The van started down a barren road in the marshlands of Elizabeth, New Jersey. Billy had never been in the middle of a marshland before, though he had a pretty good idea what happened on desolate marshland roads like this one. Particularly when you were with someone like Giuseppe “The Chop” Sanseli. Billy had read enough pulp fiction crime novels and seen enough movies to know that guys got riddled with bullets then dumped in marshlands just like the one he was riding through. He started to sweat, the kind of sweat that made him feel as though he had just stepped out of a shower.

“Ya did me dirty, country boy,” said Sanseli. “I lost twicet now. Once on the skinny ya gave me and again on the duckets ya stole from me. Once ya cause me to lose, that’s not enough? Huh? What-samatta, ya ain’t satisfied unless you make me, Giuseppe Sanseli, lose twicet? Twicet, country boy!”

Billy sat staring at his clasped hands in his lap. He tried his best to control his sick stomach.

“Okay, so it happens,” says Sanseli. “There are…whatta they call it in sports? Like…like…” Sanseli was snapping his fingers.

“Upsets,” suggested Morris Rothberg.

“Yeah, upsets. That’s what makes bettin’ excitin’. Shit happens, right, country boy?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Sanseli, shit happens.”

“The point is, country boy, I don’t remember givin’ ya permission to bet my money on dick!” shouted Sanseli into Billy’s left ear.

Billy winced.

Sanseli spit on the floor of the van. He was furious. “Stop the goddamn truck!” he yelled.

The truck stopped.

Billy’s heart started pounding like crazy in his chest.

“So, country boy, whattaya think I should do with ya? Huh? What?”

Billy shook his head mournfully. He prayed to God he wouldn’t vomit in Sanseli’s van.

“I like ya, country boy,” said Sanseli, calming down. “You’re respectful an’ I like that. An’ you’re honest. Ya didn’t try to bullshit me. I like that too. An’ then there’s that mix-up, ya thinkin’ the duckets were Lieberman’s. I’ll give ya points on that too. So I’ll tell ya what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna give ya two weeks to get the hundred and ninety thou up. Two weeks, hear? And no vig. Unnerstan’? I’m givin’ ya a break by not chargin’ ya any vig. An the money goes to me first, not to that asshole bookie, unnerstan’? The bookie gets the second hundred and ninety Gs, unnerstan’? If I don’t get that money in two weeks, I’m bringin’ ya back here for good. It’s somethin’ I won’t like t’do, but I gotta set an example. Nobody fucks with Sanseli. An’ don’t try an’ run away. Believe me, country boy, I’ll find ya. I’ll send my boys to whatever state ya go to and drag ya back to this marsh. Unnerstan’? An’ I’ll tell ya this. You’ll wish I never did find ya. Now that’s somethin’ ya can bet on, country boy. Let him out, Patty.”