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Scooping my phone off the table, I search for Peter Bodner. “Let’s check your work,” I mutter—doubt he can hear me over all his yelling.

Hmm. I don’t have a face to match it to, but there is an old social media profile with a guy who wore the same cheap-ass watch. He certainly looks like a piece of shit.

“What else can you tell me about his description?” I ask. If I show Steve the photo he’ll just say “That’s him!” I have to make sure I have the right guy. I’m not some monster on a tirade to off a bunch of dudes for the crime of owning tacky watches. I swipe through the photos in the profile, hoping to find more of his bare arm where I noticed a sliver of tattoo in one of the video frames.

“Fuck, I don’t know! I barely even⁠—”

“Any tattoos?” I ask.

“Oh! Oh! His bicep! There’s an eagle on his bicep!”

Just as he says it, the next photo is one of him shirtless on a boat, eagle tattoo on full display. Yup, this is the guy.

“You still have his number in your phone?”

“Maybe? I don’t know.”

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” I pick up another syringe.

“But I don’t know! You have my phone, asshole! You figure it out! Look in my contacts!” he wails as I stick the needle into his arm and push the clear liquid.

“You know the rules.”

“Please! Let me go! I’ll give you everything, just let me go!”

I ignore his begging and bring the video back up on my screen, tilting it toward him. “The old guy. Who is he?”

“Just—” Steve exhales and tries to calm his voice. “Can I just have a second, I can’t think when you—” His voice crescendos as I grab the next one in line.

“When I’m holding it in my hand?” I wave it around. “That’s silly. It’s only dangerous when it’s in your arm. Like this.” I make it look like I’m struggling to locate the vein and switch arms.

“Fucking stop!” he screams, his body trembling.

I release the rubber hosing and his red forearm gradually lightens. He exhales.

“Thank you,” he pants.

I lean over his torso, tying it around his other arm. He jerks, cussing me out again. “What the fuck, bro?”

I give it a few seconds and begin slapping his veins. “Do you think there’s a reason for the vein-tapping thing? I mean, I’ve seen nurses do it, but does this actually do anything?”

“Stop! Stop!”

The syringe pokes into his flesh. “Three syringes of mystery meds, three syringes of meds!” I slowly push down on the plunger. “Take one down, pass it around, two syringes of mystery meds!”

“Jesus fuck! What is wrong with you?”

I blow out a breath. “How much time ya got? I mean, the majority of it boils down to poor coping skills, but—” I scoff, pointing at his track marks. “You get it, am I right?”

“You’re a fucking lunatic.”

I shrug and hit play on the phone again, holding it up to his face. “Okay, the old man’s name is . . . Remember, he likes them young . . . That laughter . . . Familiar, right? Who is he?”

Steve squints hard. “Robert . . . His name is Robert—I need to go through the alphabet to remember his last name!” He mumbles under his breath, “A . . . B . . . C . . . D . . . E . . . F . . . G⁠—”

“Gee, I wish you had more time.” I reach for another syringe, unsure of which one to choose. Only two left. “Eenie, meenie, miney, moe. Catch a tiger . . .” I squeeze my lids shut and snatch up the first one I touch. Steve screams, and his eyes nearly bug out of his head when he watches the needle go in. I push it down.

“Holy shit, dude! If you don’t start choking in the next ninety seconds, you should buy a lottery ticket.”