Still, Hank was glad that he had brought the kid along. The kid, without knowing it, helped him know what he really wanted. And the kid had done all the scut work. And he’d been someone to talk to in the beginning.

Too bad.

It could have worked out, if the kid had toughened up. Nick-O was a smart cookie, but he was too damn young. He was just too much responsibility.

And there was always the constant worry of the kid dropping a dime. Not that Hank thought he’d ever do that. Nick-O had been scared real bad, especially after what had happened.

You killed him, Nick-O. Make no mistake about that, buddy. I may have carved him up, but you killed him.

That’s what really pissed Hank off more than anything, what had proved to him that Nick-O would have to go.

The kid went ahead and killed the faggot—finally! And then, he became unglued when Hank started having a little fun. Dafuck difference did it make? The dude was dead.

Hank trembled with excitement when he thought about it. The gunshots had ripped several holes in the faggot’s stomach, but there was still plenty of skin left for that initial cut. He shivered when he thought of the knife slicing through warm flesh, the belly opening as easily as parting a pair of curtains. The metallic, sweet smell of freshly butchered meat: the oily, almost slimy feel of the innards, soothing blood washing over your fingers.

The one thing he regretted most in life—never having the pleasure of feeling the dickhead’s intestines, his body bursting like a bloody balloon in the explosion.

A big regret. Had to make up for it. Besides, just like he said, the faggot was already dead. Why not have some fun?

Nick-O bawling like a baby. Kid could be so stupid sometimes. Like a dead person could feel?

He was already dead. For the millionth time, asshole. You killed him. Don’t ever forget it.

Then they were quiet for a long, long time. Gave Hank the opportunity to think over what was really going down.

The decision was just so clear-cut. The kid had to go.

That’s when Hank suggested that the kid could make a carefully supervised phone call if he wanted to. Nick-O nearly kissed his feet. Hank felt pretty good about that. Hey, let the kid go with some last words, you know.

The original plan was to do the kid just as soon as they returned from the phone call, then hop a plane out the next day. But it was too weird to think about spending the rest of the night with a corpse.

And besides, Hank wasn’t so sure he wanted to leave L.A. just yet.

What was the hurry?