CHAPTER 4 - THE WELL OILED MACHINE

Thursday January 14, 11:53 PM

“Where’s are the f***ing bodies!?” I held my newly
acquired antique colt 45 to the chest of a fat middle aged
white salesman. My mail had arrived this afternoon and I was
eager to try out my new addition. John was watching just
outside the front door to this second-hand furnished
apartment. Maybe I should call his decorator. The Lady set
down an old wooden tool box and produced a pair of rusted
garden clippers still slightly stained with blood.
“Please. . . I don’t know anything . . . I swear . . .” I
can smell warm urine as he squirms in his chair. Like Mr’s
Dunston’s music class when I was eight. Why did they laugh
at me?

“Don’t lie to me f***-o, the little Lady is about to cut
off you pisser with those outdated garden tools if you don’t
give us the answer we want.” I glanced down at the giant wet
spot in his pants. Man this guy must have been holding it in
for a while.
“You really should clean these off after we’re done
with him. I wouldn’t want to cut myself and get lock-jaw.”
The Lady poked Fat Man’s privates with the clippers, tearing
his pants.