Carter wished he had listened to Mitchell when he told him to stay away from Norman and his gang. Now that it was too late, Carter wished he’d done a lot of things differently.
Carter never cared much for prayer, always believing he controlled his own destiny, but now he was praying. Every prayer he remembered his grandmother reciting when he was younger, and any he had heard on television or otherwise ran through his head.
He hoped somebody up there was listening because the way he had it figured, he’d be up there with them any minute now.
“Whoo wee, boys, this is gonna be fun,” Norman said to the motley crew surrounding him and Carter in the abandoned warehouse.
“Sure is, boss, sure is,” Tucker replied.
Tucker always agreed with Norman. Anyone who worked with Norman and didn’t agree with him found himself missing teeth or worse.
“Please,” Carter begged, “just let me go. I’ll never bother you again.”
“Oh, I know you’re not gonna be bothering me again,” Norman said.
Carter’s bladder let loose when Norman pulled a gun out of his back pocket. The others laughed, but Carter was beyond pride by that point.
“No!” Carter screamed when Norman held the gun to his head.
“Oh, yes,” Norman pulled the gun back and replied. He smiled. “Me and the boys ain’t had any fun in a while,” Norman told Carter, twirling the gun on his finger. “I figure it’s about time for some.”
The others all agreed and gathered tighter around Carter who tried to loosen the ropes holding him to the chair to no avail. The harder he pulled, the tighter the knots became.
“You wanna play a game with us, boy?” Norman asked. “Answer me,” he demanded and slapped Carter.
“No,” Carter replied.
“No?” Norman asked. “Why not? Don’t you like games?”
“I’ve never been very good at them,” Carter answered.
“Maybe tonight’s your night then,” Norman said, pressed the barrel of the gun against Carter’s head, and rolled the cylinder. “Are you feeling lucky tonight, Son?”