seven yet. The sun’s barely up.”
“I know, I got behind. But if the invoices don’t go out, the money doesn’t come in. Hopefully I’ll get caught up today.”
“Daddy eat,” little Julia said.
“I will eat, pumpkin,” Chops said. “I just can’t sit with you today. Daddy has work to do while he eats.”
He kissed the dark curls on the top of her head. She reached up with her chubby little hands and playfully laid down a drumbeat on his bald pate.
“That’s enough, Ringo,” he said, straightening up.
He grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and took them, with his omelet, back to his office. He unlocked the door to his workroom, stepped inside, and locked the door again behind him with a separate dead bolt, one that couldn’t be unlocked from the outside without a key. He turned to the man bound to a metal chair in the middle of the little room and said, “Give me a minute here. It’s breakfast time.”
The man didn’t respond, maybe because he had nothing to say any longer, maybe because of the duct tape across his mouth, or maybe because he had no voice left after all the screaming he’d done lately.
Chops ate the first half of his omelet, then opened one of the bottles of water and drank half of it in four gulps. The man in the chair watched, his eyes wide and pleading.
“I guess you’re thirsty, huh, Benny?” Chops said.
The man nodded weakly. Chops opened the second bottle of water.
“You’ve already learned how good the soundproofing is in here, right?”
Benny nodded again.
“So you won’t be annoying me with any more screaming, right?”
Benny shook his head.
“Okay, then.” Chops stepped over and yanked the tape from Benny’s mouth. “Open wide,” he said.
Benny opened his mouth, exposing bloody, toothless gums. Chops hadn’t yet decided what to do with all the teeth in the jar on his workbench. He poured some water into the gaping mouth, gave the man time to gulp it down, then poured in the rest of the bottle.
When he finished swallowing, Benny said, “I told you everything.” His voice was barely a croak, his words malformed, probably because of his lack of teeth. “I told you everything two days ago ,” he added.
“I know,” Chops said as he stepped back into his coveralls.
“So why are you still doing this?”
“Well, the first two days was to get the information my employer wanted, to find who your boss was buying his shit from.”
“But I didn’t know who he got it from,” Benny whined.
“Yeah, but I didn’t know whether to believe you. I had to be sure. Now I am. I believe you. So that was the first two days. The last two have been to send a message. Well, several messages.”
Chops had overnighted Benny’s right hand to Benny’s boss, Kenny Jacks, a small-time drug dealer who had arrived in town a few months ago. With the hand, Chops had included a note that read, We found this in our cookie jar . The hope was that Jacks would learn his place and understand that that place was some small street corner very far from the territory run by Bill McCracken, a much bigger dealer who had hired Chops to put the fear of God into Jacks. Chops wanted to go after Jacks himself, but McCracken wasn’t sure yet whether he had connections about which McCracken should be concerned, so he paid Chops to make a statement without physically harming Jacks himself. Chops was good at his job. First he’d had Benny’s hand delivered—though not hand-delivered—to Jacks. Then to spread the message, Chops had sent the fingers from Benny’s remaining hand to the five guys who had been doing a little distribution for Jacks on the side, guys who used to work exclusively for McCracken. The hand alone should be enough to convince Jacks to pull up stakes and take his shit somewhere else, but just in case it wasn’t, Benny’s fingers should make it hard for Jacks to find anyone around here to work for him. And the longer that parts of Benny kept showing up
“I know, I got behind. But if the invoices don’t go out, the money doesn’t come in. Hopefully I’ll get caught up today.”
“Daddy eat,” little Julia said.
“I will eat, pumpkin,” Chops said. “I just can’t sit with you today. Daddy has work to do while he eats.”
He kissed the dark curls on the top of her head. She reached up with her chubby little hands and playfully laid down a drumbeat on his bald pate.
“That’s enough, Ringo,” he said, straightening up.
He grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and took them, with his omelet, back to his office. He unlocked the door to his workroom, stepped inside, and locked the door again behind him with a separate dead bolt, one that couldn’t be unlocked from the outside without a key. He turned to the man bound to a metal chair in the middle of the little room and said, “Give me a minute here. It’s breakfast time.”
The man didn’t respond, maybe because he had nothing to say any longer, maybe because of the duct tape across his mouth, or maybe because he had no voice left after all the screaming he’d done lately.
Chops ate the first half of his omelet, then opened one of the bottles of water and drank half of it in four gulps. The man in the chair watched, his eyes wide and pleading.
“I guess you’re thirsty, huh, Benny?” Chops said.
The man nodded weakly. Chops opened the second bottle of water.
“You’ve already learned how good the soundproofing is in here, right?”
Benny nodded again.
“So you won’t be annoying me with any more screaming, right?”
Benny shook his head.
“Okay, then.” Chops stepped over and yanked the tape from Benny’s mouth. “Open wide,” he said.
Benny opened his mouth, exposing bloody, toothless gums. Chops hadn’t yet decided what to do with all the teeth in the jar on his workbench. He poured some water into the gaping mouth, gave the man time to gulp it down, then poured in the rest of the bottle.
When he finished swallowing, Benny said, “I told you everything.” His voice was barely a croak, his words malformed, probably because of his lack of teeth. “I told you everything two days ago ,” he added.
“I know,” Chops said as he stepped back into his coveralls.
“So why are you still doing this?”
“Well, the first two days was to get the information my employer wanted, to find who your boss was buying his shit from.”
“But I didn’t know who he got it from,” Benny whined.
“Yeah, but I didn’t know whether to believe you. I had to be sure. Now I am. I believe you. So that was the first two days. The last two have been to send a message. Well, several messages.”
Chops had overnighted Benny’s right hand to Benny’s boss, Kenny Jacks, a small-time drug dealer who had arrived in town a few months ago. With the hand, Chops had included a note that read, We found this in our cookie jar . The hope was that Jacks would learn his place and understand that that place was some small street corner very far from the territory run by Bill McCracken, a much bigger dealer who had hired Chops to put the fear of God into Jacks. Chops wanted to go after Jacks himself, but McCracken wasn’t sure yet whether he had connections about which McCracken should be concerned, so he paid Chops to make a statement without physically harming Jacks himself. Chops was good at his job. First he’d had Benny’s hand delivered—though not hand-delivered—to Jacks. Then to spread the message, Chops had sent the fingers from Benny’s remaining hand to the five guys who had been doing a little distribution for Jacks on the side, guys who used to work exclusively for McCracken. The hand alone should be enough to convince Jacks to pull up stakes and take his shit somewhere else, but just in case it wasn’t, Benny’s fingers should make it hard for Jacks to find anyone around here to work for him. And the longer that parts of Benny kept showing up
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