Hey, if you've got the tags, you might as well try to use 'em, right?

             "You know who I am?" Rife asks.

            "Yeah, I know. You know who I am?"

            "Y.T. A fifteen year-old Kourier." "And personal buddy of Uncle Enzo," she says, whipping off the string of dog tags and tossing them...He holds them up and reads them.

            "Well, well," he says, "this is quite a little momento." He throws them back at her. "I know you're buddies with Uncle Enzo. Otherwise I just woulda dunked you instead of bringing you here to my spread. And I frankly don't give a shit," he says, "because by the time this day is through, either Uncle Enzo will be out of a job, or else I'll be, as you said, chisled Spam. But I figure that the Big Wop will be a lot less likely to throw a Stinger through the turbine of my chopper there if he knows his little chiquita is on board..."

            "Still," Rife continues, "this pathetic attempt to scare me makes me wanna laugh till I puke! Haw! Now, instead of just joining us for a comfy ride to California, I guess we'll have to torture you, too. You know, insubordination and all."

            "Just try me, you worthless sack of chisled Spam."

           handcuff.JPG (21224 bytes) "Oh," Rife says, "I think you're gonna like this, yes indeedy..."


Sit back now, and take your medicine...