Snow Blind
Just a bit of drabble. I'm strangely fascinated with there being two Murderfaces.
Charles ran. He sprinted down the corridor, leaving behind Gears and guides alike. Someone called after him that he didn’t know where he was headed, but Charles ignored them. He paused at the end hall. Just on the cusp of hearing, faint words reached his ears.
“ . . . and I guessh it wash January when the wolvesh dug into our cabin. Let me tell you, we were happy to shee thoshe fuckersh. It wash the firsht fresh meat we’d eaten in a month!”
There were some noises of amazement, but Charles was already pelting down the hallway towards the familiar lisp. The manager burst into the room.
A few Alaska state troopers were clustered around a table. It was laden with steak and potatoes and a slice of apple pie. Tearing into the meal was . . .
“William!” Charles cried.
Dethklok’s bass player looked like hell. His signature mustache had been lost in a full beard and his blunt cut triangle hair had grown out. Even with the shaggy beard and long hair, Charles could tell William was far too thin. One might even use the word ‘emaciated’.
Nine months lost in the wilds of Alaska had done what no diet plan ever could.
In spite of this, Murderface looked to be in good spirits.
“Charlesh!”
Still chewing, the bass player jumped up with his arms held open. Charles rushed forward and hugged his wayward head banger.
“Bet you never thought you’d shee me again!” William announced cheerfully.
Charles couldn’t say anything. He clutched Murderface tightly, feeling bones where there used to be fat. The relief was greater than anything he’d ever felt. A few quiet sobs burst out past his lips.
“Oh my god, you’re sho gay,” William said, rubbing his back.
There was real warmth in the bass player’s voice. After a few minutes, Charles managed to compose himself.
“William, how-“
“The troopersh gave me shome mooshe shteak. You want shome? It’sh pretty good,” Murderface said, gesturing to the table.
“N-no, I . . . uh . . . I think you should eat it,” Charles stated, wiping his eyes.
“I’m gettin’ full to tell the truth.”
“Shrunken stomach,” one of the troopers said. “It happens a lot in starvation cases.”
“William, how-“
“The float plane had t’ land becaushe of the shtorm,” Murderface said, pulling the apple pie towards himself. “The pilot knew where an old hunting lodge wash, but by th’ time we rode out th’ storm, th’ lake wash frozen over and the pontoonsh were stuck in the icshe. We had to schpend the winter in the cabin and wait for the icshe to thaw. Shtayin’ warm wash hard enough, and we shtarted running out of food the lasht two monthsh.”
“He found a decent way to stay warm,” one of the troopers muttered, which prompted a round of laughter.
“Ah . . . . what?”
William grimaced and fiddled with his fork.
“I . . . uh . . . I kinda knocked up the pilot,” he admitted.
Charles couldn’t help it; he started laughing. It was just such a Dethklok reaction. Stuck in the Alaskan wilderness? Limited supplies? Only one other person in a thousand miles? Have sex with the pilot! It was just too perfect!
“She didn’t shign a waiver,” Murderface admitted. “You mad?”
“No,” Charles chuckled. “It’s fine, William, it’s perfectly fine.”
“I . . . uh . . . kinda told her I’d marry her,” the bass player continued.
Charles nodded. Engagements were broken all the time, even without the stress of life-threatening situations.
“Don’t worry, William, I’ll take care of everything.”
“That remindsh me!” Murderface pulled an envelope out of his coat and put it on the table in front of Charles. “That’sh my new will. I wrote it when I wash out there.”
Charles’ good mood suddenly plummeted. He unfolded the piece of paper and read through it. The dissemination of William’s personal effects was the same - his medieval weaponry to Nathan, music collection to Pickles, guitars to Skwisgaar, cars to Toki, and books to Charles - but he wanted his money to go to the pilot and her as yet unborn baby. The manager was suddenly struck with how many times this past winter he’d been sitting in front of a roaring fire with a full belly. Every time he’d felt warm and full and satisfied, William had been huddled in a cold cabin, wondering if the food would hold out, and planning for his own death. Guilt wracked Offdensen. He was supposed to take care of his boys and he had failed miserably.
“She is in shockingly good health!” A new voice announced. “We’ll have to wait and see on the baby.”
The men turned to see a doctor walking into the room with a small woman by his side. The woman was . . . . oh dear God, she was pregnant. She was really pregnant. She wasn’t as thin as William, but Charles liked to see a pregnant woman a good deal heavier. Someone had given her clean clothes and her red hair was still damp from a shower. She waddled towards the table with a smile.
“Mr . . . . ah . . . . William, it is your turn,” the doctor said.
Murderface got up and grabbed the plate with moose steak on it.
“Here, eat this,” he ordered, shoving it towards the woman.
“There’s enough t’ go around now; you eat it!” she returned.
“I like to watch you eat,” William stated.
The exchange was casual, but Charles felt his stomach churn. Now it became obvious why she looked better than William - at some point Murderface decided to cut back on his own rations to provide more calories to his pregnant lover. It also explained why he thought he would die in the wilderness, but could still leave his money to the pilot and her baby. It was so out of character and . . . somehow horribly adult that it made Charles sad.
“Thish is Charlesh. He’sh gonna take care of everything. I gotta get checked out.”
Murderface leaned down and gave her a kiss on the lips, then walked towards the doctor.
“Oh! Get her a real ring, too, Charlesh!” he called.
“No! I like this one!” the woman protested.
Charles looked down to see a ring made of a few white stones strung together on - no, not white stones. Teeth. She had a ring of small white teeth. A single fang served the purpose of a diamond on traditional engagement rings.
“Are . . . ah . . . are those--?”
“Wolf teeth,” she answered. “I have the most metal ring ever.”
“Well . . . ah . . . how about we get it set in gold?”
The woman considered this, toying with her ring.
“Make it steel,” she finally said. “Will an’ I are too strong for gold.”
No wonder William liked her.
“So . . . he is William Murderface?” One of the state troopers asked, pointing at the door. “I thought we already found him.”
Everyone in the room took a step back at the look on Charles’ face.
“So did I,” he snarled.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
As far as the public knew, William Murderface had been lost in a blizzard in Alaska for five days. He had gone in search of Nathan and Toki, who had gotten lost on Kodiak Island while unsuccessfully hunting for bear. Nathan and Toki were retrieved without issue, but the float plane Murderface was on had gone down in the storm. A week later, search and rescue had found William fifty miles from his last known location, suffering from horrific frostbite and barely alive. The bass player had lost all his fingers and toes, part of his feet, and parts of his nose and chin. Plastic surgery had more or less put his face back together, but he had played his last guitar.
Dethklok kept him on as part of the band because what were they supposed to do? Kick him out just because he couldn’t play anymore? That was a shitty thing to do and also they edited all his tracks out anyway so it didn’t really make a difference in the songs. William was set for life because his hands had been insured for an obscene amount of money.
Personality-wise, Murderface took a turn for the dark and nasty. He had never been a ray of sunshine to begin with, but now even the rest of the band was half-afraid of him. There had been several . . . situations with prostitutes. Charles had smoothed things over and taken care of the hospital bills, but he had warned the escort services not to take Murderface’s calls anymore.
Any time someone tried to call him on his behavior, William would wave his stumps at them and scream: ‘I losht my hands!’
Dethklok was starting to accept that their bass player was a total monster when Charles came into the meeting room whistling.
“Why are you so fucking happy?” Nathan asked.
“Well, it’s a . . . . uh . . . a good day, Nathan,” Charles answered. “Lots of good news. William, I have your insurance check and a few more things to sign.”
‘William’ fumbled for the stamp pad he used to sign his documents. He slammed the stamp down on his insurance check, but frowned at the other papers Charles set before him.
“What’sh thish other shit?”
“Well, this one is the official version of your new will and . . . ah . . . this is . . . your prenuptial agreement,” Charles said, pointing.
“New will? Prenup?” ‘William’ echoed, giving Charles a bewildered look.
The plastic surgeons had done their best, but his face was still off. Charles realized that while the man looked similar, he never would have passed for William without the excuse of frostbite. Maybe he would have made a decent double. He even had the same tattoos, but you could buy those. They couldn’t run his prints because his fingers had dropped off. Charles hadn’t even considered running DNA.
‘I wanted him back so badly I forgave the inconsistencies. You bastard, I stopped looking for William because I found you,’ Charles thought.
Outwardly, he gave a pleasant smile.
“Why . . . ah . . . yes, we found the will you wrote while you were lost in Alaska. Don’t you . . . ah . . . remember writing a new will when you . . . ah . . . when you thought you were going to die?”
“Oh. Ah . . . yeah, I mushta forgot about that. ‘Caushe I was dying!” ‘William’ slammed the stamp down on the paper, then used his wrist to drag the prenuptial agreement closer. “Who the fuck ish ‘Dixie Marie Dunlap’ and why the fuck do you think I’m marrying her?!”
“You don’t remember Miss Dunlap? You must remember her. She was the pilot of your float plane. The one . . .ah . . . the one you said died.”
‘William’ drew back from the paper. He was smarter than the man he was trying to be, because he could see things starting to unravel. The real William would have continued to plug along on outright denial.
“In fact, your . . . ah . . . . affianced flew in from Alaska this morning. Would . . . ah . . . would you boys like to meet her?”
Without waiting for an answer, Dixie came in through the door, draped in wolf skins.
“Hey ya’ll!”
Dethklok stared at the new arrival. Except for the bass player. He continued to stare at Charles. Charles stared back. There was a small part of him that was taken aback by the delight he found in seeing that stark, mortal fear in ‘William’s eyes.
But it was a very small part.
“Um . . . hi,” Nathan muttered. “Nice . . . uh . . . nice wolf furs.”
“These? Yeah, Will killed ‘em for me. We was holed up in a cabin an’ things got so bad hungry wolves tried t’ get in! But we was hungrier. See, you can see where the axe cut this one’s head off.”
“That’s pretty metal,” Nathan said in admiration.
“Wait a minute . . . Murderface didn’t find a cabin . . .” Pickles said.
“Yeah, he did!” Dixie protested. “Don’tcha remember, Will?”
‘Will’ flicked a nervous glance at her.
“Well, surely you remember after th’ wolf was all gone we trekked out to th’ old bear cave and found a sow an’ her cubs hibernatin’ an’ we killed an’ ate them, too? Killing them was the easy part,” Dixie announced. “The hard part was getting’ th’ mama back to the cabin. Cubs wasn’t too hard.”
“Joo eatted de babies?” Toki asked in horror.
“Better her babies than ours!” The redhead declared.
“What babies?!” Pickles yelped.
Dixie pushed back the wolf furs, revealing her very swollen stomach.
“You gonna tell me you don’t remember this, either?” she asked ‘William’.
The bass player seemed frozen on the spot. He could try to run; he had his good prosthetic feet on. He could make it through these idiots and the knocked up slut but Offdensen still stood at his side. That man wouldn’t let him out of Mordhaus alive.
“’Cause I know I did all them things with William Murderface,” Dixie said. “So I guess th’ real question is: who th’ fuck are you?”
William Murderface kicked the door in. At Charles’ insistence, the newly found pair stayed in Alaska for two weeks to build up their strength. He didn’t want anything softening the bass player’s rage.
“Nine fucking months, you cocksucker!!” William roared. “I thought I was gonna die for nine fucking months!”
The imposter lunged out of his seat, leaving his vest behind when Charles grabbed it.
“You nots de real Murdersface?” Toki asked the man as he rushed by.
“The shit we put up with and you weren’t even you?!” Nathan thundered, rising from his seat.
“We stopped searching for William because we found you,” Charles hissed, slinging the discarded vest away.
“Everybody fuckin’ back off!” William snarled. “Thish asshole’s mine!”
Again, Charles felt the tiniest twinge of regret that he could be so happy about watching an able-bodied man beat an amputee to within an inch of his life. But he drank some brandy and that shit went away.
Later, there would investigations and announcements and fights with the insurance company. He’d have to come up with some plausible deniability about where the William imposter disappeared to. Charles had ordered the Gears in the dungeon to really work some magic on that sack of shit. The CFO wanted him to last for months.
The public would have to be let in on the fact that William Murderface was back and whole. But that could wait. It waited for another week, which was long enough to plan and perform a small wedding ceremony in one of the pine forests surrounding Mordhaus. It was just an intimate little affair with close friends and also Dr. Rockszo, who showed up as a surprise guest. He wasn’t the only one, as Dixie went into labor at the reception and delivered a healthy baby girl.
Now winter was closing in on Mordhaus again. Charles had his family back together, plus a couple of extras. The manager put his feet up before a roaring fire, sipped a hot toddy, and turned on the intercom so he could hear the screams of the man who had nearly robbed him of one of his boys forever.
Life was good.
Charles ran. He sprinted down the corridor, leaving behind Gears and guides alike. Someone called after him that he didn’t know where he was headed, but Charles ignored them. He paused at the end hall. Just on the cusp of hearing, faint words reached his ears.
“ . . . and I guessh it wash January when the wolvesh dug into our cabin. Let me tell you, we were happy to shee thoshe fuckersh. It wash the firsht fresh meat we’d eaten in a month!”
There were some noises of amazement, but Charles was already pelting down the hallway towards the familiar lisp. The manager burst into the room.
A few Alaska state troopers were clustered around a table. It was laden with steak and potatoes and a slice of apple pie. Tearing into the meal was . . .
“William!” Charles cried.
Dethklok’s bass player looked like hell. His signature mustache had been lost in a full beard and his blunt cut triangle hair had grown out. Even with the shaggy beard and long hair, Charles could tell William was far too thin. One might even use the word ‘emaciated’.
Nine months lost in the wilds of Alaska had done what no diet plan ever could.
In spite of this, Murderface looked to be in good spirits.
“Charlesh!”
Still chewing, the bass player jumped up with his arms held open. Charles rushed forward and hugged his wayward head banger.
“Bet you never thought you’d shee me again!” William announced cheerfully.
Charles couldn’t say anything. He clutched Murderface tightly, feeling bones where there used to be fat. The relief was greater than anything he’d ever felt. A few quiet sobs burst out past his lips.
“Oh my god, you’re sho gay,” William said, rubbing his back.
There was real warmth in the bass player’s voice. After a few minutes, Charles managed to compose himself.
“William, how-“
“The troopersh gave me shome mooshe shteak. You want shome? It’sh pretty good,” Murderface said, gesturing to the table.
“N-no, I . . . uh . . . I think you should eat it,” Charles stated, wiping his eyes.
“I’m gettin’ full to tell the truth.”
“Shrunken stomach,” one of the troopers said. “It happens a lot in starvation cases.”
“William, how-“
“The float plane had t’ land becaushe of the shtorm,” Murderface said, pulling the apple pie towards himself. “The pilot knew where an old hunting lodge wash, but by th’ time we rode out th’ storm, th’ lake wash frozen over and the pontoonsh were stuck in the icshe. We had to schpend the winter in the cabin and wait for the icshe to thaw. Shtayin’ warm wash hard enough, and we shtarted running out of food the lasht two monthsh.”
“He found a decent way to stay warm,” one of the troopers muttered, which prompted a round of laughter.
“Ah . . . . what?”
William grimaced and fiddled with his fork.
“I . . . uh . . . I kinda knocked up the pilot,” he admitted.
Charles couldn’t help it; he started laughing. It was just such a Dethklok reaction. Stuck in the Alaskan wilderness? Limited supplies? Only one other person in a thousand miles? Have sex with the pilot! It was just too perfect!
“She didn’t shign a waiver,” Murderface admitted. “You mad?”
“No,” Charles chuckled. “It’s fine, William, it’s perfectly fine.”
“I . . . uh . . . kinda told her I’d marry her,” the bass player continued.
Charles nodded. Engagements were broken all the time, even without the stress of life-threatening situations.
“Don’t worry, William, I’ll take care of everything.”
“That remindsh me!” Murderface pulled an envelope out of his coat and put it on the table in front of Charles. “That’sh my new will. I wrote it when I wash out there.”
Charles’ good mood suddenly plummeted. He unfolded the piece of paper and read through it. The dissemination of William’s personal effects was the same - his medieval weaponry to Nathan, music collection to Pickles, guitars to Skwisgaar, cars to Toki, and books to Charles - but he wanted his money to go to the pilot and her as yet unborn baby. The manager was suddenly struck with how many times this past winter he’d been sitting in front of a roaring fire with a full belly. Every time he’d felt warm and full and satisfied, William had been huddled in a cold cabin, wondering if the food would hold out, and planning for his own death. Guilt wracked Offdensen. He was supposed to take care of his boys and he had failed miserably.
“She is in shockingly good health!” A new voice announced. “We’ll have to wait and see on the baby.”
The men turned to see a doctor walking into the room with a small woman by his side. The woman was . . . . oh dear God, she was pregnant. She was really pregnant. She wasn’t as thin as William, but Charles liked to see a pregnant woman a good deal heavier. Someone had given her clean clothes and her red hair was still damp from a shower. She waddled towards the table with a smile.
“Mr . . . . ah . . . . William, it is your turn,” the doctor said.
Murderface got up and grabbed the plate with moose steak on it.
“Here, eat this,” he ordered, shoving it towards the woman.
“There’s enough t’ go around now; you eat it!” she returned.
“I like to watch you eat,” William stated.
The exchange was casual, but Charles felt his stomach churn. Now it became obvious why she looked better than William - at some point Murderface decided to cut back on his own rations to provide more calories to his pregnant lover. It also explained why he thought he would die in the wilderness, but could still leave his money to the pilot and her baby. It was so out of character and . . . somehow horribly adult that it made Charles sad.
“Thish is Charlesh. He’sh gonna take care of everything. I gotta get checked out.”
Murderface leaned down and gave her a kiss on the lips, then walked towards the doctor.
“Oh! Get her a real ring, too, Charlesh!” he called.
“No! I like this one!” the woman protested.
Charles looked down to see a ring made of a few white stones strung together on - no, not white stones. Teeth. She had a ring of small white teeth. A single fang served the purpose of a diamond on traditional engagement rings.
“Are . . . ah . . . are those--?”
“Wolf teeth,” she answered. “I have the most metal ring ever.”
“Well . . . ah . . . how about we get it set in gold?”
The woman considered this, toying with her ring.
“Make it steel,” she finally said. “Will an’ I are too strong for gold.”
No wonder William liked her.
“So . . . he is William Murderface?” One of the state troopers asked, pointing at the door. “I thought we already found him.”
Everyone in the room took a step back at the look on Charles’ face.
“So did I,” he snarled.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
As far as the public knew, William Murderface had been lost in a blizzard in Alaska for five days. He had gone in search of Nathan and Toki, who had gotten lost on Kodiak Island while unsuccessfully hunting for bear. Nathan and Toki were retrieved without issue, but the float plane Murderface was on had gone down in the storm. A week later, search and rescue had found William fifty miles from his last known location, suffering from horrific frostbite and barely alive. The bass player had lost all his fingers and toes, part of his feet, and parts of his nose and chin. Plastic surgery had more or less put his face back together, but he had played his last guitar.
Dethklok kept him on as part of the band because what were they supposed to do? Kick him out just because he couldn’t play anymore? That was a shitty thing to do and also they edited all his tracks out anyway so it didn’t really make a difference in the songs. William was set for life because his hands had been insured for an obscene amount of money.
Personality-wise, Murderface took a turn for the dark and nasty. He had never been a ray of sunshine to begin with, but now even the rest of the band was half-afraid of him. There had been several . . . situations with prostitutes. Charles had smoothed things over and taken care of the hospital bills, but he had warned the escort services not to take Murderface’s calls anymore.
Any time someone tried to call him on his behavior, William would wave his stumps at them and scream: ‘I losht my hands!’
Dethklok was starting to accept that their bass player was a total monster when Charles came into the meeting room whistling.
“Why are you so fucking happy?” Nathan asked.
“Well, it’s a . . . . uh . . . a good day, Nathan,” Charles answered. “Lots of good news. William, I have your insurance check and a few more things to sign.”
‘William’ fumbled for the stamp pad he used to sign his documents. He slammed the stamp down on his insurance check, but frowned at the other papers Charles set before him.
“What’sh thish other shit?”
“Well, this one is the official version of your new will and . . . ah . . . this is . . . your prenuptial agreement,” Charles said, pointing.
“New will? Prenup?” ‘William’ echoed, giving Charles a bewildered look.
The plastic surgeons had done their best, but his face was still off. Charles realized that while the man looked similar, he never would have passed for William without the excuse of frostbite. Maybe he would have made a decent double. He even had the same tattoos, but you could buy those. They couldn’t run his prints because his fingers had dropped off. Charles hadn’t even considered running DNA.
‘I wanted him back so badly I forgave the inconsistencies. You bastard, I stopped looking for William because I found you,’ Charles thought.
Outwardly, he gave a pleasant smile.
“Why . . . ah . . . yes, we found the will you wrote while you were lost in Alaska. Don’t you . . . ah . . . remember writing a new will when you . . . ah . . . when you thought you were going to die?”
“Oh. Ah . . . yeah, I mushta forgot about that. ‘Caushe I was dying!” ‘William’ slammed the stamp down on the paper, then used his wrist to drag the prenuptial agreement closer. “Who the fuck ish ‘Dixie Marie Dunlap’ and why the fuck do you think I’m marrying her?!”
“You don’t remember Miss Dunlap? You must remember her. She was the pilot of your float plane. The one . . .ah . . . the one you said died.”
‘William’ drew back from the paper. He was smarter than the man he was trying to be, because he could see things starting to unravel. The real William would have continued to plug along on outright denial.
“In fact, your . . . ah . . . . affianced flew in from Alaska this morning. Would . . . ah . . . would you boys like to meet her?”
Without waiting for an answer, Dixie came in through the door, draped in wolf skins.
“Hey ya’ll!”
Dethklok stared at the new arrival. Except for the bass player. He continued to stare at Charles. Charles stared back. There was a small part of him that was taken aback by the delight he found in seeing that stark, mortal fear in ‘William’s eyes.
But it was a very small part.
“Um . . . hi,” Nathan muttered. “Nice . . . uh . . . nice wolf furs.”
“These? Yeah, Will killed ‘em for me. We was holed up in a cabin an’ things got so bad hungry wolves tried t’ get in! But we was hungrier. See, you can see where the axe cut this one’s head off.”
“That’s pretty metal,” Nathan said in admiration.
“Wait a minute . . . Murderface didn’t find a cabin . . .” Pickles said.
“Yeah, he did!” Dixie protested. “Don’tcha remember, Will?”
‘Will’ flicked a nervous glance at her.
“Well, surely you remember after th’ wolf was all gone we trekked out to th’ old bear cave and found a sow an’ her cubs hibernatin’ an’ we killed an’ ate them, too? Killing them was the easy part,” Dixie announced. “The hard part was getting’ th’ mama back to the cabin. Cubs wasn’t too hard.”
“Joo eatted de babies?” Toki asked in horror.
“Better her babies than ours!” The redhead declared.
“What babies?!” Pickles yelped.
Dixie pushed back the wolf furs, revealing her very swollen stomach.
“You gonna tell me you don’t remember this, either?” she asked ‘William’.
The bass player seemed frozen on the spot. He could try to run; he had his good prosthetic feet on. He could make it through these idiots and the knocked up slut but Offdensen still stood at his side. That man wouldn’t let him out of Mordhaus alive.
“’Cause I know I did all them things with William Murderface,” Dixie said. “So I guess th’ real question is: who th’ fuck are you?”
William Murderface kicked the door in. At Charles’ insistence, the newly found pair stayed in Alaska for two weeks to build up their strength. He didn’t want anything softening the bass player’s rage.
“Nine fucking months, you cocksucker!!” William roared. “I thought I was gonna die for nine fucking months!”
The imposter lunged out of his seat, leaving his vest behind when Charles grabbed it.
“You nots de real Murdersface?” Toki asked the man as he rushed by.
“The shit we put up with and you weren’t even you?!” Nathan thundered, rising from his seat.
“We stopped searching for William because we found you,” Charles hissed, slinging the discarded vest away.
“Everybody fuckin’ back off!” William snarled. “Thish asshole’s mine!”
Again, Charles felt the tiniest twinge of regret that he could be so happy about watching an able-bodied man beat an amputee to within an inch of his life. But he drank some brandy and that shit went away.
Later, there would investigations and announcements and fights with the insurance company. He’d have to come up with some plausible deniability about where the William imposter disappeared to. Charles had ordered the Gears in the dungeon to really work some magic on that sack of shit. The CFO wanted him to last for months.
The public would have to be let in on the fact that William Murderface was back and whole. But that could wait. It waited for another week, which was long enough to plan and perform a small wedding ceremony in one of the pine forests surrounding Mordhaus. It was just an intimate little affair with close friends and also Dr. Rockszo, who showed up as a surprise guest. He wasn’t the only one, as Dixie went into labor at the reception and delivered a healthy baby girl.
Now winter was closing in on Mordhaus again. Charles had his family back together, plus a couple of extras. The manager put his feet up before a roaring fire, sipped a hot toddy, and turned on the intercom so he could hear the screams of the man who had nearly robbed him of one of his boys forever.
Life was good.