“But Gireson says to let up if you give us something, and he does pay the bills, after all. And you should see the quarters he sets up for his employees.” Temmins tweaked another dozen bamboo stalks, one in the shoulder, another in the calf, one deep in the trigger finger of Randal’s left hand, each a random expression of agony.

Temmins stifled a giggle.

Randal was strapped to a table, unable to move, various configurations of mini flood lights lighting him up. It was best when someone else was in the room with him.

“No? Nothing to share? Goody.”