Joey cringed involuntarily as the cold steel of the barrel pressed uncomfortably against his skull. He wondered maniacally whether the pressure would leave a bruise, then chuckled to himself. From the moment he was dragged, swearing and flailing, from his ancient, chartreuse La-Z-Boy, Joey knew he wouldn’t escape with merely a bruise this time.

“—funny, asshole?” Joey suddenly became aware he was being addressed and snapped back to reality. Immediately he realized the pistol was no longer jammed against his head. Joey opened his mouth to retort, but his words became an agonized scream, as pain exploded from his right temple. He struggled for consciousness like a boxer after a hard uppercut. Joey had witnessed enough executions to know that he was dead if he passed out now.

He had just one chance to talk his way out of this…