Don Al took in everything Felson had to say - it was an interesting idea. Al could do with refilling the coffers. Transistor had become pretty tight-fisted since Frank disappeared. The sudden increase in his coke supply caused him to become hyper-vigilant. He'd realised how easily his ranks were skimming off the top and he'd got sick of it! Al was clever, he still got what he needed, but the easy freebies just weren't there anymore.

"Mercy? You want us to show him mercy..?" Al questions, unconvinced but giving the idea a chance.

He rises to his feet and walks calmly over to Felson. "Are you alright, kid? You look a bit peaky." Al flicks his cigarette across the room and looks down at his unconscious victim for a few moments. He extends his arm, holding the hammer out at arm's length next to Jones' head as if he were lining up a golf shot. He pulls his arm back and forth a few times, as if getting ready to tee off, before pulling it all the way back and swinging back towards the side of Jones' peaceful head - in slow motion. Just before reaching Jones' head, he taps it ever-so gently against his skull.

"BOOP!" Al squeaks through his lips before breaking into laughter and lowering the hammer.

"Yeah, alright kid... He can live." Al nods. "If we get our money."

Al hands the claw hammer to Felson, swapping it for the extinguished joint. "This shit's pretty good, huh? Seems to keep your head straight on your shoulders." He sticks the joint in his mouth and lights it up, taking a long pull before blowing it in the counsellor's lifeless face.

"Shame though... I was hoping we'd play the shotgun game with his other foot..." Al takes another pull as he wanders around the room, he couldn't stand still for long. "You know... Like... 'I shouldn't have smashed ya toes up, Jones' - BOP!" Al spins, throwing his hand down as if to gesture the collision of the hammer before breaking into laughter.

"Okay.. Enough fuckin' around. You've got an idea, I like the sound of the money, let's go with it. But you have to handle dickhead here... I'm getting too old to be fuckin' around."

Al pulls the joint from his mouth and makes his way back over the Jones, slapping his face a few times.

"Hey, Jonesy!" Al calls out. "Oi" Al stamps on the mangled foot causing the counsellor to startle awake screaming.

"Oh, you're still with us then - good, good. The kid here just saved your fuckin' life! Guess you can still be convincing, eh? You lucky, lucky bastard!" Al grins before heading towards the door. He turns back to face the pair.

"Alright... I'll go get us a car - you sort this cunt out." Al nods at Felson before exiting into the hallway.

Once alone, Don Al takes a deep breath, pulling a few more times from the joint. He saunters down the hallway, muttering to himself as he travels.

"That was pretty fucked up, Al..." His conscience starts to argue. "You could've just beat him up a bit..."

"Nah, fuck him!" Al shrugs as he barges through the next door and into the cold. "He could've just not been a dickhead!" Al chuckles.

"Man... He'll probably never walk again." Al winces, thinking of the mangled foot. "Maybe he'll keep his foot out his mouth, though. Dickhead." Al reached the street, looking around for a vehicle, still making his way through the joint. "Brrr, that's fucking cold tonight!" The alcohol seemed to have worn off but that was likely in his head - he was definitely still drunk.

"What we gonna do if we get to his house and his wife starts creating..." The intrusive thoughts began to creep in again. "I guess we'll have to kill the lot of 'em." Al pauses, realising he's speaking and switching to his inner dialogue.

'But what if there's kids, man...' He sighs. 'Shouldn't hurt kids... It'd be much simpler to just go back and smash his face in, then go rob his house, no chance of anything going wrong. Al stops in his tracks, turning around but remaining in place. 'Maybe just forget the money... Is it really worth it?' Al starts wandering back towards the building. 'Nah... The kids got a plan... Let the kid see his plan out. We'll deal with whatever happens. It'll all work out as it's supposed to. Just let it be.' Al turns back around, shrugging off his thought train. He whistles a tune and begins his search for a vehicle. 

He was calmer now.

The door closed behind Albino. Felson tapped the chisel against the side of his head, eyeing up Mr. Jones, who was sobbing and distraught but conscious. He cocked his head to the side as he looked down at Rupert's foot.

"Shit."

Michael paced in front of the councillor, taking a moment to wrap his head around things and map out his next moves.

Clean up the evidence
Leave quietly

The counselor's cards were picked up and his sock and shoe stuffed into the red metal toolbox.

Felson removed his knife and began cutting the counselor free. He cut and ripped the tape away from his mouth first, then his hands and feet.

While cutting through the last bit, Felson couldn't help but notice all the blood. It made him a little nauseous.

"We need to burn this place down." Felson said matter-of-fact as he strapped his knife back into its holster.

"What?"

The counselor looked exhausted.

"And you'll have to walk."

Michael pulled his jeans down to cover the knife then began looking around for things to use as fuel.

The counselor was labouring with his breathing. He leaned forward in his chair, his head resting in his hands. He lightly chuckled, somehow managing to see humour in his comment.

 "Walk? I can't even feel my right leg.."

Felson found a newspaper and a magazine and started ripping up and tossing pieces of paper onto the desk. 

"Find something to help you walk."

"What?"

Felson stuffed the remainder of the newspaper into the top draw of the desk, grabbed the chisel and gripped a good handful of the counselor's hair. He gave it a tug to expose his neck, then poked the sharp edge into it.

"Listen, I ain't got time for your shit, Rupert. If I say something, you do it."

He pressed the edge into his neck a little harder, just breaking the skin and drawing a little blood.

"Understand?"

Mr. Jones tried not to move his neck muscles while he responded with a sheepish, "Yes."

Felson eased his grip and tossed the chisel into the toolbox.

The counselor used the chair for support and stood up. He was leaning and hopping on his left foot.

"And here I thought you were the good one, Michael."

Felson removed his lighter, flicked it open and ran the flame over a bit of paper. After it lit he used it to flame some others that were on the desk, then dropped it onto the newspaper stuffed into the desk draw.

"There's no good or bad in this life, Jonesy."

Felson moved to the counselor, ducked under his armpit and propped him up.

"Just the living and the dead. Now let's move."

The two moved slowly out of the room, down the hall and back into the foyer. Felson looked back, the counselor's right arm strapped around his neck and shoulders. He could see smoke was starting to waft out through the open door.

They hobbled a little further along until they found themselves at the exit, the same one they used earlier.

"Ready.. to get your ass kicked.. again.. Huh?" The counselor chuckled, then coughed. He winced as pain shot up his right leg from his foot.

One thud. Another. The door popped open.

"Let's go. Albino can't be too far."

With Felson acting as a walking stick and the counselor in a semi-conscious state, they slowly, one step at a time, left the building.

The hours had been creeping by throughout the night's theatrics and Jonesy was only wasting more time with his hobbling. Fortunately, Al was not in the mood to waste any more time and had been quick to source a new set of wheels to replace the Bel Air Bert had taken across the Styx. The Don was clearly enjoying the test drive on his way back to the pair - the skidding could be heard two blocks away. Soon after, the smell of burnt rubber filled the air and suddenly Al came whizzing round the nearest corner in a magnificent yellow VW Beetle with a look of mania plastered across his face.

He stops the car abruptly in front of Felson and his human neck scarf and pokes his head through the window. "Ain't she a fuckin' beauty?!" He beams with pride. "You should check it out in here! It's brand new leather - someone really put the effort in for us! Get in!"

Al slides over the seats and squeezes into the back, catching his long beard under his knee as he shuffles his creaky, old body around in a bid to get comfortable. "Agh! Silly cunt." He giggles at himself before calling out of the open window, "Oi Jonesy - you're driving. Felson's far too stoned for that shit."

"What?! How can I drive? I've..." 

"Did I stutter? Why you gotta find issues with everything all of the time? Get in the fuckin' car. You're driving." Al rolls his eyes, nudging Felson as he jumps in the front passenger seat. "This guy thinks it's a fucking debate, don't he? What's this, a fuckin' town meeting?" The pair giggle among themselves as the counsellor limps around the car, using it for aid before climbing into the driver's seat with an almighty sigh.

"Oh, chill out Jonesy... What're you in a fuckin' mood for? You're alive, aren'tcha?! DOESN'T IT FEEL GOOD TO BE ALIVE, JONESY?!" Al leans forward and flicks the radio on before breaking into dance. "Ahh, this is just what we need... This'll help you relax, you miserable bastard."

The counsellor sits nervously - was this really the same guy who'd just claimed five of his toes? He was too fearful of losing anymore to question his change in character, but he attempted to protest driving all the same. "Albino, how do I drive? I can't feel my foot..."

"What you do, Jonesy, is... You stop using your mouth and you start using your limbs. It's an automatic transmission - how fucking hard can it be? Now hurry the fuck up, before you spoil my good mood." Al glares in the rear view mirror directly at the counsellor - he didn't need to be told twice. As confusing as it was for him, he much preferred Weird Al over Psycho Al.

The drive was not too far but it didn't matter to the two mobsters - they spent most of it laughing and joking. Jones, however, persisted in moaning and groaning the entire journey. Felson had sparked up another joint, passing it round to the right as was customary. Jonesy - being the stoic, straight-laced, boring cunt he was - refused, but Al was certainly destined for the dream realm! How did it take him until his wise old age to discover this wonder drug? What a fuckin' miracle cure this thing could be for crazy old Al! Simply burn a little flower and he could be plain old crazy Al, no temper? He couldn't believe it was that easy. Would it really be that simple?

The car eventually arrived at the richer end of town where most driveways had multiple cars with room to spare for the occasional boat or motorhome. The buildings were more like mansions, with beautiful architecture and massive yards. Jones' place was particularly lavish - his stood directly on the corner, tucked behind a large oak tree in the garden with a huge two-seater swing attached and a large wall surrounding his vast plot land.

"That's cute, counsellor. How many times have you had the ol' woman on there, then?" Al bursts into laughter as they crawl up the driveway in a hope not to wake the neighbours. "Sorry, Jonesy. The wife should really be off limits, eh? I'll leave her out of this." Al leans forward and whispers, "So long as you've got our money."

The counsellor gulps, side-eyeing Albino with caution - what was he thinking bringing this psychopath to his home? All he wanted all night was to be at home with his wife but now all he wanted was to be anywhere else!

"Alright..." Al clears his throat, adopting a more sincere tone as he turns the radio down. "Here's how it's gonna go: I'll wait here with Mr. Donation. Felson, you head inside and get the money. Once we've got it, hop-along here can fuck off home and we'll start planning a holiday. Simple job, in-and-out, no more fuckin' about."

Al leans forward, peering to the left, then to the right. "Little bit of poetry for ya there, I fucking love this herb! Both happy?" Al grins innocently, his blood-shot eyes beginning to droop heavily.

"Now - where's the money, Jones?"

CLICK..SNAP.

"Fuck."

Felson tossed the broken bobby pin over his shoulder. He reached into his pocket for another then jammed it into the lock.

CLICK..CLICK..SNAP.

"FUCK!"

Felson piffed the pin at the door. It bounced off and hit him in the head.  Frustrated, he clenched his fists and tensed the muscles in his face as hard as he could. If the wind changed he'd look like he were taking the hardest, most stubbornest shit. But he kept his mouth shut. Too much noise wasn't the plan..

"In-and-out. No more fucking about. Alright, let's fuckin' do this!"

Felson eyed up the door, readied his shoulder and ran full bolt at it. Lucky Jones' wife was home, as he tripped up the front step and toppled towards the door, which swung open just before impact, the city council worker's wife held onto the handle as Felson flew through and crashed into a hallway table. A vase went airborne, Felson went balls up and the anger management worker's wife quickly closed the door behind him.

CLICK.

She locked the door, dropped her silk black robe and flicked off the lights.

"What took you so long." She said in a sultry whisper as she approached Felson in the pitch black hallway.

Felson had winded himself with his smooth entrance. He let out a painful moan.

"OHHHH YOU BAD BOY!" She belted a leathery whip hard against the wall.

SMACK!

Felson began picking himself up off the tiles when he felt something whip across his ass.

SMACK!

He immediately grabbed his behind and jumped in the air.

"AHHHHH!!"

"Don't talk back to me you naughty little bitch!"

"What the fuck lady?"

"I..."

The sound of her heels clicked against the tiles.

"SAID..."

She took another step.

"SHUT UP!"

SMACK!

The whip slapped hard against Felson's forearm.

"AHHH! CHILL DAMN IT!" He shouted as he rubbed his arm and backed away.

"That's not the magic word, bitch!"

SMACK!

"Fuck you, lady! Hows that for magic words!"

The two were tussling, Felson was trying to push her away and Mrs. Jones kept edging forward feeling about for her after-midnight delight.

"Waaaait. Wait! Where the fucks the money!"

Then silence. It lingered a little before she spoke again.

"What?"

Mrs. Jones had stopped trying to grab Felson. He had froze but kept his ears vigilant for movement.

"What money?"

Her voice had changed. It sounded less lustful and more..soccer mom.

"Your husband sent me?"

Felson sounded relieved. The light flicked on.

Mrs. Jones was standing over Felson and in front of the light switch, which was on the wall behind her.

"He's such a pussy. Come on." She reached out her hand. Mrs. Jones was wearing nothing but a black pair of heels.

"So you know what I'm talking about then?"

Felson was helped to his feet. He checked over the stings his body was feeling as Mrs. Jones picked up her robe and slipped into it.

"He told us he had some money here somewhere. He's in a lot of trouble."

"He's always in trouble." She said as she tied her robe closed.

"He is?"

She rolled her eyes and turned.

"Come on."

Mrs. Jones led Felson down the hallway. They stopped before closed wooden double doors. Each had a pane of textured glass, allowing light in but also keeping prying eyes out. Felson tried peering in. For a moment he'd forgotten the plan.. In.. Out.. No fucking.. Check, still on track.

"It's in there?"

Felson knelt down, removed his knife and jammed it in the gap between the two doors. As he jiggled the knife, his tongue slightly poked out in concentration.

Mrs. Jones slid the door open.

"What are you doing?"

"I just..."

"Come on."

They entered and approached a dimly lit desk. It housed a lamp, a pen in its holder and some closed books. Even in this light Felson could see how shiny this big piece of wood on stumps was. He tugged on a cord and lit up the desk even more.

"Well, then? Your husband might not have much longer."

Felson wasn't really trying any scare tactics. Albino was real, and he was with Mr. Jones, so who knows how many fingers the guy currently had left.

"Yeah, and what do I get out of all of this?"

Mrs. Jones plomped herself down into her husband's chair, crossed her arms and flicked her legs up onto the desk.

"It's not like I need to give you the money, do I."

She uncrossed her arms, slowly leaned forward and waved Felson closer with her finger. Felson couldn't help it, but as he approached, he looked straight at her breasts, which were poking out of her robe.

"So let's work something out. I keep some of the money, you keep some, I say you stole it all, everyone's happy."

Felson's gaze traveled north. Their eyes met.

"Seventy thirty."

"Seventy thirty? Half each. I don't need to tell you anything and my husband deserves all the hell he gets. He cheats on me just as much! "

Felson's eyes drifted south again.

"Hey! Focus!"

They snapped back to hers.

"Sixty forty."

She opened the desk's top draw, removed an envelope and tossed it at Felson. He juggled the catch.

Felson fanned through the contents. He looked at Mrs. Jones, annoyed.

"What? WHAT?! There's fifty thousand dollars there! What's the problem?!"

"Oh no, the amounts fine, lady!"

Felson cut the stack in half and slapped it down on the desk. He then closed and shook the envelope in her face.

"The hell's wrong with you guys!"

"Excuse me?! You just got thirty grand! The hell is wrong with me? What's wrong with YOU!"

She snatched up the bank notes and tucked the loose bundle, and her tits, into her robe.

Felson frantically waved the envelope high in the air as he walked towards the hallway.

"BYE!"

He'd had enough. He kicked over a bin on the way out, or attempted to, and got it stuck on his shoeless foot. He began bouncing around, swearing, kicking, trying to get the damn thing off.

Mrs. Jones stood up. The chair slid out from behind her.

Suddenly the metal bin flew off Felson's foot and hit Mrs. Jones in the head, in the right temple. Her body dropped to the floor.

Felson sighed. Another trip to the pines.

+++

The front door opened again. Out burst Felson, envelope in hand. He nodded towards the car and as he approached he removed a gun from his waistband, aimed and squeezed the trigger. The bullet shattered the car's front windscreen and Mr. Jones' head, splattering brain matter and blood everywhere. The body slowly began sliding down the seat.

Their plan had gone to shit. Felson popped the driver's side door open, tossed the envelope to Albino and began trying to move Mr. Jones a seat over.

Al had started to doze off as he waited for Felson's return. He was fighting back, attempting to keep his eyes open but it'd been an incredibly long day and it was starting to catch up to him. He was lucky Jones hadn't noticed and tried suffocating him in his sleep. Fortunately Felson reappeared at just the right time. The front opening had startled the Don awake. The bullet through the windscreen ensured he was fully present.

"What the fuck?!" Al yelled. "I'm wearing what little brains that cunt had - seriously Sunny?" He looks down at his beard. "Great... Now it needs another wash!" He growled, attempting to clean it by flicking it with his fingers.

Felson marched by and tossed Al the envelope which he promptly opened.

"What the fuck is this?" He flicked through the pictures found inside. His face quickly grew shocked, then appalled, then disgusted. "What the FUCK is this?!" He repeated in a far angrier tone, opening the car door and growling.

"That motherfucker..." He stormed round to the driver's side door and helped Felson drag the body out, dumping Jones on the floor.

Al started screaming at the lifeless corpse. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!" He waved the pictures around as if the dead body could understand.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Al lost his temper and begun stamping on the counsellor's head.

"YOU SICK BASTARD." He continued throwing kicks, swearing and muttering as his breathing grew shallow.

Still agitated, he pulled out a blade strapped to his ankle and dropped to his knees beside Mr. Jones.

"You're a sick cunt, Jonesy... I should've fucking killed you so long ago." Al lost all control and started chucking the blade into the dead man's stomach repeatedly. "SICK. SICK. CUNT." He shouted between the stabbing. After many swipes, he kept the blade in and pulled it upwards, carving open his stomach. The blade was sharp - it didn't take much effort for Al to split him open. Once the incision was complete, he pulled the blade out and tossed it beside him on the ground before grabbing hold of the two flaps of skin either side of the cut he'd just made. Al gritted his teeth and tightened his grip before pulling open his stomach to reveal his innards. He reached in and started pulling the guts out, throwing them around wildly in his mania.

"Animals get gutted, you piece of shit!" He continued to lose touch with reality and started punching the man's organs, creating a mess only seen in horror movies. "Toes?! You were crying 'cause I took your fucking toes?!" He grabbed Jones' face which could hardly be recognised as a face anymore and spat in it. "YOU CARE ABOUT YOUR FUCKING TOES?!" Al grabbed the knife off the ground and started jabbing it into the counsellor's eyes, missing occasionally, poking at his forehead, nose and cheeks. "FUCK YOUR TOES. FUCK YOUR EYES, FUCK YOUR FACE. FUCK YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT."

Don Al left the blade sticking out of the man's face and pushed himself away, landing himself on his arse a few feet from the body.

"Fucking animal..." He huffed, too exhausted to say much more.

It took a while for Al to calm down enough to speak. He just sat there staring at the body with anger plastered across his face. Felson knew not to interrupt him - Al wasn't capable of interaction in one of these moods. He was all instinct, no thought. Instead, Felson had made his way through the start of a joint. He left Al to marinate in his thoughts before walking over and passing him the stick of medicine.

Al was currently incapable of niceties, he didn't thank him. He just took the joint and immediately filled his chest with smoke. His eyes remained fixated on the corpse, he couldn't snap out of it.

"I never liked that cunt. I should've known something weren't right..." He clenched his jaw. The guilt had begun early, he'd started blaming himself.

"All this shit I talk about about keeping your fuckin' eyes open..." He flicked the head of the joint off. "Paying attention. 'Nothing gets past me...'" He took a long pull. "Motherfucker." And released an exhale.

After some time, the cannabis had started taking effect. Al was stoned but he wasn't tired anymore. He was far too pissed off to feel anything but rage. No amount of weed could take that away, but it helped ground him a little. Finally, he rose to his feet and limped back towards the car - those kicks must've reminded him of his injuries sustained earlier when they lost Bert. He picked up the envelope, noticing it had more contents and turned it upside down, pouring a wad of cash into his hand.

"Money, eh?" He looked back at Jones' body. "This isn't nearly enough payment for your sins, you sick cunt. You'll pay in Hell." Al spat at him and passed the joint back to Sunny.

"I'm gonna go for a walk and find a phone. I need to clear my head and we need someone to come and clean this shit up. Meet me a block up around the corner with the car when you're ready. Someone needs to do something about this."

Al tossed the money inside the car and tucked the photos into his coat's inner pocket before leaning down over Jones' body once more. He pulled the blade out and wiped it off as best he could and turned Jones' face to look at him.

"I hope I see you in Hell, you piece of shit... We're not done."

Al disappeared down the driveway and into the street.