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PHIL
The first sensations I remember upon waking up on that cold morning were the smell of cooking bacon and brewing coffee, and the feeling that my bladder was about to spontaneously combust.
When I try to move to relieve myself, I become aware of both the strange surroundings and the tight ropes that cover most of my body.
"What in the fuck…?" I choke out, and immediately begin to shout for help.
For a while, no one comes, and I search frantically around the log cabin for signs of life.
I continue yelling, and finally the large shape of a man ambles slowly from a door at the end of a dark hallway. My heart sinks quickly on recognizing Tony Pataglia, dressed in a short cloth robe, T-shirt, and boxers.
He walks over to me, face revealing absolutely nothing. He then draws back and belts me viciously in the mouth. My head lolls to one side, and I can taste the blood. All I can do is moan "Oh no… no…" terror and fear mingling into a mixture of complete dread.
Tony bends down and grips my chin, wiggling it back and forth quickly. "Oh yes, yes, Fuck-Face!" he retorts gleefully, giving me a smack on the cheek, in a deceivingly playful manner.
I debate asking him where I am, what this is about. But I finally settle on "I need to take a piss."
"I bet you do," he laughs. Then he straightens himself up and calls out: "Oh dearest, take your ex-boyfriend to the john, will ya? I'm gonna get dressed."
I turn and Natasha is standing in the frame of the entrance to the living area, wearing jeans and a tight, fuzzy Blue sweater. She looks at me and it's the saddest I have ever seen her look. She walks over to me, her .22 in one hand, and waits for Tony to untie me. She doesn't look at me, and I'm too shocked to say anything in return.
When I am free, I stand and almost fall over. Tony steadies me and then passes me off to Tasha. In a daze, I totter gingerly to the toilet, and she follows me in, gun held to my side.
I sit down on the john, all inhibitions gone as I loose my bowels and bladder into the bowl. When I glance up, Tash is looking out the window of the bathroom. She has to be here under duress. There's no other way.
When I get up she leads me over to the sink.
"Let me clean that up," she says, pointing at my mouth.
"Tash… why?" is all I can manage.
"It's a long story, Phil. Just let me clean you up."
I let her clean my mouth with a soapy cloth and apply a bandage below my lower lip. When she's finished she gestures for the door.
"No. I want you to tell me what's going on. How in the fuck did you get involved with that goon?"
"I told you… later," she replies, an unfamiliar edge of impatience in her tone.
She leads me back to the living area and handcuffs one of my wrists to the dining table and seats me in a chair.
"I'm going to get you some breakfast," she states matter-of-factly, handing the gun to Tony who is seated next to me, dressed in casual gangster elegance: black turtleneck and trousers, gray cashmere blazer.
"What's this about?" I ask him.
"Well, Phil ol' buddy, let's just say that you're my new retirement plan, which I plan to cash in on shortly."
I look at him uncomprehendingly.
"You didn't really think you'd get out of all this in one piece, did you?" he asks, jokingly. "That's one thing I've never understood about your whole situation, Phil. If you had just kept ante'ing up to Garrimone, none of this woulda happened."
"I can't ante up what I don't have, Tony," I say dryly.
"Ah, bullshit. Tash here tells me you got retirement accounts, money from your relatives. There's always more…"
"Right. And what do I do when that runs dry? Sell my soul, like you? Go to work polishing that greedy shitbag's alligator wingtips for pocket change?"
Anger flashes into Tony's face and he reaches over again to strike me.
"Knock it off, Tony. Leave him alone."
Tasha comes from behind with a skillet and begins to shovel bacon and eggs on our plates.
"Aw, I was just gonna give him another love tap," he says, faintly smirking.
"Yeah, well, Garrimone isn't going to be overly pleased with receiving damaged goods," she says, sitting down.
The bite of eggs I was about to swallow turns rubbery and cold in my mouth.
"You're taking me back to Denver?" I force out, weakly.
Tony gives me a big grin. "I don't work for Garrimone no more, Phil. I'm on my own now, with Natasha here as a side investor. You're our first joint business venture."
"You… plan to sell me to him?" I squeak, unable to hide my mounting horror. I suddenly jerk my cuffed wrist as hard as possible, hoping to break the wood of the table with sheer force.
"Phil… DON'T!" Natasha shouts, desperately.
Tony reaches out and grabs my free hand, slamming it down on the table. He then picks up a steak knife and brandishes it over my knuckles.
"Goddammit, Tony! Sit down and eat your fucking eggs!" Tash wails.
Tony sits back down and glares at me. "I told you this fuck was gonna be trouble," he says to her.
Tash takes a sip of her coffee, hands shaking.
"Look Phil, it's only temporary. Remember what I told you about Margulies? He'll get you out of there as fast as he can."
"You lying bitch!" I scream at her. "You told me he'd be here by now. Why should I believe a single fucking thing you say?"
She stares down at her plate and sighs.
"Because I'm the only hope you've got at this point, Phil. I asked you to trust me."
"And look what it got me. Breakfast with Tony Soprano, here."
Tony looks up at me and grins unexpectedly. "Yeah, I watch that show, too. I love that guy." He continues woofing down bacon, heartily.
"You'll live," Natasha says, in a coldly unfeeling way.
"Yeah Fuck-Face, you'll live," Tony says, leaning back in his chair, holding a tiny cup of Espresso with his gold and diamond fitted pinky outstretched. "Although, after a few days in that sick fuck's playpen, you might wish you hadn't." He begins to chuckle sadistically.
Tears begin to come to my eyes and I start to eat quickly, frantic to take my mind off this whole situation, not wanting to give this self-satisfied prick any more pleasure.
Suddenly, there is a small noise from the back of the house.
"Hey, our other houseguest is waking up," Tony announces cheerily, staring at me with a look of crazed euphoria as he gets up. He walks quickly from the room.
I look expectantly at Natasha, and I can see her face clouding over with tension.
"What the fuck is this?" I implore. "What's he up to now?"
"Phil…" she begins, "We needed a bit more of an insurance policy. You know as well as I do that Garrimone can't be trusted." She pushes the food around her plate nervously.
As Tony leads Janice into the room, clothed only in her underwear and a filmy pink dressing gown, my stomach starts to turn in a fit of acid.
JENNY
The maniac had taken his time, drilling slowly into the nerve of a previously healthy incisor, puffing absently on his cigarette, the burning tip inches from my open mouth. For someone for whom sanity had been a declined option at birth, he appeared to be extremely concerned with doing a careful job. Evil was something he enjoyed immersing himself in, like a mad artist zealously at work in his studio. Afterwards, he had removed the plastic fittings and leather bindings from my head. He asked me again where Janice was. I would have given anything to be able to provide him with the answer; such was the agony that consumed me.
Upon receiving only silence from me, he had frowned slightly and gestured to his guards to reattach the headgear. He then calmly prepared to begin work on a fresh tooth, a molar this time.
After he had drilled halfway through the tooth, but before he hit the nerve, he stopped and suddenly asked me where Oliver, my son, was. God forgive me, but I began babbling fervently, which seemed to make him very happy.
He had me unbound again, and proceeded to apply medicine to kill the pain as I spilled everything I knew about how my son spent his days and nights. He told me I had made a wise choice, and that he was satisfied I did not have any more information about Janice, considering how "forthcoming" I had been concerning Oliver.
The fat man then instructed his guards, in a bored tone, to take me away and "lock me up," and to wait for further instructions.
I am taken back downstairs to another place (this compound must be huge, I'm realizing). The area looks very much like a traditional cellblock: cells with large, barred, sliding doors line the stone hallways. It is disturbing that I am not alone here. Though the wing is not full, I passed a number of cells containing prisoners, most of them pale, thin, and ghostly white. They stared, as if I was a passing train, expressionless. I was brought to a vacant cell and have been here for what I'm guessing has been almost half a day.
Then, out of the blue, the wildest thing occurs. Two soldiers walk a large bald man to the cell facing mine. He is dressed in the same dull maroon jumpsuit that I wear. After they leave, I realize that the man is the Commandant!
After I get over my initial shock, I cannot help but start giggling. I stop as the pain in my mouth from my mangled tongue and teeth increase. What do I have to do to get more of those pain-killers, I wonder.
The fat man stares venomously back at me, sitting on the hard bench seat that hangs from the walls of our cells. "Laugh it up, cunt," he growls. "You're not in any better position than I."
"Excuse me, your Grace ," I snicker. "I assume you've been taken down a few notches. Tell me, are you enjoying being caged like an animal at the zoo?"
"I, unlike you, have not done anything to deserve this sentence," he says, his voice rising in anger. "This is a mistake, and when it is rectified, things will change for me. They will not change for you."
"Oh spare me, Colonel Klink," I say, laughing lightly and lying down on the hard bench, reveling in the fact that he can no longer hurt me. I stare at the ceiling where tiny marks appear to have been chipped into the cement, resembling some sort of tabulation of time, perhaps by a prior occupant.
A voice suddenly pipes from down the hall: "Is that our old friend, the Commandant?"
Another: "Finally some justice has been done. The chief Nazi pig has been put away for his crimes!"
"That's one pig down, one more to go," another chimes in a dull, lifeless voice.
"It'll be the best diet you'll ever go on, little piggy!" a jolly voice calls out, viciously.
All their voices begin to converge in a choir of hatred: "Here, piggy piggy!" "Suffer, you swine!" "Feel the burn, piggy!" "Weeee-weeee piggy!"
The fat man curls up in a ball on the floor, his meaty hands clutching his ears, disbelieving tears rolling from his eyes.
While I wouldn't say I felt sorry for this sack of garbage who made my every second here a living hell, I felt a basic twinge of empathy. Being in a place like this makes you evaluate your base principles, I'm slowly finding. It sounds like a cliché, but it's true: it makes you understand what lies at the core of your being, since you are stripped to the bare essence here. There are no uniforms to hide behind, and no props to parade about with. As hard as it is to admit, I truly know that no one deserves to be treated as we are being treated in this foul place.
The catcalls abruptly cease as a heavy door slides open from down the corridor. Crisp footsteps approach, and Major Gunter appears in front of my cage bars. He gives he a disdainful glance, and then looks over at his ex-superior, lying in a fat pile on the floor.
"I'm afraid you'll have to get used to this treatment, Von Helsing. This wing is a bad place for someone such as you," he remarks.
"I only did… what I was told to do. Same as you."
"Perhaps, but it appears you didn't do it well enough," he smirks, lighting a cigarette. "Bet you'd like one of these, eh?" he says, laughing and blowing the smoke through the bars.
The fat man stands and flings his entire weight against the steel, shaking the bars ridiculously.
"Even if I did give you one, you don't have any fancy holders to posture with, do you? That would probably take all the fun away for you, no? It would make you realize you're nothing special," Gunter sings, continuing to taunt him. "You always did like to pretend you were the boss, Von Helsing, but it appears your emulation was not well received by his Excellency."
He then turns his back on his ex-boss and faces me.
"Frau Palmer, for you I have more pleasant news."
I stare dead-eyed at him, ready for more of his irritating mind games.
"You have earned a reprieve from your sentence, at least momentarily. The Celestial One wishes you to accept an offer of employment, as a parlor maid, here at the lodge."
"Is this… some new game?" I stammer out, unbelievingly.
"Perhaps, but perhaps not. His Majesty is fond of you. Contrary to popular opinion, he admires women of spirit. There are not enough of them in his palace, he believes," he chuckles.
"What do I have to do?"
"The usual. Cleaning, mostly. But you will be serving his Excellency meals, on occasion. At any rate, you will not be caged up, so that should influence your answer. Of course, I need not remind you that if you refuse the Omnipotent One's wishes, the consequences for you here will worsen considerably," he finishes laconically, checking a pocket watch that hangs from his coat.
"All right," I say, emotionlessly. "Is there any way I can have more pain-killers for my mouth, first?"
"I will inquire on that, but do not foresee a problem, given your cooperative attitude. Breakfast will be up shortly, and Cook will give you your uniform and a quick tutorial on serving protocol. Guards, prepare her for release." He gives me a perfunctory smile. "Welcome aboard, Frau Palmer. Please do our standards of excellence justice and serve your new master well."
I am released from the cell and walked slowly down the corridor, being met with intense hatred and envious stares from the other prisoners.
TONY
"So, what makes you think Garrimone is going to let us waltz out his door with half a million dollars? You amaze me sometimes, Tony."
We're less than fifteen minutes from the Black Lodge, and Tasha's cold feet are getting icier by the second. She's already checked her lipstick around 40 times in the last half hour, and keeps twistin' around in the back seat as she guards the Palmers, who're knocked out in the way back. I let up on the cruise control and bring my black Navigator down to around 40 or so, as we exit the highway.
"Several things, sweet cakes," I tell her. "First of all, Mr. G's standing with the New York bosses is not real good at the moment. You can probably guess what these old school paisan think of a guy who makes John Gotti look low-key. His way of doing business is all new-school: me, me, me. His way has no honor, no respect. He don't want anything to do with the old crowd or their ways. He don't know canoli from caviar, for chrissakes. You think they send the top guys out to run Denver ?
She nods her head and raises her eyebrows, seemingly impressed, as I continue.
"Second, New York knows from several 'little birds,'" I point my hand at my chest with a touch of pride, "that he's not kickin' up near what he's pullin' in. And we're not talkin' skimmin' a few hundred grand here. We're talkin' tens of millions … Last, and far from fuckin' least, I know as well as you do that he carries a grudge like no other motherfucker in history. He not only wants your sweetheart back there dead… he wants to kill and slowly torture his whole family , and all because he was basically snaked by the schlub. Oh, and if the crew back home got wind of the kind of sick shit he's been swimming in, all this fancy torture equipment and legions of pseudo-Nazis, they'd be really pissed. It's just a matter of time before it blows up in his face, and that kind of exposure they don't need. How're they holdin' up back there, anyway?
She checks Fuck-Face and daughter and says "OK."
"Shit, Tony. I wasn't prepared for that freak-out back at the cabin."
"Yeah, well, you gotta remember that when you fuck with a man's family, you gotta prepare yourself for everything he's got. Lucky I had that hypo handy."
" Tell me about it," she sighs, looking guilty.
"Listen baby, I know you're having second thoughts. But this is gonna be easier than you think. Sure, Garrimone is gonna send guys after us, but I know the people he's gonna send and they can be bought off. Right now, that fat prick has one thing on his mind, and that's finishin' off those two. He's got fuckin' tunnel vision. One-track, period."
I slow the car and turn into the private road leading to the lodge. We pass down endless miles of pine trees until finally coming to two large black gates made of polished steel adorned with Garrimone's family crest. I roll down the window and hit the intercom button. Enrique, the only guy working here that isn't a German, and the only one I can stand dealing with, says "Yeah?"
"Rico, it's Tony. The boss is expectin' me."
"Yeah, I heard about that. Wait there, Tony."
It's not exactly what I wanted to hear, but I tell myself it's do-able.
"Shit, Tony."
Tash is checking out the compound. She, unlike yours truly, has never been up here before. I guess it is pretty impressive if you've never seen it. I just think it's fuckin' ridiculous.
A heavy iron door that's set into the stone wall to the side of the gates opens and Rico steps out, full Nazi gear, followed by two other soldiers I don't know. Tasha's eyes get big. He walks up to the car and hands me a large, black traveling bag, as his two men aim Uzis at us through the window. Tash freaks, screams "Oh my god…" and tries to duck down.
"Relax, baby," I say, "It's just a precaution until we hand over Fuck-Face. Right Rico?"
"Just a precaution," he repeats, stonily.
I get out of the car and walk around to the back, open the tailgate, and pull the sleeping bag containing the tied-up, drugged-out Phil toward the ground, feet first.
"What's that in there?" Rico asks, pointing at the other sleeping bag next to where Phil had been.
"Just another bag," I say, all casual-like.
"Yeah, Tony. Come on, man. I'm not another dumb Nazi fuckhead, even though I play one on the TV, right?" he half-grins.
Still playing it like King Cool, I reach in and unzip the bag, revealing Janice's pretty head of hair.
"Is that her? The daughter?"
"Yeah, it's her."
"Cool. The boss'll flip over this."
"We haven't come to terms with a price for her yet," I return.
"Look, Tony," he begins, and his two fucks step a little closer, "you know Mr. G has his dick set on this girl. I can't just let you take her away."
"Listen, Rico, he paid for Phil, so he gets Phil. End of story." I begin to close the tailgate. One of the guys opens Tasha's door and pulls her out, into his arms, pointing the Uzi at her head. She screams.
"Tasha, SHUT UP!" I scream at her. " Jesus !" I look at Rico seriously. "Rico, let me put it this way. You're out here in this little fortress playing dress-up, OK? I'm workin' for people out in the real world . People who would have somethin' to say about the shit that goes on up here in the name of family business, all right? I think it's best if we just keep this between friends, don't you agree?"
He kind of grumbles, but I can tell he gets it. He glances up at a security camera and gives the high sign, then gestures impatiently at the two soldiers. As Tash is let go, she almost passes out, falling against the SUV door, tears coming from her eyes.
"Get in!" I bark at her.
"Tony, I can't do…" she whines.
"GET THE FUCK IN!" I scream.
She does, and I throw the car in reverse for a second, and then peel out with a sharp U.
As we sail down the private road, I toss the travel bag to her. "Count it, fast," I say.
MR. G
"I can't believe that Tony had the balls to bring that little trollop here, on top of everything else he's done. But never mind. I'll finish her off slowly, as well," I fume to Enrique.
I'm sitting on my throne chair, in my private suite, puffing furiously on a cigarette as I stare at the now desolate landscape being transmitted to my $10,000 Sony Grand Wega plasma TV from the gate security camera. The TV is set seamlessly into an Italian marble wall facing me.
"What were you talking to him about for so long, anyway? I thought I told you to make it snappy."
"Apologies, your Grace," Enrique says slowly, eyes shifting a bit, "Tony was a bit hesitant to leave without counting the money."
"Ha, that's rich!" I return, "He'd better hurry up and count it. That's all he'll have time to do before he hits my little roadblock at the end of the drive."
Enrique furrows his brow, looking puzzled.
"You didn't honestly think I'd let him leave here after this betrayal, do you?"
He smiles nervously back at me, saying nothing.
"Oh no," I say, tapping my riding crop into my glove with a wistful smile, "I have terrible things planned for them all when they're returned to my grasp, just you wait and see. Right about now they should be meeting McCluskey, who also happens to have little Oliver Palmer securely in his clutches. How is his father holding up?"
He looks a bit sick at this remark, and tells me that he's still half-asleep, tied down in a holding room.
"Anyhow, Major Enrique, as the official Torture Engineer of the court, you're going to be quite the busy beaver over the coming days. Shall we get down to the details of our scheduled meeting?"
He clears his throat dryly, and says, "Yes, Sire."
"Excellent, please enlighten me with your plans for our guests."
As I mull over several different alternatives that he presents, I also ask for an update on some new machines that I'm commissioning. While debating the merits of traditional vs. modern racks, and whether there can realistically ever be a place for the medieval Iron Maiden in a modern playroom, I receive word from Major Gunter that my guests have arrived. Upon hearing that the group of new captives contains Janice Palmer, I smile with satisfaction, but instantly shoot a look at Enrique.
"Wonderful, Major," I respond to Gunter, speaking to him on the wireless intercom set into the 24 Kt. gold console to the left of my throne. "Take them to Detention Area #6. I will let you know when I wish to receive them. In the meantime, send a few guards up to the throne room."
"Very good, your Grace," Gunter answers, crisply.
I switch off the intercom and stare at Enrique, while lighting a new smoke. I sit and puff slowly for a few minutes, as his tension noticeably starts to increase.
"Interesting, isn't it Major, that Janice Palmer was with her father? And how did you miss that?"
Enrique shifts uncomfortably, looking at the door, as the two guards enter quietly and wait by the entrance for instruction.
"Tsk, tsk, such sloppy work," I chide, as he suddenly turns and makes a mad dash for the opposite entrance, about 400 feet to my left. "Guards," I say, in a bored voice, "Shoot him, please." It's a pity he never makes it to the door. I always enjoy a good game of cat and mouse.
TONY
No matter how many times I played this fuckin' scenario out in my head, it never occurred to me that we'd really be caught leaving here. I had even taken a back road that goes through a completely unpaved area, just in case. What ol' genius me forgot is that the entrance to this back road is gated in the Winter months, and that there are embankments on either side of the road that nothin' but a monster truck could climb.
As I brought the Navigator to a sharp stop, almost side-swiping it into the black steel gate, a big orange Hummer rolls up on the outside. As I threw the SUV into reverse, ready to peel away, a shot came through the windshield. Tash was screaming crazily at this point, but I couldn't think straight by then, anyhow. It all happened too fast; using Janice as a bargaining chip wasn't even an option. In less than five seconds, the gate was opening and guys with guns were all over us.
I'm now sitting in a straight-backed chair in a gray cinder-block room, a shitty fluorescent tube light buzzing and flickering over me. The door opens and McCluskey strolls in. He's got a long-sleeved white shirt on, a bright green tie, and a pair of dark green riding pants that make him look even more like the fat fairy mick he is. He goes over to the chair that's behind the desk I'm facing and places a big jackbooted leg on the seat. He gives me a wicked smile.
"Well, well! Mr. Pataglia! You didn't imagine we'd meet under these circumstances, did you?" he booms. He takes the shortest, fattest, riding crop I've ever seen from the desk drawer, tosses it in the air, and catches it with one gloved hand.
"OK, Bern. Now that I've seen your half of the show, where's the good cop to complete it?" I ask, trying to act like I'm not about to crap my pants.
He screams for the guards, who rush in. They cuff me to the back of the chair. The asshole gets in my face, hauls off, and slugs me in the mouth, almost sending me backward in my seat. It's all very deja-fucking-vu, as I think back to the wake-up call I gave to Phil this morning. I can tell right away the fuckhead's broken some teeth, and when I look up at him, the brass knuckles wrapped around his leather hand tell me why.
He removes the metal from his hand, and rubs it tenderly. He gives me a shit-eating grin.
"There are no good cops, Pataglia. Ain't that what you always say?"
I meet his eyes for a minute, spit out the bloody remains of two teeth, and then look away.
He goes back behind the desk, picks up the crop, and begins to pace back and forth with it behind his back.
"Good god, I finally have you where I want you. All the times I've dreamed of bustin' your little operations… This is my wet fuckin' dream, you stupid goombah."
"Yeah, well, this don't exactly look like Hill Street Blues, fuckface. It don't take a genius to play the game when there aren't any rules. And I'd watch what you say about my people. Your boss might get offended."
He glares at me briefly, and then returns to pacing.
"Mr… ah, I mean the General , would forgive it in this context, I'm sure. But all pleasantries aside, Tony, I'm sure you have some idea what happens to traitors around here, don't you? But maybe you'd indulge a little demonstration?"
"Look, asshole," I say, getting pissed, "you know I got connections way outside this little Western hole-in-the-wall. After you've had your fun here, your whole goddamn family is gonna be toast. I'm a made guy. Garrimone ain't gonna come to your rescue against the New York families." I highly fuckin' doubt if they'd get involved with this, actually, but you can't blame me for tryin'.
"And how, pray tell, would they have any idea about this? No one knows you're here, greaseball! It's just you, me, and big Bertha here," he grins, flexing the crop in his hands.
"They know," I say, trying to sound like Mr. Casual. "They'll be all over this place real soon."
McCluskey pauses and his face gets stony.
"You lying piece of guinea garbage!" he shouts. "Bullshit! You won't leave here in anything but a wheelbarrow! You see, Tony my boy," he walks over and strokes my cheek with his glove, putting his garlic-stench breath close to my face, "I'm not just gonna beat the living shit out of you. I'm gonna kill you. But first, we play…" He throws his head back and barks a psycho-sounding laugh.
I don't say anything, but my heart is beatin' like a jack rabbit's. He gives me a look a cat would give the canary he's ready to chow on, and then rips open the clasp that secures his pants.
"Fuck you, pervert!" I scream, "It's gonna take more than you and Heckyl and Jeckyl here to make me suck your flabby little prick."
He slams the shaft of the crop against my Adam's apple, making me choke.
"We'll see about that. Boys…" he tells them, "put on the head gear."
I start to kick wildly, and instantly get ankle irons applied to my feet. Sweat starts to pour down my face, as one guy holds my nose, while the other shoves a padded mouthpiece into my face. It fits snugly into my mouth and feels kinda like the guard I used when I played ball in high school. This deal shields my teeth, but keeps my tongue free. Hooks are attached from the piece to a big metal thingamabob that is placed over my head, like a cage.
Next, McCluskey takes down my pants and shorts, and picks up what looks like a medium sized steel egg from the desk. He brings it over to me, along with a bag of whole walnuts. Ripping open the bag, the cocksucker takes off his gloves, removes two nuts and opens the top of the egg.
"God, I love playing with this shit! You can't buy this kinda torment downtown. Allow me to show you what will happen if you don't willingly take my man meat into your pretty mouth, you dumb dago," he laughs and drops the two nuts into the egg.
He watches my face closely while rotating the bottom of the egg. As he turns it, the egg becomes smaller and smaller. Finally, I hear a sickening crack as the nuts begin to be crunched to pieces. After a few more turns, he tilts it in my direction to show me the remains of the nuts.
"While this is an effectively persuasive demonstration, it's not real accurate. With your nuts, the actual crushing will take a bit longer, obviously. The tension will really build, but when the deed is finally done, there won't be much to finish with… and of course, no tasty treats to devour, at least not afterwards!" He scoops out bits of nut, licking his lips and fingers, chomping noisily.
He gets up suddenly, fastens his pants, and starts for the door. "Shit makes you thirsty. I'm gonna go get a brew. Think about what you wanna do, Tony. Either way… your nuts are mine!"
I shake the chair violently, but am left with nothing but pointless sweat as he exits the room.
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