I am the arm of the state and everything that it stands for; I'm the knuckles on the fist of big business, and the coins in the velvet pocket of private property. I prevent civil disobedience by inciting civil disobedience. And so what? I would’ve hit Ian Tomlinson, too. I would’ve beaten Rodney King Jr. Hell, if I were on the LAPD payroll I’d be openly racist!
I have an estranged and angry son. Why can’t he walk through the red mist like I did? God knows I was angry, too. Well, they call me Billy the Club, Big Bill, Dutch, Irish... William FitzPatrick’s the name, and I wear my badge like a clown wears his sunflower.
I’ve been on the force for thirty-one years; in thirteen weeks I get my retirement: a big party: men in circles, pints cocked, quiche or pie in hand, laughing at this or that. It’s gonna be great. A life in the service, in service. What a load of fishguts!
I walk proud, this uniform like a suit of armour, my boots leading me, my taser and gun holstered, Billy Boy hanging down at my side. My gig is government; I’m here to protect, to serve, and to infringe on your civil liberties. And, God, don’t I know it!
Yup, life is sweet. But last night, the funniest thing... I was burnt alive when my oven exploded, the gasline had cracked. The house went up like a tinderbox and I choked to death. Wife long gone, no piece of ass by my side, I died alone. God knows, I must’ve chosen the wrong service....
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