and finds he’s tied at his fifth point, too.

“He can’t see too well in the dark, probably well enough to see that he’s in a church, and he remains reasonably relaxed, still groggy from the liquor and the drug, probably curious about what’s happening to him, tied spread-eagled and naked, lying on a church floor.

“It’s dawn, and light comes into the church, all red and blue and yellow in streaks through the big stained-glass windows, and the wire begins to pick up the light and gleam, and Upsie has his head up all the time, now, as much as his neck muscles can stand it, trying to see where the wire leads.

“In a while there’s enough light in the church to start getting into the draped, recessed doorway, and shortly the big, brass doorknob begins to gleam—even Fletch can see it from the altar—and it’s clear even from where he’s sitting that the wire leads straight from Upsie’s balls to the doorknob of these doors which must weigh a ton.

“Upsie sees it too, of course, and begins to figure it out, begins tugging at his ropes, flexing one arm, and then the other, pulling each leg up against the ropes.

“He realizes there’s no way he’s going to get free, unless someone helps him.

“But he doesn’t get the real point of what’s happening to him—or what’s going to happen to him—until the church bells begin to ring, all over Chicago. It’s then he begins shouting, ‘Oh, no! Oh, God! Oh, no!’

“He remembers it’s Sunday morning and at some point, sooner or later, those heavy oak doors are going to be swung open by hundreds of joyous Christians, en masse, you might say, strong in their faith.

“It’s then that Upsie’s body fluids begin leaving him. In sheer terror, he pisses almost to the church door, like a skunk shooting at something he knows is going to destroy him. He’s lying in his own shit, just tons of it, pouring out of him.

“He’s sweating buckets and shaking and pulling at his ropes.

“He knows that when those heavy oak doors are swung open, he’s had it.

“Did I say he was yelling? He’s yelling and screaming, first the words, ‘Help me! Help me, someone!’ in this cavernous church with solid stone walls, and then he’s yelling every obscenity in the book, in furious anger, tugging at the ropes so hard his wrists and ankles burn through, bleeding, and then he begins to blubber, ‘I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve this,’ and, crying. He thinks about this awhile, and then begins twisting his head toward the altar, yelling, ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’

“Fletch picked the right church.

“This particular church didn’t have Sunday service until eleven in the morning.

“But a lot of other churches in town had services before then.

“And every time one of the other churches’ bells begins to ring, Upsie pulls harder on his ropes, the ropes tying him. He wears the ropes right down to his wrist and ankle bones.

“He even begins biting his left arm, through the muscle, thinking he would chew his arm off, I guess, until he realizes that would do no good: If he chewed off one arm, he still wouldn’t be able to untie the rest of himself. See?

“More and more church bells ring around town, calling their congregations to service, and Upsie is screaming more and more incomprehensively, very hoarse by now, convulsively tugging at his ropes, ever one more time, hoping something would give way, blood and shit all over himself, eyes bulging from his head.

“At ten-thirty—after hours of this—the church bells of that church begin to go off, and Upsie becomes even more frantic. He knows it’s only a few minutes now, at most, before that heavy oak door is swung open.

“He’s thrashing around the floor, as much as the ropes will let him, twisting and splashing in his own blood and shit.

“Even Fletch couldn’t hear him yelling over the sound of the church bells. He could just see his mouth open, jaws straining, tongue extended. Upsie’s eyes are rolling in his head, in terror.

“Then the big brass doorknob begins to turn, slowly, slowly.

“Upsie stiffens his body, tries to reach his hands down to his balls—of course they don’t reach—actually tries to pull away from the door.…

“Oh, by the way, will I see you at lunch, Bob? The menu said something about chicken Divan or salad of your choice. Knowing me, I expect I’ll have both.…

“What do you mean, ‘What happened’? I told you