My Revenge

It was well after two in the morning when I sneaked into the barn where Jim lives like a hillbilly monk. I creeped around the place trying not to wake him up, fearful that he still kept a loaded pistol under his pillow from the days when Squattsy and Dudie used to show up drunk at all hours of the night demanding that he "put on a show" for them.

Tying him up didn't take any time at all, and by the time he awakened, I already had his mouth covered in duct tape (the good kind, not the kind you can chew through if you're determined enough) and he had been rendered completely immobile.

After I whacked him once with a teflon skillet, I stopped.

It was just no fun.

So I called Sonny and told him to come and cut Jim loose from the ropes that were knotted all around his body. Then I grabbed his advanced reader's copy of Mason & Dixon (shrink-wrapped; I know it's worth at least $500) and ran like a bat out of hell.

I had to go home and wait for him.

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