I remember thinking my God I’m going to die at the hands of Jimmy Buffet, and then the wrench came down again and caught my brow. I hit the floor and fell into a buzzing pool of total darkness.

Which brings us back to the beginning.

I don’t know how long I was out cold, but when I started to come back, my pant leg had been ripped up and the big guy in the Hawaiian print shirt was making ready to cut into my thigh. He only stopped because he noticed I was awake.

My hands were bound behind my back. I was tied on the pipe about four feet from momma Hughes and son. Dad was passed out or dead on the bleeding table.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I grunted.

El Beardo looked up. His eyes were yellow; his teeth were rotten and brown, black along the gum line.

“You didn’t stay out long,” he commented, almost too relaxed.

He paused the cutting, but kept the blade pressed to my leg. If I struggled, he would only cut me. I decided to play it out.

“So . . . how long you been eating people?”

He seemed taken aback by the question like nobody had ever asked.

He pulled the blade back slightly. I felt a wave of relief and dizziness. I’d taken way too much shit in the car. I could hardly see straight.

“All my life,” he said softly. He had a speech impediment, a sloppy lisp. “My Paw taught me how to cook.”

When he spoke the grizzled cannibal looked like a stupid five- year-old not sure what he was supposed to do. He stared off sadly then seemed to come back around and looked me in the eyes.

“Eating peoples makes me strong. Eating peoples gives me their soul. That’s what Paw said. He ate Maw and said her soul loved me forever inside him.”

“No shit?”

The cannibal in the Hawaiian print shirt nodded shyly. I glanced over at the captives. Mom was out cold. She’d probably fainted watching her husband get skinned alive. The kid was awake and aware. His eyes were wide and staring not at his dying father, but at the killer. The kid was staring at him, memorizing him, planning vengeance he may never have.

“Why not let the family go,” I suggested. “You can feast on me. I got enough meat on me to keep you in meat for a month.”

He didn’t like the idea. The killer shook his head furiously and squeezed the scalpel in his hand. “No, no, no, no, no, no.”

I nodded. “You sure?”

“I SAID NO!”

Okay, I needed a new approach. This nut-bag was teetering. I had to play my cards right. I had to keep him talking.

“Okay, sorry,” I said quietly. “I just never met a guy who sold human meat sandwiches.”