By D Dugan
′Mike, a lot, occasionally rot, has been written approximately me. Please carry this, my actual story, to edit and current to a brand new generation, after I and the crooks we′ve uncovered have grew to become to dust.′ Darcy Dugan Written in mystery in the course of his lengthy years in prison and smuggled out to maintain it secure from his enemies till now, Bloodhouse is Darcy Dugan′s brutally sincere and gripping tale of his awesome lifestyles and occasions. in the course of Dugan′s felony career, he pulled off numerous hold-ups however it was once his bold escapes that captured the public′s mind's eye and earned him the monicker of ′Houdini of the felony system′. considered one of his many recognized escapes happened below part an hour after arriving at lengthy Bay, one other after sawing a gap in a relocating criminal tram, yet even Dugan couldn′t crack Grafton Jail, the notorious ′Bloodhouse′, the place he spent eleven torturous years. In all, Dugan...
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I usually found it easy to pick up girls. The same features, however, evidently made me appealing to predatory poofters. Even at the Children’s Shelter, two different officers of the court quite blatantly undertook to ensure I would receive light treatment from the court if I succumbed to their advances. I refused. Life in the shelter became tougher. One night, an officer forced a boy to stand naked under a cold shower for more than an hour, his body turning blue from the winter cold, while the sadistic beast stood watching.
She was Sydney’s queen of vice. This was one of about 20 of her brothels. What a lucky stroke it was, me walking up to the madam of madams! Tilly put an arm around my shoulder and took me into the brothel. A small knot of men standing across the street looked over, chuckling. They must have thought I was about to buy some female tuition. The premises had gaudy wallpaper and furnishings. The carpet in the reception lounge was red, punctuated with big bright-green floral patterns. It smelled of stale cigarettes and human sweat.
My first impulse was to abandon the sacks and run. Bill and Harry, the eldest of us, seemed to recognise him. I caught Bill giving Harry a sly grin. ‘It’s no good running,’ the man continued. ’ He turned to Harry and his brother, Tim, the baby among us. David’s and Tim’s reactions confirmed that the man knew them all right. ‘And I know where you live, too,’ he snarled at me. ’ I felt sure he was an official of some sort. I knew also, however, that he could not possibly know me. I lived farther away from this spot than the others.