They were known on the street as The Russian, and Little Jimmy. They worked for a Shylock out of East Van. Working over a punk who was in to their Boss for about 10Gs, Little Jimmy noticed the Russian seem a bit deflated.
Jimmy goes to The Russian, “What’s up? You got a bug or something?”
He says, “Nothing, just, I don’t know, bored.”
Jimmy: “Bored. Like you want to cut his thumbs, now? You got plans or something. You didn't tell me.”
“It’s just, every time we get one of these jobs, the guy’s a putz, we beat him up, take a finger or two, and then send him out.”
“Yeah, the way things are; you late, you pay. Whatever.”
“I been thinking.”
Little Jimmy nods, go on.
“I been thinking, maybe, we take him back to his wife and kinda have like, one of them interventions.”
“You mean like Psychologists. No fucking way.”
“No- these morons never learn. No matter how much we beat one up, the next one thinks he can get away with it. I say, we tell his wife, on him.”
“Like snitch. I ain’t no snitch.”
“Not snitch. This ain’t the joint- what’s worse than getting beat up? Havin’ your old lady mad at cha.”
Little Jimmy’s thinking it over, the man in the chair’s eyes all wide like he’s seen a ghost. Jimmy says, “You like that? You want us to tell your old lady. Tell her you been diddling away her money?” The man was answering before Jimmy was done. Tripping over words, and crying like a kid. It was record time. Jimmy wondered with all this free time he would get back in to Magic The Gathering. The Russian had already texted his wife: Salsa dancing.