too quick. I may just cut off your legs entirely just to be sure you can’t run. Plus, it’s less of you to
carry. Bad back and all, like I said.
“You see, after I’ve cut you up a bit, I’m going to make you little concrete shoesies for your nubs. Fix
you up with some oxygen and then dump your ass in the river. I don’t want you to drown right away.
That’s what the oxygen is for. I want you to sit down there in the bottom of the river, you and your
little nubs, and I want you to have time to think about how badly you fucked up before you die.”
Snod shivered at the vivid description, his eyes never leaving Rees’ as he replied quietly, “That’s
very creative.”
“Thank you, darling,” Rees laughed, still deceivingly chipper. “Way better than death by robot, right?
Just making things clear is all. Frankie may not like spilling blood, being the sweet little vamper that
he is, but I have no problem. You be good to him, or else it’s nubs time.”
“I understand,” Snod said quickly, trying to frame what he said next very carefully, “My intention is
not to hurt Frankie.”
“Glad to hear it!” Rees purred, clapping Snod on the shoulder. “Now! We got some more busted
furniture that needs bouncing real quick before we open. Let’s get to work.”
Chapter Eleven
Snod’s first night working for Rees was nothing short of eventful.
After he had bounced out the broken furniture Rees wanted gone, Rees had him carry in crates of beer
to put in the cooler behind the bar. A delivery of frozen food arrived next, and Snod had the pleasure
of unloading that as well. He wrinkled his nose up at the frozen hamburger patties and fries,
complaining, “People actually pay you to eat this?”
“Uh, yeah,” Rees snorted as he perched on a stool nearby to supervise. “They get drunk enough, they
don’t care what they eat. Besides, my cook hasn’t been right in the head since he got kicked by this
goat a few years back. Dropping stuff in the fryer or popping it in the microwave is about all he can
handle.”
Snod scoffed in disgust, shaking his head as he finished stocking the last of the so-called food. He
snorted, grumbling, “This isn’t fit to feed dogs.”
“Well, woof woof, sweet thing,” Rees drawled. “I really don’t think it’s that bad.” He paused to
cough, deep from his chest and noisily clearing his throat. “Pardon me. Hmmph. Employees can eat
one meal here a night, so quit complaining, Gordon Ramsay. It’s free.”
