“What d'ya mean you're [i]busy[/i]! This order is coming from on high, Mr Stone himself! Drop what you're doing and get over here!” 

“Sorry Skronsky, sounds like it's your problem. I gotta hot date tonight with a college chick. She pays the bills modelling for f***s sake. I ain't skipping out on that to help your ugly ass.” The phone line beeps, signifying the end of the call. 

Russel Skronsky looks at the phone in disbelief. He was, in a word, screwed. He'd gone through his entire phone book trying to enlist backup, and everyone was either busy or not picking up, and he sure as shit wasn't going back to Giovanni's place on his own, not while that psycho drifter could still be there. Therein lay the problem though, as Mr Stone was just as dangerous as any nutcase hobo, and if Russel didn't go back and get the money his boss was owed then Stone would have his guts for garters. 

Skipping town was starting to look like the only viable option for him. He could run to New Jersey, he had family there that would hide him until all this blew over. After all, how long could Mr Stone hold a grudge for. Even as he thought it he felt his spirits sink. Stone would never let this go, the man had made a name for himself for being unforgiving. Russel would never be free of him.

He went into his kitchen, small, basic and almost surgically clean, completely unadorned by any personal touches. The bottle of cheap whiskey that he had been swigging from all night was sitting on the counter, an empty tumbler sitting next to it. He poured himself a generous measure and downed it in two swallows, wincing at the burning sensation. Afterwards he held the glass up to his eye, staring blearily at his reflection. His face seemed bloated and warped to him, but he couldn't decide if it was because he was well on his way to being pissed or the circular nature of the glass. 

“God. . . You're pathetic Skronsky. Charlotte was right about you.” He spat at the tumbler, pity and self-loathing battling within him. He was so absorbed in self-flagellation that he didn't hear the squeak of the floorboards under the foot falls of an intruder, nor notice The Grim North's visage in the glass as he snuck open him. He wasn't aware anything was wrong until a thickly muscled arm encircled his neck, a scarred hand clamping down on his mouth in the same heartbeat, and by then it was far too late or Skronsky. He tried to struggle, but it was as useful as struggling against the coming winter, the grip he was in was so tight. He tried to scream, but he might of well as railed at an un-caring God, the hand on his mouth muffling all the sound to a weak mutter. He felt himself slipping from consciousness, and there was nothing he could do about it. His last thoughts were of what a pathetic end this was. 

---------

Didn't take me long to find Skronsky's place, not with Gio's directions. I got into his apartment building by buzzing his neighbours and telling them I was his brother from out west here to surprise him and asking if they'd let me in. People are so trusting when it's not their saftey thats in jearopady. After that it was an easy enough job to pick his locks and use the bolt cutters I got on the way to snip his saftey chain. He was that drunk he never even heard me come in. I knocked him out then before tying him to a chair, blindfolded and gagged o'course. He's just starting to come too now, which means the real work is about to begin. 

Skronsky surprised me a bit, his home being neat and tidy. I was expecting a sty, but you know what they say about judging books. In fact his apartment is almost too clean, like it's a showroom in a furniture shop. I've placed him in his bedroom, it being the room the furthest away from his neighbours. It's an old building, good stone architecture, the sorta place that has natural soundproofing, but theres no point in taking in risks. Don't want one of his neighbours hearing too much and calling the cops before I'm finished. 

My 'host' is starting to mumble into his gag now, telling me we better get this show on the road. I walk towards him slow, his head perking up at the sound of my approaching feet. I don't know what thoughts are going through his head, but I'm betting they ain't good ones. I put my hands on the side of his face, Skronsky trying to flinch backwards, but the binds hold him tight in place. I always was good at tying knots. I pull his blindfold down, but leave the gag, his eyes widening in terror when he sees my face. I step back, but keep my eyes on his, my facial expression carefully blank. I start speak, low and even. I want his attention on me and only me. He has to know that I'm the only thing that matters now, that and what I plan on doing. 

"Glad to see your up again Russel. I can call you Russel, eh? Surprised that I found you? You certainly look surprised, that and terrified sh**less." I begin to pull my jacket off, slowly. In these situations its best that you go slow and smooth. That way the victim knows that you got time, and your planning on using it on them. His eyes are darting round the room now, looking for a way out maybe, but they keep coming back to me. 

"Don't mind me Russel, I'll just hang my jacket up over here. It was expensive see, and I really don't want to get your blood all over it. And make no mistake, you will be bleeding. You ain't got a choice in the matter." He's whimpering now. I start roll my shirt sleeves up. 

"The only choice you've got is how much you're gonna bleed. You're gonna answer some questions for me. If you refuse to answer, or if I think you're lying, I'm gonna hurt you. Bad. Understand?" He chokes something into his gag, and I think he nods his head, hard to tell since he's tied to the chair. I think he gets the message though. Skronsky's got a iPod docking station in his room, his iPod lying next to it. I walk over and fire on some tunes. It'll help cover up the noise of his screaming. I spend a few minutes scrolling through his albums, finally settling on 'Stuck in the Middle with You' by Steelers Wheel. If you've ever seen Reservoir Dogs you'll know why. Skronsky certainly seems to understand it though, a dark patch spreading on the front of his jeans. I force myself to grin at him, my hand picking up the meat hammer I found in his kitchen. 

"Just so you know I ain't kidding around I'm gonna start with this then ask my first question. Sound unfair? It is, almost as unfair as three thugs beating an old man bloody and raping his daughter." Russel should probably be straining to hear me over the music, but I reckon he's only got ears for me. I stalk towards him, that animal grin still painted on my face. I can't tell if I'm really forcing myself to do it now, or if I'm actually just so used to it that it's coming natural.

Gerry Rafferty is just starting to get a feeling that something ain't right when I smash the hammer into Skronsy's knee. 

Seems like they can agree on that much.