[ That's the thing about banking on something as fickle as luck. You can't trust it to have your back once the cards are on the table. It's a pity that Benny had to learn that the hard way.

Plenty of folk have told Len that revenge isn't worth the effort, that he might as well start digging two graves. Suppose that sort of sentiment would have a stronger impact on him if he hadn't already dug his own, because there's immense satisfaction wrought from the pain on Benny's face, the growing horror as he realizes that something he once relied upon is no longer available to him. He taps the dull edge of the knife against Benny's middle finger, tightening the strap and lowering his voice to something gentle, soothing. ]

Hey now, don't start cryin', Ben. Look at me.

[ The man is babbling, scrambling for purchase on a wall without chinks in which to hook his remaining fingernails. Len slaps the flat of his blade against one of Benny's cheeks. ]

Look at me. Tell me what it is, first. Why'd you try to kill me for it? What does it do?