STILL TRYING TO JAM HIS SILVER STABBER INTO YOUR CORNEIAS, JACK TURNS TO DOUG’S .38 PIPE WITH MILD INTEREST AT BEST. STRAINING A BIT AGAINST YOUR RESISTANCE TO NONCONSENSUAL OPHTHALMIC SURGERY, HE COUGHS OUT SOMETHING ALONG THE LINES OF, WHAT EXACTLY DO YOU PLAN ON DOIN’ WITH THAT DOUGIE.
DOUG: DA, YOU ARE IN NO POSITION TO ASK SUCH QUESTIONS.
DOUG: I PLAN ON SHOOTING YOU DEAD.
DOUG: NOW GET AWAY FROM JAME.
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