Four Live Rounds

He put the end of the cigar in his mouth and rolled it around on his fat, gray tongue.

“This guy also said he would do anything, just so I didn’t hurt him. Remember that fellas?”

Both bodyguards nodded.

“He finally said, what he would do, is put his hand on a stove burner for ten seconds. He said he would hold his own hand on the burner, for ten whole seconds.”

Little Louie produced a gold Dunhill and lit the cigar, rolling it between his chubby fingers while drawing hard.

“He only lasted seven, and we had to hurt him anyway.” Little Louie sucked on the stogie, and blew out a perfect smoke ring. “But I am curious to see if it could be done. The whole ten seconds.”

Little Louie looked at Hutson, who was still kneeling before him.

“If you can hold your right hand on a stove burner for ten seconds, Mr. Hutson, I’ll relieve you of your debt and you can leave without anyone hurting you.”

Hutson blinked several times. How hot did a stove burner get? How seriously would he be hurt?

Not nearly as much as having thirty thousand dollars worth of damage inflicted upon him.

But a stove burner? Could he force himself to keep his hand on it for that long?

Did he have any other choice?

“I’ll do it.”

Little Louie smiled held out a hand to help Hutson to his feet.

“Of course, if you don’t do it, the boys will still have to work you over. You understand.”

Hutson nodded, allowing himself to be led into the kitchen.

The stove was off-white, a greasy Kenmore, with four electric burners. The heating elements were each six inches in diameter, coiled into spirals like a whirlpool swirl. They were black, but Hutson knew when he turned one on it would glow orange.

Little Louie and his bodyguards stepped behind him to get a better look.

“It’s electric,” noted Rocko.

Little Louie frowned. “The other guy used a gas stove. His sleeve caught on fire. Remember that?”

The thugs giggled. Hutson picked the lower left hand burner and turned it on the lowest setting.

Little Louie wasn’t impressed.

“Hey, switch it up higher than that.”

“You didn’t say how high it had to be when we made the agreement.” Hutson spoke fast, relying on the mobster’s warped sense of fairness. “Just that I had to keep it on for ten seconds.”

“It was inferred it would be on the hottest.”

“I can put it on low and still follow the deal to the letter.”

Little Louie considered this, then nodded.

“You’re right. You’re still following it to the letter. Leave it on low then.”

It didn’t matter, because already the burner was firey orange. Rocko leaned over and spat on it, and the saliva didn’t even have a chance to drip through the coils before sizzling away and evaporating.

“It think it’s hot,” Rocko said.

Hutson stared at the glowing burner. He held his trembling hand two inches above it. The heat was excruciating. Hutson’s palm began to sweat and the hair above his knuckles curled and he fought the little voice in his brain that screamed get your hand away!

“Well, go ahead.” Little Louie held up a gold pocket watch. “I’ll start when you do. Ten whole seconds.”

“Sweet Jesus in heaven help me,” thought Hutson.

He bit his lip and slapped his hand down on to the burner.

There was an immediate frying sound, like bacon in a pan. The pain was instant and searing. Hutson screamed and screamed, the coils burning away the skin on his palm, burning into the flesh, blistering and bubbling, melting the muscle and fat, Hutson screaming louder now, smoke starting to rise, Little Louie sounding off the seconds, a smell like pork chops filling Hutson’s nostrils, pain beyond intense, screaming so high there wasn’t any sound, can’t keep it there anymore, jesus no more no more and...

Hutson yanked his hand from the burner, trembling, feeling faint, clutching his right hand at the wrist and stumbling to the sink, turning on the cold water, putting his charred hand under it, losing consciousness, everything going black.

He woke up lying on the floor, the pain in his hand a living thing, his mouth bleeding from biting his lower lip. His face contorted and he yelled from the anguish.

Little Louie stood over him, holding the pocket watch. “That was only seven seconds.”

Hutson’s scream could have woken the dead. It was full of heart-wrenching agony and fear and disgust and pity. It was the scream of the man being interrogated by the Gestapo. The scream of the woman having a Caesarean without anesthetic. The scream of a father in a burning, wrecked car turning to see his baby on fire.

The scream of a man without hope.

“Don’t get upset.” Little Louie offered him a big grin. “I’ll let you try it again.”

The thugs hauled Hutson to his feet, and he whimpered and passed out. He woke up on the floor again, choking. Water had been thrown in his face.

Little Louie shook his head, sadly. “Come on Mr. Hutson. I haven’t got all day. I’m a busy man. If you want to back out, the boys can do their job. I want to warn you though, a thirty grand job means we’ll put your face on one of these burners, and that would just be the beginning. Make your decision.”