Read The illuminatus! trilogy for Free Online Page B

communist freak won’t drop his pants when I tell him. Ain’t you supposed to make sure I’m happy in here?” The voice shifted to a whine. “Make him do what I say.”
    “You’ve got to protect me,” said George. “You’ve got to get me out of this cell.”
    The god-guard laughed. “Well, now, you might say this is a very enlightened prison we have here. You come down from New York and you probably think we’re pretty backward. But we ain’t. We got no police brutality. Now, if I interfered between you and Harry Coin here, I might have to use force to keep him away from your young ass. I know you people believe all cops ought to be abolished. Well, in this here situation I hereby abolish myself. Furthermore, I know you people believe in sexual freedom, and I do, too. So Harry Coin gonna have his sexual freedom without any interference or brutality from me.” His voice was still distant and disinterested, almost dreamy.
    “No,” said George.
    The guard drew his pistol. “Now, sonny. You take down your pants and bend over. You are gonna get it up the ass from Harry Coin here, and no two ways about it. And I am gonna watch and see that you let him do it right. Otherwise, you get no forty years. You get killed, right now. I put a bullet in you and I say you are resisting arrest. Now make up your mind what it’s gonna be. I really will kill you if you don’t do like he tells you to. I really will. You are totally expendable and he ain’t. He’s a very important man, and it’s my job to keep him happy.”
    “And I’ll fuck you either way, dead or alive,” the demented Coin laughed, like an evil spirit. “So there’s no way you can escape it, Ace.”
    The door at the end of the corridor clanged, and Sheriff Jim Cartwright and two blue-uniformed policemen strode down to the cell. “What’s going on here?” said the Sheriff.
    “I caught this queer punk George Dorn here trying to commit homosexual rape on Harry,” said the guard. “Had to draw my pistol to stop him.”
    George shook his head. “You guys are unbelievable. If you’re acting out this little game for my benefit, you can quit now, because you’re certainly not fooling each other, and you’re not fooling me.”
    “Dorn,” said the Sheriff, “you’ve been attempting unnatural acts in my jail, acts forbidden by the Holy Bible and the laws of this state. I don’t like that. I don’t like it one little bit. Come on out here. I wanna have a little talk with you. We goin’ to the main interrogation room for some speakin’ together.”
    He unlocked the cell door and motioned George to precede him. He turned to the two policemen who had accompanied him. “Stay behind and take care of that other
little matter.”
The last words were strangely emphasized.
    George and the Sheriff walked through a series of corridors and locked doors until at last they came to a room whose walls were made of embossed sheet tin painted bottle-green. The Sheriff told George to sit on one chair, while he straddled the back of the chair facing him.
    “You’re a bad influence on my prisoners,” he said. “I got a good mind to see that some kind of accident happens to you. I don’t want to see you corrupting prisoners in my jail—mine or anyone’s—for forty years.”
    “Sheriff,” said George. “What do you want from me? You got me on a pot charge. What more do you want? Why did you stick me in that cell with that guy? What’s all this scare stuff and threats and questioning for?”
    “I wanna know some things,” said the Sheriff. “I want to find out everything you can tell me about certain matters. So, from this moment be prepared to tell me only the truth. If you do, maybe things will go easier on you, after.”
    “Yes, Sheriff,” said George. Cartwright squinted at him. He really does look like a pig, thought George. Most do. Why do so many of them get so fat and have such little eyes?
    “Well, then,” said the Sheriff. “What was your