“God won’t help you, Alan. He won’t help either of you.” I turn my attention back to Boris. “I cracked a rib that time, Sobakin. You sure you want me to break another one?”
His breathing is coming in punctured puffs but he still manages a noncommittal shrug. “Do what you see fit.”
His face is already minced meat from last time, but I take my knuckles to it again. Blood spurts and more bones are reduced to dust.
When I finally stop to take a breath, Alan has his face buried under his pillow and Boris’s head is lolling uselessly from his neck. I grab him by his thinning hair and force his face up towards mine. “Are you ready to talk now?”
Boris spits out a mouthful of clotted blood and two destroyed teeth. “What do you want to discuss?” he asks calmly. “The weather? The Lakers game? Catc
