Taylor changed from slowly backing away to rapidly stumbling up the ramp, suddenly feeling the need to have absolutelynopart whatsoever in whatever fucking cesspit they’d brought back with them.
“Oh no you don’t,” Johnny said, lunging forwards and grabbing his arm.
“What the fuck have you done?” Taylor said, digging his heels in as Johnny yanked him by his shoulder harness.
“Something very stupid,” he replied, pulling another blue mask out of his stab vest and handing it to Taylor. “Wendy’s out for the count, so it’s just you and me.”
Taylor looked over at Wendy, who was still vomiting in the corner. “Should I get her a glass of water or something?”
“I’m fine, darl’,” she replied, pressing a hand against the wall. “Just get Sylvester inside and openallthe windows.”
Taylor swallowed and slowly cracked open the rear door of the car. His first thought wasOh shit, the car.The poor, spotless, almost showroom quality vintage car was a literal shitshow. No, a shitbath.It would have to be de-commissioned. Or sold. Or just fucking burned because what was sitting inside could only be described as an overweight homeless man wrapped in a foil blanket with a bag taped to his arse.
Taylor grabbed Sylvester’s shoulder and started to pull him out. It was a mistake because the medical tape that was keeping the bag attached to his rectum came unstuck, sending the bag of shit tumbling onto the concrete floor and all down Taylor’s leg.
Taylor heaved, then heaved some more.
“White zinnn—fan—del,” Sylvester said, hiccuping. “Used—to—be me mum’s—favourite.”
“Touching,” Taylor said, turning his head into his shoulder. “Right, in you go, fella.”
He gripped Sylvester’s arm and led him up the ramp towards the metal door. He was extremely unsteady on his feet, and Taylor had to lock out his arm to stop Sylvester inadvertently pressing up against him.
“Not bin in wan of dees for a whiiile,” Sylvester slurred. The blanket rustled when he wiggled his hips. “Is it Sarge—Sarge—Sergeant Wilson serving me today?”
Taylor frowned. “No one’s serving you, dude. But yeah. Why?”
Sylvester grinned, shaking his hips some more, and Taylor realised he was shaking the foil blanket out of the way so his shrivelled cock could poke through.
“Give her a little tr—treat, hey?”
It was like the curtains came down on Taylor’s calm demeanour, and before he could stop himself he had Sylvester pinned up against the wall. “I don’t fucking think so, pal.”
Johnny growled and strode up behind him, tugging the blanket back around Sylvester’s waist so tightly it looked painful.
“Yeah, not a fucking chance, cock-breath,” Johnny said, hauling Sylvester around and shoving him through the door into the custody suite.
Taylor felt a little pang of pride, because Johnny was usually thepoliteone, but he folded his smile away for later as he followed them inside.
Isla was waiting for them, bundles of paperwork all lined up in smaller piles across the high-topped desk. Taylor gave her a discreet and encouraging nod as they entered.
“Mr Pearce,” she said, nose wrinkling.
“Gooood to s-hee you again, Sarge. Haven’t seeeeen you out and ab-hout much lately,” he slurred.
Isla gave a curt smile and clicked the top of her pen. “Yes, well I’m afraid administration prevents me from getting out.”
“Shaaaaame—hick. Miss seein’ yer pretty face, around the—hick—high street.”
Isla grimaced. “Yes, I’m sure. Well, Mr Pearce, seeing as you’re now in police custody it’s my responsibility to look after you during your stay.”
Sylvester let out a loud laugh, and Taylor had to grip his elbow to stop him from toppling over. “Hah! You can lo-ok afffffter me any-t-hime you like, shweetie.” He went on to mutter something about great tits and tight cunts, so Taylor grabbed the back of his neck and forced his chin to his chest.
He and Johnny glanced at one another, silently debating whether to just throw the old sex-pest into a cell and save Isla the hassle, but, to her credit, she held her own and got through the booking-in process without any issues.
“You know shweet-heart…” Sylvester slurred as Johnny re-tightened the foil blanket. “If you weren’t su-hutch a misses-miserable bitch, you might get a good seeing to. Pop a kn-nnnot right in that?—”
“Okay,” Johnny said, whirling Sylvester towards the intox machine just as he made a grab for his dick again.
