said.
The humor left Chet’s face. He looked at the General confused. “But—”
“Do it.”
“What? You mean all the way?”
“Hell, yes, I mean all the way.”
Chet continued to stare at the General.
“You gone deaf? Press the fucking drill through his hand.”
“Thought we was just aiming to scare him.”
“He don’t look scared enough to me. Now, do it. I want to give him something to remember who he’s fucking with.”
Chet still didn’t move.
The General’s face twisted into something resembling a wadded-up dishrag; he stepped over and jabbed a thick finger into Chet’s chest. “You need to learn to do as you’re told, boy.” He shoved Chet aside, nearly knocking him off his feet. The General took hold of the drill and leaned over to Jesse. “Next time your tongue feels like wagging, you’ll want to remember this.” The General slowly lowered the drill into Jesse’s hand, driving it deep into Jesse’s flesh.
Searing pain shot up Jesse’s arm. His palm felt on fire. He screamed and choked on the tape, tears squeezing out from the corners of his eyes.
Chet and the men winced as the drill punched completely through. The General didn’t so much as blink, just nodded the way you would while enjoying a favorite song, letting the drill spin in place. Specks of tape, flesh, and blood spattered Jesse across the face and the stench of seared flesh filled his nose.
The General raised the drill and shut it off. The men let go of Jesse and he slumped against the drill stand, quivering.
The General removed his handkerchief and wiped a speck of blood off his cheek, then squatted next to Jesse. “You listen up, son, ’cause you’re only gonna get this one time. If I ever hear talk about you spilling the beans . . . there won’t be no more games. And if you ever cross me . . . in any way, I’ll put you and that pretty little girl of yours in a box together and bury the both of you alive. That’s a promise, Jesse. You just think about how that would be the next time you get a wild hair up your ass. You get me?”
Jesse nodded.
“We’re good then,” the General said and stood. He looked at Chet, looked him up and down, looking in no way pleased. “We’re all squared up with Jesse now, so let him be.” The men nodded and the General headed across the bay and up a set of open stairs draped in flickering Christmas lights. He entered a second-floor office, shutting the door behind him. The moment the General was out of sight, Chet flipped him the bird.
“Better watch that,” warned the lean, wiry man standing to Chet’s left. Lynyrd Boggs wore a sweat-stained cowboy hat with an eagle’s feather stuck in the band. His father was a big Lynyrd Skynyrd fan, so Lynyrd had the good fortune to have his name misspelled in tribute.
“Fuck,” Chet said. “That son’bitch needs to chill the fuck out. Just because things is shit, don’t mean he’s gotta treat us that way.”
“Pressure’s getting to him, that’s all. I remember not too long back when the General was about the only place you could get your fix around here. Now every tweek-head is brewing their own shit right in their own damn basements. General’s losing ground and in case you ain’t noticed, he ain’t taking it real well.”
“And I don’t care none for this talk of hurting children neither. Ain’t the way we do things around here. Not at all.”
“Rules is changing. These meth heads, they ain’t got no respect for the old ways.”
“Goddamn tweekers,” Chet spat. “Goddamn meth. Fucking ruining everything.”
“Well, that ain’t all. I hear we got some competition.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Been some Charleston boys down here dealing.”
“In Goodhope? You got to be kidding?”
“Wish I was. Overheard the General talking to Dillard. Apparently Dillard caught a few of ’em.”
“Dillard? No shit. Bet that didn’t go so well for ’em.”
“You’d be right on
The humor left Chet’s face. He looked at the General confused. “But—”
“Do it.”
“What? You mean all the way?”
“Hell, yes, I mean all the way.”
Chet continued to stare at the General.
“You gone deaf? Press the fucking drill through his hand.”
“Thought we was just aiming to scare him.”
“He don’t look scared enough to me. Now, do it. I want to give him something to remember who he’s fucking with.”
Chet still didn’t move.
The General’s face twisted into something resembling a wadded-up dishrag; he stepped over and jabbed a thick finger into Chet’s chest. “You need to learn to do as you’re told, boy.” He shoved Chet aside, nearly knocking him off his feet. The General took hold of the drill and leaned over to Jesse. “Next time your tongue feels like wagging, you’ll want to remember this.” The General slowly lowered the drill into Jesse’s hand, driving it deep into Jesse’s flesh.
Searing pain shot up Jesse’s arm. His palm felt on fire. He screamed and choked on the tape, tears squeezing out from the corners of his eyes.
Chet and the men winced as the drill punched completely through. The General didn’t so much as blink, just nodded the way you would while enjoying a favorite song, letting the drill spin in place. Specks of tape, flesh, and blood spattered Jesse across the face and the stench of seared flesh filled his nose.
The General raised the drill and shut it off. The men let go of Jesse and he slumped against the drill stand, quivering.
The General removed his handkerchief and wiped a speck of blood off his cheek, then squatted next to Jesse. “You listen up, son, ’cause you’re only gonna get this one time. If I ever hear talk about you spilling the beans . . . there won’t be no more games. And if you ever cross me . . . in any way, I’ll put you and that pretty little girl of yours in a box together and bury the both of you alive. That’s a promise, Jesse. You just think about how that would be the next time you get a wild hair up your ass. You get me?”
Jesse nodded.
“We’re good then,” the General said and stood. He looked at Chet, looked him up and down, looking in no way pleased. “We’re all squared up with Jesse now, so let him be.” The men nodded and the General headed across the bay and up a set of open stairs draped in flickering Christmas lights. He entered a second-floor office, shutting the door behind him. The moment the General was out of sight, Chet flipped him the bird.
“Better watch that,” warned the lean, wiry man standing to Chet’s left. Lynyrd Boggs wore a sweat-stained cowboy hat with an eagle’s feather stuck in the band. His father was a big Lynyrd Skynyrd fan, so Lynyrd had the good fortune to have his name misspelled in tribute.
“Fuck,” Chet said. “That son’bitch needs to chill the fuck out. Just because things is shit, don’t mean he’s gotta treat us that way.”
“Pressure’s getting to him, that’s all. I remember not too long back when the General was about the only place you could get your fix around here. Now every tweek-head is brewing their own shit right in their own damn basements. General’s losing ground and in case you ain’t noticed, he ain’t taking it real well.”
“And I don’t care none for this talk of hurting children neither. Ain’t the way we do things around here. Not at all.”
“Rules is changing. These meth heads, they ain’t got no respect for the old ways.”
“Goddamn tweekers,” Chet spat. “Goddamn meth. Fucking ruining everything.”
“Well, that ain’t all. I hear we got some competition.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Been some Charleston boys down here dealing.”
“In Goodhope? You got to be kidding?”
“Wish I was. Overheard the General talking to Dillard. Apparently Dillard caught a few of ’em.”
“Dillard? No shit. Bet that didn’t go so well for ’em.”
“You’d be right on
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