“The oil, I can feel the heat from it, and my hand’s still a good six inches away. And then she starts moving my hand closer. She gets hold of my index finger, wraps her hand—her hand’s the size of a fucking catcher’s mitt—around the rest of my fist.” He demonstrated, holding his right hand so only one finger protruded. “And she moves my finger toward the hot oil, like she’s going to dip it in.”

“God,” I said.

“And she’s saying, ‘In the oil, Ma?’ Like, she’s taking directions every step of the way. And Momma says, ‘Maybe just the tip.’ This bitch, she takes the very tip of my finger and touches it to the oil, and pulls away.” He paused. “My fucking finger sizzled.”

I wrote down “finger sizzled.”

“So then she pulls my finger away, but the two of them are still holding me, and Mrs. Gorkin, she comes around, stands in front me, must be a good foot shorter than I am, and she wags a finger in my face and says, ‘Next time, we put your whole arm in. Or we cut off your dick and drop it in and serve it to somebody as a hot dog.’ She says, ‘You understand?’ And all I can do is nod, her fucking daughter still has her hand over my mouth. And then she says, ‘After we cook your dick, we go find your wife, we cut off her tits, and we cook them too. And your kids, because some people, they like their meat extra tender.’”

He was shaking. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a tissue, and wiped his nose.

I finished writing and looked at him.

“Did you talk to your supervisor?” I said. “This Frank Ellinger guy?”

“Yeah,” Brian Sandler said, pulling himself together. “I told him I’d been to see the Gorkins. He says, ‘Hey, you can cut them some slack. They’re just trying to make a go of it here.’ If I looked after them, they’d look after me. I said to him, ‘They tried to fry my fucking finger.’ And you know what he says?”

“What?”

“He says be glad that’s all they fried. But the thing is, it’s not just the Gorkins. They’re connected with some other places, run by their Russian or whatever friends. They do all other kinds of shit on the side. Drugs, I’m pretty sure. It’s like a dropoff point or something. A shipment comes in, they leave it with the Gorkins, someone else comes to pick it up. They figure, they have this legit business, the burger joint, makes them look less suspicious, since people are coming in and out all the time anyway.”

“How many others in the department are being threatened or taking bribes?”