HighPitchEric is tied to a chair in the cellar of a rival's warehouse on the outskirts of Las Vegas.  Eric has been blindfolded and badly beaten with wrenches and closed fists.  These men want to know the location of FitzChivalry's stash house and they mean business.

"Where's he keeping the money, Eric you slob??" shouts one of them men.  Eric's head is throbbing with dull pain, he can feel his own face swelling.  The wrench has taken more than several of his teeth out, or at least part of several of his teeth.  A tartar shell remains where pieces of his teeth once were, the exposed nerve ending shooting sharp pains up his temple as the air strikes it like a dagger.  They have been working himover for a few hours now.  Has it been a few hours?  He isn't sure any more. 

"He's not talking.  Move onto the toes Boss?"

"Yeah" replies a menacing voice.  They had been threatening to remove his toes now for some time if he didn't start talking.  He had managed to hold out until now.  Somebody has grabbed ahold of his legs are are pulling his shoes off, peeling his socks off of his sweaty feet

"God damn these socks smell disgusting.  Gag his mouth with them."

HighPitchEric's mouth is suddenly forced open as his own socks are stuffed into it, the sweat and coarseness of the material making him whimper in agony as they touch his exposed roots of his shattered teeth.  His eyes flood with tears.

"Start with the big toe.  Rip off his toenail first though"

"Jesus why is his toenail green?"

Eric's groan is muffled by his sock gag as a pair of pliers is wedged between his toenail and the fleshy part of his toe underneath the nail, the rust opening up the sensitive skin as the nail is ripped out.  Even with the blindfold, Eric is blinded by a sensation of whiteness as she shrieks, gagging on the stench and taste of his own socks. 

"Last chance, Eric"  Eric shakes his head no violently.  He feels the bolt cutters being applied to his big toe followed by the sickening sound of a branch snapping as the cutter cut through the bone.  A hand reaches into his mouth and removes the sock gag, threads catching onto his broken teeth as it is yanked out.

"OH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" Eric yells in his odd and bizarre high-pitched voice.  The kidnappers pause to look at each other and burst out laughing.  They laugh and they laugh.  In fact, everyone in the basement is laughing and having a great time.  Everyone except HighPitchEric.

Disorder didn't especially enjoy running. No more than anyone, he supposed as he padded along. 'I guess everyone enjoys something until they don't.' he thought to himself. 'People like all kinds of strange things. Far stranger than running until you want to be sick anyway. Especially with a gun in your pants! I mean, there can't be many fighters that have to carry a weapon every time they're outside.' He carried on along The Strip and out toward the more industrial parts of Vegas that tourists never went to. The warehouses and supply businesses were the unseen backbone that kept Vegas' neon flashing body, standing. Disorder was used to this route now, he paced around familiar blocks, through familiar car parks and past familiar warehouses. Until he heard a familiar voice making distinctly unfamiliar noises. He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Eric?..."

Surely it couldn't be? Eric never wandered this far from home. He wasn't sure Eric even knew this side of town existed. He was far too dependent on the family to provide for him. He walked up to the edge of the building and edged down a short flight of stairs leading to a basement access door. The door was ajar, he listened closely. It was definitely Eric and he was definitely not enjoying whatever was going on. Disorder drew his gun and crept inside. As he rounded a tower of crates he saw the horrific sight of Eric tried to a chair, bleeding and sweating profusely. Tears rolling down his naturally swollen cheeks over his unnaturally swollen mouth. Disorder's blood boiled. All thought's of a composed plan of attack went out the window. The red mist descended and all hope for these men was gone. He stood tall and marched out from behind the crates.

"HOW DARE YOU?! NO ONE ABUSES THAT FAT FUCK OTHER THAN HIS FAMILY!"

He yelled uncontrollably as he put a bullet through the closest man's head. Clearly the question had been hypothetical. He took another few steps and put a bullet through the next head in his path. Before that man had become a corpse, he'd put a bullet through a third man's head and was aiming at the primary interrogator, standing pliers in hand, next his bloody friend.

"Release my friend and then get on your knees."

The distinctly less brave torturer did as was instructed and untied Eric who flopped out of the chair like so much pudding, onto the blood and urine soaked floor. Disorder was calming down now. His thinking was clearing and questions were emerging. He wanted to help his pathetic but probably unjustly brutalized friend but he couldn't. He kept his gun trained on the man and his mind on sensible decisions.

"Ok Eric sit this genius down in the chair and tie him up."

The man put up no residence as Eric did so. He looked a lot less brave sat in a chair soaked with Eric's excrement, looking down the barrel of an angry gun. Disorder said nothing. It was sensible decision time and his mind was now fully cleared and functioning correctly. There would be no more rash decisions now, everything would be calculated and measured. He walked over to the chair and shot the man once in each kneecap. He made a terrible shrill whaling sound. When the whaling subsided and the weeping began, Disorder took a step back. He idly toyed with some of the torture tools next to the chair and looked down at his suitably distressed subject.

"Now... You are going to answer every question Eric has for you. And every time you stop, stumble or lie, I will remove a part of you and make you eat it. Understood?"

The dismayed man looked over at the now vengeful face of Eric and back at Disorder. He nodded with tears rolling down his face. Disorder nodded at Eric.

"Ok Eric, let's find out what the fuck this is all about shall we?"

Isabella is doing what she knows best. Making dat money! She is knee deep in her next grave rob when she spots Disorder gun in hand. Not sure what is happening or what to do she continues to dig dirt. With one eye on her relentless and morbid task, and what Disorder is up too, she is unsure what she should do or ask of Disorder.

Holy Fuck! Gun fie reverberates!

Isabella, more confused and uncertain what to do places a call to one person who might have the answer.

As Frosty melts off with boredom he got to wonder was this character Isabella not worthy enough to get a follow up?  Did she not speak good enough?

Case and point. The streets are dead.

Fitz had received a call from Isabella, a halfwit that started off well within the family but eventually fell from grace when she exclaimed that everyone was ignoring her. Sadly, a sizeable amount of faeces was clogging up her ears after listening to her own shit for days on end and that was why she wasn't able to hear anything.

"SOMETHINGS GOING ON, BOSS." Isabella screamed down the phone.

"Where are you Isabella?" Fitz asked calmly but clearly slightly concerned that something was going on somewhere.

"BOSS, CAN YOU HEAR ME? I SAID SOMETHINGS GOING DOWN!"

By this point Fitz had moved the phone away several inches from his ear to protect his own ears from being damaged. "Yes, I can hear you you silly bint, where are you?"

"FITZ, WHY ARE YOU IGNORING ME? ANSWER ME, ANSWER ME, I'M NOT FAR OFF THE WARE HOUSE ON SUFFIELD DRIVE. STOP IGNORING ME!"

"Fuck sake, that woman needs to clean her ears out" Fitz exclaimed to Lucius who was standing near by.

LuciusSweet smiled, "I had her screaming at me the other say too because she couldn't hear me when she asked if I like her pig tails. Of course I didn't and told her they looked shit but she just couldn't hear me." He shrugged before asking "So what's up? What's going down?"

"I'm not sure but you better get your shit together and come with me, it sounds like there's some kind of trouble at that fucking warehouse where those pissants have been working out of on Suffield Drive."

After a while they arrived at the place to find a bloody and battered HighPitchEric standing next to Disorder, who was standing in front of a man who had been mutilated after what was clearly due to being tortured by the two men. After giving the man a once over he took a closer look at Eric. He was infuriated that anyone would have the audacity to mess with one of his Consigliere's and after asking where the guy had come from and what he wanted, Eric revealed they had wanted to know where Fitz was keeping his money and that they were from Detroit.

Fitz was touched by Eric's loyalty and vowed that he would destroy those who did this to him.

Mr_Jet awakens to a frantic knock on his lodge door within the family's HQ. Gun and hand he opens the door to see a sweat covered Axle, FitzChivalry, and Disorder. He is urged burst in laughter as the "perfect pun" puns ever created comes to mind. He instead chooses to utilize his self discipline he has mastered and motions the trio to sit-down who instead choose to stand to discuss "business". After being briefed, Jet utilizes his network of birdies including prostitutes, government associates and drugged up celebrities and gets a hit within an hour as to the possible culprits. He accompanies the trio to their car, where he hears a slight murmur and whimpering coming from their trunk. As he enters he is greeted by his favorite jello-belly HighpitchEric. He declines to press or investigate the noise. Coming to the conclusion it is none of his business.

The Durdens ,the name of a family with seemingly national ties, has recently set up shop in town. Jet figures it is time to show the clowns a lesson.

Frosty sees It took 12 days to answer a call. But I suppose better late then not at all. But then again a fire was put up under your ass to respond what was a family crisis.

The passive sarcasm is a sign of weakness. I'd work on that.