slithered off. "Keep that camera rollin', kid. We ain't finished yet."
Not finished? came the aghast thought. What else can you do to her?
Leonard found out in short order when Rocco decapitated the woman with a twelve-inch coping saw. Leonard's teeth ground at the noise, a steady wet gristly gust, rocking back and forth. Then Knuckles seared graffiti lines of char over the rest of her body.
The stench couldn't have been worse now. Burned hair, burned flesh, shit, piss, and death-sweat. Leonard was only able to breathe through wincing hiccups as he tried his best to keep the camera on angle. "Last shot, kid," Rocco instructed. "Get a good closeup."
Rocco detached the strap and ball from the head's mouth, then sat down in a metal chair, his pants down to mid-thigh. At first it appeared that he'd merely placed the scalped head in his lap but in a moment the crucial detail was made obvious. Rocco had inserted his penis into the esophagal entrance where her neck had been severed, and now—
"Ahhhh, " Rocco intoned. "How ya like that, your Honor?"
—he was urinating yet again, only now the urine spewed from the dead girl's mouth. Leonard rolled in the zoom for a close angle shot, then retreated for the final image: Richard Nixon pissing out of a severed head's mouth.
"All right, cut it, kid. Good job." When Leonard turned off the camera, Rocco dropped the head, pulled his pants up, and yanked off the Nixon mask. "We'll be back tomorrow," Rocco said, waving his hand at the stench. "Have the print developed and ready. We want to mail it to the judge soon as possible."
"Uh, right," Leonard affirmed.
Rocco and Knuckles made their exit, leaving Leonard at least with the proud credit of having just made his first official snuff film.
Later, while the film was in the processor, he buried the body and the head in the back yard, and he buried the charnel drop cloth.
The room, though, would continue to stink for weeks to come.
««—»»
Leonard supposed that the above represented the peak of his film-making for the Mob. The rare other "specials" seemed tame by comparison. Though there were some other specials. Occasionally, Rocco would bring up bums, homeless men—"rummies," he called them. Leonard filmed these unfortunate men as the even more unfortunate Sissy and Snowdrop were ordered to perform fellatio on penises that clearly had not been washed in years or even decades. Sagging, mite-infested scrotums raised a stench that even Leonard could smell halfway across the room. And sores, herpes, foreskins laden with smegma were not excuses to desist. "Go on, honey," Rocco ordered Sissy as he watched once. "A little dickcheese ain't gonna hurt ya. Hell, I shoulda brought some Ritz!"
Rocco and Knuckles busted out laughter.
On one occasion, they'd brought up an articulate, cologned mulatto man in his '50s nicknamed "Plugger." Plugger spoke in a tint of a femmy English accent, and was very well-poised. He ran the initial accounting den for Harlem's numbers racket, which Vinchetti's crime family got one-third of. He always wore a tan leisure suit with a chocolate-brown silk shirt, the collar out. Yet the front of his pants seemed... stuffed with something.
Leonard saw with what when Plugger took his pants off.
"Ain't that somethin', kid?" Rocco remarked, a smile in his eye.
Plugger had a very rare disease syndrome known as endogenitalitis with resultant "counter hypogonadism." And pituitary irregularity combined with an inability to regulate zinc oxide metabolites from infancy to pre-adolescence caused this bizarre affliction which struck only one in ten million. Ninety percent of all male sufferers died by the age of eleven, while ninety- nine percent of females died. What the syndrome entailed exactly was a hyper-accelerated growth of the sex organs. They essentially never stopped growing.
Hence was Plugger, a rare survivor. By age 50, the syndrome had turned his penis and gonads into things that scarcely looked as
Not finished? came the aghast thought. What else can you do to her?
Leonard found out in short order when Rocco decapitated the woman with a twelve-inch coping saw. Leonard's teeth ground at the noise, a steady wet gristly gust, rocking back and forth. Then Knuckles seared graffiti lines of char over the rest of her body.
The stench couldn't have been worse now. Burned hair, burned flesh, shit, piss, and death-sweat. Leonard was only able to breathe through wincing hiccups as he tried his best to keep the camera on angle. "Last shot, kid," Rocco instructed. "Get a good closeup."
Rocco detached the strap and ball from the head's mouth, then sat down in a metal chair, his pants down to mid-thigh. At first it appeared that he'd merely placed the scalped head in his lap but in a moment the crucial detail was made obvious. Rocco had inserted his penis into the esophagal entrance where her neck had been severed, and now—
"Ahhhh, " Rocco intoned. "How ya like that, your Honor?"
—he was urinating yet again, only now the urine spewed from the dead girl's mouth. Leonard rolled in the zoom for a close angle shot, then retreated for the final image: Richard Nixon pissing out of a severed head's mouth.
"All right, cut it, kid. Good job." When Leonard turned off the camera, Rocco dropped the head, pulled his pants up, and yanked off the Nixon mask. "We'll be back tomorrow," Rocco said, waving his hand at the stench. "Have the print developed and ready. We want to mail it to the judge soon as possible."
"Uh, right," Leonard affirmed.
Rocco and Knuckles made their exit, leaving Leonard at least with the proud credit of having just made his first official snuff film.
Later, while the film was in the processor, he buried the body and the head in the back yard, and he buried the charnel drop cloth.
The room, though, would continue to stink for weeks to come.
««—»»
Leonard supposed that the above represented the peak of his film-making for the Mob. The rare other "specials" seemed tame by comparison. Though there were some other specials. Occasionally, Rocco would bring up bums, homeless men—"rummies," he called them. Leonard filmed these unfortunate men as the even more unfortunate Sissy and Snowdrop were ordered to perform fellatio on penises that clearly had not been washed in years or even decades. Sagging, mite-infested scrotums raised a stench that even Leonard could smell halfway across the room. And sores, herpes, foreskins laden with smegma were not excuses to desist. "Go on, honey," Rocco ordered Sissy as he watched once. "A little dickcheese ain't gonna hurt ya. Hell, I shoulda brought some Ritz!"
Rocco and Knuckles busted out laughter.
On one occasion, they'd brought up an articulate, cologned mulatto man in his '50s nicknamed "Plugger." Plugger spoke in a tint of a femmy English accent, and was very well-poised. He ran the initial accounting den for Harlem's numbers racket, which Vinchetti's crime family got one-third of. He always wore a tan leisure suit with a chocolate-brown silk shirt, the collar out. Yet the front of his pants seemed... stuffed with something.
Leonard saw with what when Plugger took his pants off.
"Ain't that somethin', kid?" Rocco remarked, a smile in his eye.
Plugger had a very rare disease syndrome known as endogenitalitis with resultant "counter hypogonadism." And pituitary irregularity combined with an inability to regulate zinc oxide metabolites from infancy to pre-adolescence caused this bizarre affliction which struck only one in ten million. Ninety percent of all male sufferers died by the age of eleven, while ninety- nine percent of females died. What the syndrome entailed exactly was a hyper-accelerated growth of the sex organs. They essentially never stopped growing.
Hence was Plugger, a rare survivor. By age 50, the syndrome had turned his penis and gonads into things that scarcely looked as
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