I say: “That is a suicide vest for your scrotum.”

Because it is.

—

The vest is not absolutely a vest because it is more like a snood. I crocheted it out of detcord. It will not actually kill a person outright. Not immediately at least. Having your scrotum explode is not necessarily fatal it is just what you might say a turning point in a life such that there is a time before and a time after. That said, Doc assures me that very few people will voluntarily act in such a way as to cause explosive testicular vaporization. It is psychology plus also even in the event you are not real into scrotal lifestyles—and Sharkey is—having your sac blown into orbit by a detcord snood is no one’s idea of rock and roll.

Sharkey gets some clothes on like baggy sweatpants and a sports jacket so now he is real on-trend for the Yacht Club brunch and he says that I have his full attention which I do.

—

“Here is how we will do this Sharkey are you paying close attention? Say yes Jack.”

“Yes Jack.”

“I am right now in a mood Sharkey. I am in a pisser of a mood. But I will trade your continuing scrotitude for information freely and unstintingly given.”

“Aw come on Jack I cannot—”

“No Sharkey NO. I am TALKING.”

“…Okay Jack.”

“I do not want your general business details or your confidential shit. I just want to know about my confidential shit namely who WHO sent a tiny evil Sound of Music–looking motherfucker and a dude with a long gun to do me wrong Sharkey WHO?”

“Not me—”

“Of course not you or you would be on a fucking magic hideaway island somewhere hoping I cannot track you like a bloodhound, which I can. From now on always I can.”

“You can like forever?”

“Once I have tied detcord around a scrotum Sharkey I can always find it again. Unless I have exploded it then basically it becomes a concept scrotum more like a concept piece than something you could hang.”

“Fuck it Jack FUCK IT this is precisely what I was saying with reference to your team being weird that kind of statement is—”

“Sharkey. Say Yes Jack.”

“I do not—”

“SHARKEY.”

“Yes Jack.”

“I am prepared to accept provisionally that you are not enough of a stupid fuck to send a prepubescent to stab me with an oyster knife and leave me alive although also too I am blessed with an exceptional team of persons and it is possible you just messed up your knockout in some way. But seeing as you are going to be super-duper frank with me—and bearing in mind always that there is detcord around your man apples—I am gonna go with the idea that you are not at fault here.”

“Okay.”

“For now.”

“Okay.”