Picking Stevie up by the throat, I slammed him against the wall, sending his shrine to Crimson Tide football crashing to the floor. I whispered in his ear, “They say pain is how we learn in life, and tonight I’m going to make you a very well educated man!”
Slamming Stevie time and time again against the wall, the back of his head smashed through the plywood paneling. Not satisfied with the result, I decided to try again. This time using Stevie’s ponytail for leverage, I sent him face first through the paneling and straight into a wall stud. I don’t know if it was his face or the wall stud that made the sound (perhaps it was a bit of both), but the cracking sound the impact produced was simply marvelous.
Instantly, Stevie went limp and collapsed to the floor like a pile of dirty laundry. Riving in pain, he desperately reached out for the gun I had knocked from his hand. Watching him crawl inch by painful inch, I could see the hope growing in his eyes. Just as his fingertips reached the grip, I placed my right boot atop his hand. Smiling, I asked, “And just what do you think you’re doing?”
Sobbing wildly, Stevie cried out, “Who are you?! Why are you doing this?!”
Crouching down, with my boot still on his hand, I got nose to nose with Stevie. Staring him dead in the eyes, I whispered, “I am a child of the Devil, and I am here to do my Father’s business. And as to why: go ask your daughter Katie.”