“You’re wrong there,” said a voice in Jimmy’s ear. “That kind of acid eats down to the bone. Messes up your heart.”

Panic flared in Stump’s eyes. Jimmy didn’t sense even a millimeter of room for negotiation in the men who had bushwhacked them. Surely these guys didn’t mean to kill them, though? Niggers preferred drive-bys, lots of noise and attention. Even in prison, they always used shanks. And Jimmy had yet to see a weapon.

“Listen, bro,” said Stump, and Jimmy cringed. “We ain’t the guys you want. We didn’t have nothing to do with that business. Some oilfield boys were talking about it in the bar earlier, but we don’t know shit.”

“You’re lying,” said the voice in Jimmy’s ear.

“That’s God’s truth, I swear!” Stump cried.

“It don’t matter,” said the giant. “You part of the same poison. And I’m tired. You’ll do.”

Just then Jimmy realized that the giant was wearing gloves. Leather work gloves. Where the hell did he find gloves to fit those monster hands? he wondered.

Then Jimmy saw the hand at the collar of Stump’s jacket move up and close around the top of his skull like a five-point vise.

“Oh Jesus,” Stump groaned. “Aaaggghhh . . . don’t do that!”

“Ain’t done nothing yet, mister. You’ll know when I do.”

Panic tore around inside Jimmy’s chest like a crazed rat.

“They got security cameras here, man! If you hurt us, the law gonna get you for sure!”

“No cameras,” said the voice in his ear. “We already checked.”

“Please,” begged Jimmy. “Let us go. You can have the bikes. I got nothing against brothers, myself. I had a bunch of black friends in Angola.”

“What that VK on your jacket stand for?” asked the voice in Jimmy’s ear. “Viking something? That’s what the FBI man told us.”

“Varangian Kindred. ‘Varangian’ means Vikings, though, yeah.”

“That a prison gang?”

“No, no. A motorcycle club. One percent.”

The giant reflected on this for some time. “They told me in college that the Vikings settled America before Columbus ever got here. Hundreds of years before.”

Jimmy felt a flicker of hope. “That’s right, man! What college did you go to? You play ball? You must have, big as you are.”

“You reckon them Vikings ever got to Africa?”

Jimmy couldn’t think. Stump had shut his eyes, and Jimmy knew his old buddy was praying silently for mercy.

“If they didn’t,” said the hot breath in his ear, “I’d say they were lucky. What you think?”

Jimmy nodded, believing it.

“So . . . my sister,” said the giant, giving Stump’s head a squeeze, like a man checking a melon. “Time to pay. Make your peace with God.”

“Hold on!” Jimmy shouted. “You want us to give a message to somebody?”

“You are the message,” said the voice at his ear.

“Wait!” Stump shrieked.