Pool_1

Nino asked if Chuck was alive. 'He's a swollen mess, but he's OK, Nino.' Aldo described the injuries very accurately. Then Nino asked, 'You knowa they names, Aldo?' 'Yeah. You got a pen, ..' Aldo waited a moment as Nino replied 'I no wanna dem. Call-a Father Joe. Have-a him adda those names to novena. If I knowa Chuck, ...oogh. He hung up! Aldo was signing himself and then vomited. Marcus left this part out of his retelling, however. It wasn't ten minutes later, Chuck got up, studied the clock on the wall from changing angles, checking his own vision, 'Th-th-they held th-the best parts...' wiggling his fingers, making punching arm movements, and massaging his own chest, adding 'and I, I-I-I can sssstill see.' With this, he left on his crusade. Speed in reprisal is a deadly weapon. The infidels would most likely be at home, changing out of bloody clothes, before getting together at the usual gathering places to savor their victory. Chuck exploded into the house of the misfit who had held his right arm, John Hasboro. Hasboro was sitting sideways across a lazy boy chair. As Aldo was giving his name to Father Joe, Pow! Chuck beat that bastard into the cracks of that chair, with the lost coins and missing pencils. He made sure both legs were busted, and fingers were limp, before he left for the next reckoning , bellowing 'You were not done !' The other arm holder was coming, nicely cleaned, from his bathroom, zippering his fly as Chuck nailed him in the throat. August Ciano. Poor bastard. Bad choice holding Chuck's arm. His August face made a series of hair guided crash landings on the bathroom sink as the lesson was repeated with utter clarity, 'August Ciano, you were not done. You were not done. You were not done..' Chuck made sure Ciano's legs were broken and fingers were limp before continuing on his rounds."