and went after Tucker. As he reached the front door he turned quickly, grabbed me by the throat and lifted me off the floor. Slamming me against a wall he pulled out the meat cleaver and threatened to bury it in my head. Cuthbert grabbed Tucker’s arm and pleaded with him to calm down.
Fortunately for me, Tucker released his iron grip from my throat and walked out of the door. When my unwelcome guests had all left, I rang Tate to ask him what I was supposed to have done. He told me that Tucker was having a bad day and I should not worry about it. I couldn’t work out if Tate was joking or he simply couldn’t grasp the enormity of the liberty that Tucker had taken with me. I thanked Tate for his words of wisdom and rang Tucker to ask if he could give me an explanation for his abhorrent behaviour.
Tucker exploded into a rage and began screaming at me, ‘Have you sorted it?’ When I asked him what it was that I was supposed to sort out, he replied, ‘You told Donna that I do my missus up the arse.’
Before I could explain that it was a comment made in jest, Tucker said that he was going to put me on my knees, make me apologise and then shoot me in the head. ‘Go and fuck yourself up the arse, you mug,’ I said before ending the call.
Tucker’s concern for his partner was about as meaningful as Garwood’s. In my opinion Tucker couldn’t care less about either woman; he just wanted people on tap that he could use to satisfy his own whims and wishes. A good example of this is when I returned home one morning to find three females naked in my bath. After asking who they were and what they thought they were doing, I was informed that they had spent the night in my flat snorting Tate and Tucker’s cocaine. I told them to get dressed and I would call a taxi for them. Half an hour later, the three girls left.
The following week Tate, Tucker, Anna and I were enjoying an evening out at a nightclub when the girls who had been in my bath walked in.
When they saw Tate and Tucker, they came over to say hello and one of them said to Anna, ‘Hi, you must be Donna.’ Tucker’s face looked like thunder.
‘Her name is Anna, now fuck off,’ he said, glaring at the guilty party. When the embarrassed girl walked away, Tucker summoned one of his minions, named ‘Ginger Mickey’, and whispered in his ear. Ginger Mickey disappeared and returned ten minutes later with a set of car keys, which he handed to Tucker. When Tate enquired what was going
When I had finished silently counting to ten, I realised that Tucker was not going to carry out his threat and so I opened my eyes. Tucker was standing over me, his eyes were bulging and he was grinning like a madman. After snapping out of the trance-like state that he was in Tucker put the meat cleaver back in his jacket, turned and walked away. I jumped off the bed and began shouting, ‘What the fuck have I done?’
Cuthbert held me back and repeatedly asked me to calm down but I was incensed. I pushed Cuthbert out of the way and went after Tucker. As he reached the front door he turned quickly, grabbed me by the throat and lifted me off the floor. Slamming me against a wall he pulled out the meat cleaver and threatened to bury it in my head. Cuthbert grabbed Tucker’s arm and pleaded with him to calm down.
Fortunately for me, Tucker released his iron grip from my throat and walked out of the door. When my unwelcome guests had all left, I rang Tate to ask him what I was supposed to have done. He told me that Tucker was having a bad day and I should not worry about it. I couldn’t work out if Tate was joking or he simply couldn’t grasp the enormity of the liberty that Tucker had taken with me. I thanked Tate for his words of wisdom and rang Tucker to ask if he could give me an explanation for his abhorrent behaviour.
Tucker exploded into a rage and began screaming at me, ‘Have you sorted it?’ When I asked him what it was that I was supposed to sort out, he replied, ‘You told Donna that I do my missus up the arse.’
Before I could explain that it was a comment made in jest, Tucker said that he was going to put me on my knees, make me apologise and then shoot me in the head. ‘Go and fuck yourself up the arse, you mug,’ I said before ending the call.
Tucker’s concern for his partner was about as meaningful as Garwood’s. In my opinion Tucker couldn’t care less about either woman; he just wanted people on tap that he could use to satisfy his own whims and wishes. A good example of this is when I returned home one morning to find three females naked in my bath. After asking who they were and what they thought they were doing, I was informed that they had spent the night in my flat snorting Tate and Tucker’s cocaine. I told them to get dressed and I would call a taxi for them. Half an hour later, the three girls left.
The following week Tate, Tucker, Anna and I were enjoying an evening out at a nightclub when the girls who had been in my bath walked in.
When they saw Tate and Tucker, they came over to say hello and one of them said to Anna, ‘Hi, you must be Donna.’ Tucker’s face looked like thunder.
‘Her name is Anna, now fuck off,’ he said, glaring at the guilty party. When the embarrassed girl walked away, Tucker summoned one of his minions, named ‘Ginger Mickey’, and whispered in his ear. Ginger Mickey disappeared and returned ten minutes later with a set of car keys, which he handed to Tucker. When Tate enquired what was going
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