Читать книгу Insanity - My Mad Life - Charles Bronson - Страница 21

1. Simple — mostly sad people who long to be wanted and loved so they cause havoc for a bit of attention. They’re treated with tranquillisers; a lot of fucking tranquillisers! ‘Johnny, be good and you can watch TV.’ ‘Now pop this pill in your mouth.’ ‘Did you make your bed, tidy your room? Good boy.’ You need patience for Johnny — time and lots of support. He can be cured with love and kindness.

2. Very disturbed — you need to be cautious. These types can snap and become a problem; they’re unpredictable and totally irrational. They ooze danger; red light, be prepared. Try to pacify them, try to get into their mind and convince them it’s safe. Get their confidence, build up a positive relationship and hope you’ve cracked it. If it can’t be resolved, then just inject.

3. Totally dangerous — would you step into a lion’s den without protection or a big fuck-off gun? Look, let me tell you … you can’t get through to this sort; once the fuse is lit, run. Come back later when the storm has passed.

There are killers and killers and I’ve met them all. Every type of killer on the planet, and I’ve met them — sick bastards, sad bastards and pure evil bastards. To most people, a killer is a killer, but it’s not so. I’ve met guys who kill for love; they kill once and part of them dies, too. It’s emotions; they can’t handle it and they crack and kill. Most killers are domestic cases; they’re sad people, broken men, believe it!

A guy comes home early, unexpectedly, and finds the milkman right up his wife’s arse … what’s he supposed to do, order a few yoghurts? Nah, he goes insane, he can’t help it. The bitch fucks his world up and he goes to prison for life and she goes to hell, and the milkman … well, he loses his bollocks. That’s life — tragic!

But the sickos, the psychos, the predators are a different breed; believe it, unique specimens, cold and cruel. No remorse just a regret of not killing any witnesses. They rot in jail! Thirty or forty years and then they leave in body bags. Killers like Dennis Nilsen (the UK’s version of the USA’s Jeffrey Dahmer), Sutcliffe, Ireland, Hutchinson and Miller, they’re just never gonna walk the streets again! You’d better pray they don’t and hundreds like them.

Fear of the unknown — we all have to fear something or someone, all of us. It’s no good saying you’re fearless, ’cos you’re a liar, OK. Fear is personal, but it’s still there. Subconsciously, most madmen fear themselves. Some people are terrified of moths. Can you imagine a great big pansy of a man running away from a moth, but to him it may as well be a two-ton rhino!

What do I fear? I fear my unpredictability and all around me fear it, too. Each day, I am unlocked by never less than six guards. Nobody knows what I’ll do … I don’t even know! I can smile one second and then explode the next, it doesn’t take much to set me off. Sure, I’m not as bad now as I once was. Age and maturity — I seem more in control as time goes by. Maybe I’m cured … whatever, I’m still in max secure, still in solitary, so the system seems to think I’m still a danger man.