The flimsy door clatters wildly in the corridor, opening barely fast enough for a frantic woman to fit her body through the portal

“Little Sister, I heard—â€? She stops. Dead silence hangs ominously in the dirty kitchen.

Barbequed pork sits steaming, half-sliced on the thick wooden cutting board.

Peeled shrimp sits in a bowl on the counter, meticulously deveined.

A very fresh chicken lays separated into bite-sized chunks in a deep dish, seasonings seeping into every little available crevice.

A liver sits on wax paper, waiting.

Her brother-in-law’s face is violently surprised and indignant.

Her sister faces off against him, clutching her meat cleaver. Unaware of the blood dripping from its heavy blade onto the tenement’s crusty stone floor, her sister exudes calm relief.

A light clatter tails away from the elder sister as she steps gingerly into the room. Looking down, her brow arches thoughtfully.

She picks up a severed hand, still fiercely gripping a revolver.

“I know someone who can use this.â€?