The Inquisition

The night my wife of three months finds-out about my work.

                                                 [Rough Draft]
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I glanced at Patti, my twenty-two-year-old wife of three months, with a graceful wave of her right hand she swooshed her hair, an untamed copper-toned fire across the desert : a barren landscape that stretched to the horizon, aside to reveal her eyes. Her luxurious, button eyes, a couverture of melted chocolate that promised both depth and complexity. Her mellow and soothing gaze caught the light with a perfect, glossy sheen.Tonight Patti’s adorn in a sleeveless, white, chiffon, max-dress, a flowing, pillar of fog that fluttered and billowed with every graceful movement. It was accented flawlessly with lava-red accessories. The white Zinfandel enhanced her complexion.
                   Again, I fell in love with her for the first time.
                   She mumbled, in a mouse-like voice, something indistinguishable.
                   “Bob, Isn’t that a lot (of wine)?” She repeated.
                   “Nope! It’s only my second glass.” I swallowed, “it’s not even half full.!”
                   She smirked, “Not quite!”
                   “Relax,” I said, “tonight, we’re among friends.”
                   Smash!
                   Tony, one of the servers, with a half-inch knife scar under his left eye, dropped a serving tray -- one tall-stemmed wineglass broke. Immediately, everybody looked, expecting to see an arguing couple and one of them throws the wineglass. Then, they walked-out after the dramatic scene.
                   “Hey kid, what ya do for an encore!” Yelled a man who goes by the name Knuckles.
                   “He’s scares me! Do you know him?” Patti asked.
                   “Yes, for a very long time.”
                   “How?” She replied.
                   “The first time I got pinched, I was living in Jersey, where I stole car parts for resale. I ended-up on probation, so Fats, as we call Fat Tony, pulled me and put me on collections. I had to work with an enforcer. I liked it because it paid more.
                   “My first-time out, I was paired-up with Knuckles, who went by a different name then, a 10-year professional enforcer. We had to go over to Trenton, some schmuck, bar owner reneged on his loan – the very loan that put him in business. By the time we got there, it was 1:30 AM, just before closing, and the place was empty. He had several serving dishes across the bar, they had walnuts (in the shell) and a nutcracker in each. I guess, Knuckles was feeling festive because he started cracking a few nuts while I spoke to the bar owner. By 2:00 AM, I went five full rounds with the schmuck and he still refused to pay one dime. Then, out of nowhere, Knuckles grabbed him by his left wrist, and as fast as lightening takes down a tree, he had that nutcracker on the man’s middle knuckle of his forefinger. Knuckles ask him one more time for the money, but he still claimed to be flat-ass broke.
                   SNAP !
“In one full-throttle, moment, Knuckles broke that finger joint, and a nickname was born. It stuck with him ever since – over thirty-five years.”
                   “I can’t imagine the severity of pain that man felt,” Patti said, while rubbing her forefinger.
                   “That ain’t the end of it! That schmuck cried like a baby, while holding his hand with an imploded knuckle, wrapped in an apron. It was right there! I saw it with my own eyes. That bone was ready to punch right through the skin. One more millimeter and it would have been the whole gory mess: squirting blood all over the bar, and a bone hanging out of his hand. Then, Knuckles told him: ‘In two days we’ll return for that payment. Remember, you have seven more fingers.’ Then, he wished him a Merry Christmas before we left.”
`                    “Is this the kind of work you do for these people? I mean, are these the kind of people you’re working for?” She asked me.
                   “That’s them – it’s not me or who I am. I told you, all I do is collect loan payments from people who have fallen behind. I even tell them that I’m here to help them bring those payments up to date. I really want the best for them. Sure, I can understand how someone could fall behind – just don’t make it a lifestyle – make sure you bring your payments up to date fast. Repeatedly, I tried to work with this guy. Then, the matter goes out of my hands and there is nothing more that I can do. You need to understand, it’s nothing personal – It’s the family business!”
                   “Some people, might consider people like that to be criminals.” She said, in a lower voice, as if for the first time she was worried that someone might over-hear her.
                   “Two days later, he made that payment without any further problems. Then, he mortgaged his entire life, for the next 30 years, plus a few relatives wrote him loans just so he could pay this off. Surprisingly, it was paid in full within 90 days from our visit. Most importantly, I got 10% of the gross on that loan, so did Knuckles. The rest, like always, got kicked upstairs.” I said.
                   Then Patti excused herself, and went to use the restroom. However, when she returned, she was different.