.././.

"Uh, hey, cuz," Chad says, keeping his distance from the front door. Piles of garbage form a berm between Ray and the trio.

I doubt six weeks' worth of pizza boxes are going to do much, but I'll hang back, too.

"I'm tired of you thealing from me. Can't truhth none of you," Ray says through his raging spit.

We can be certain Ray isn't the discreet midnight visitor at that cul-de-sac.

Zandra checks over her shoulder for any gawkers or police cruisers. There aren't any, but that doesn't mean there won't be soon.

"Let's talk about this inside," Zandra says.

"No fucking way," Ray says and slaps the chain against the siding once more. Another chunk of the house falls to the ground. "You're going to try your thykick bullthit trickth on me in there."

"I thought you were a reiki master?" Zandra says. "Shouldn't you be immune?"

"I am a reiki mather, and I want my thuff back, you lyin' piethes of thit," Ray says.

Chad waves his hands in a "slow down" motion. "Wait a minute, cuz. We didn't steal nothing from you."

"Fuck you," Ray says. "You look high right now."

To be fair, Chad always looks like that.

Ray's rage grows ever more present in his posture.

Neck stretched forward. Head angled down. He's like a bull getting ready to charge.

Then he does, straight at Chad. Chad doesn't have time to react—not that he possesses cat-like reflexes in the first place—but Ray puts on a surprising display of agility.

Adrenaline will do that.

Choke You Ray lives up to his name and wraps his chain around Chad's neck from the second time today. Bexley screams. Zandra instinctively starts to reach for the lawnmower knife up her sleeve, but her fingers still grip the packet in her pocket, so she stops on the slim chance the drugs might fall out as she removes her hand.

"You're killing him!" Bexley says.

This time, you might be right. This isn't Ray trying to wake a junkie up. He's not fucking around with that chain.

"Pieth of thit," Ray says over and over as he works the chain tighter and tighter. Chad resists as much as he can, but in only a few seconds he stops making choking sounds.

His air is cut off. This is bad.

Zandra turns the packet over and over in her pocket.

Shit, shit, shit.

"I took it," Bexley says through a scream. Then, wiping away her fright, "Just please stop. I took it, OK? I did."

Thanks, Bexley.

Zandra releases the packet from her fingers, letting it drop to the bottom of her deep pocket. She removes her hand and stuffs it up her opposite sleeve to draw the lawnmower knife.

"I knew it," Ray says and releases the chain.

Chad collapses to the ground, hands still clawing at his throat. He chokes and coughs as the air returns to his breath.

Ray drops one end of the chain to the ground. It dangles from his hand and drags through the garbage as he takes a few steps toward Bexley.

Bexley takes just as many steps backward, crossing her chest with arms and open palms ready to push Ray away.

"I bet you're gonna thay you owe me, huh?" Ray says.

"We've got a big score coming up. We'll pay you back everything," Bexley says, trembling.

How much is that little packet even worth, anyway? Can't be that much given his clientele.

Ray snaps the chain against the ground like a whip. "Like I'm really thuppothed to believe that? I'm so tired of you two owing me. You can barely get up in the morning."

Ray's intense focus on Bexley keeps him from noticing Zandra's lawnmower knife.

Adrenaline creates tunnel vision. It's an artifact of primitive survival physiology. A helicopter could land next to him and he'd barely notice. He's that pissed off and cranked up.

And that presents an opportunity, but not with the knife. Even if I made the first cut, he'll make the last. People don't realize they're cut right away, even if it's a deep wound, and Ray's already in berserker mode. No, I need to force him to drop the chain.

Zandra sheaths the lawnmower knife. She shuffles behind Ray and heads for the front door. It looks like she's beating a hasty retreat, and that's the point.

If Ray catches me out of the corner of his eye, he'll assume I'm running away. Which I am. For now.

Ray doesn't notice Zandra. Neither does Bexley, despite her having the better view of Zandra opening the front door and slipping inside. Bexley is just as dialed into Ray as he is to her, each taking nearly synchronous steps through the trash in the yard; one forward and one backward, in sync.

It's the same mental mechanics that pickpockets use—and psychics, for that matter. Keep the mark distracted while you pull some shady shit on the sly.

Or, if you will, thady thit on the thly.

There's no time to rummage through the house. Zandra goes for what she can remember seeing last: the five-gallon bucket. She grabs it by its thick, wire handle and hurries out the door.

Back in the front yard, raging Ray closes in on a begging Bexley while Chad struggles to his feet. Zandra carefully positions the bucket in her hands. She'll need to be quick for this to work.

Only going to get one chance at it. I hope the handle holds.

Zandra shuffles to within a foot from Ray's back. Then she makes her move. She slips the handle over Ray's head from behind so that he wears the wire like a collar around his throat. Using the bucket as leverage, Zandra pulls down to bury the "collar" into Ray's Adam's apple.

A blow to that part of the throat will cause swelling that'll make it hard to breathe. Might be fatal. Might not be. It'll get him to do one thing, though.

Ray yelps and drops the chain.

Yeah, that was it.

Bexley knows exactly what to do. She lunges for the chain while Ray spins around to face Zandra.

That's OK. The swelling will kick in any moment.

It takes Ray a beat to figure out that he's wearing a five-gallon bucket around his head, and another moment more to navigate the bucket's awkward removal. That gives Bexley enough time to switch her flight-or-fight response to fight. She whips Ray across the side of his ribs with the chain, splitting open his skin.

Ray gets the bucket off in time to receive a two-knuckle punch to the back of the head from Chad. Chad stumbles and wheezes after making the rocky connection.

That's another spot you don't want to get hit. Lots of nerves in the back of the brain. I doubt Chad knows that. He's just pissed. Those scrawny arms can do some damage when they need to.

Ray's done. He falls to the ground, where Bexley delivers another slap with the chain. The links tear into his chest.

So, that worked.

Bexley drops the chain and wraps a hug around Chad. Chad still heaves in and out of breath, but he managed to spare his throat from serious injury.

Zandra scans the other houses for signs of activity. The last thing she needs is for someone to call the police.

Which is why we're not going to leave Ray unattended, are we?

Zandra picks up the chain. It's heavier than she expects, but it's still nimble enough that it could double as a clunky rope.

"Hit him. He's still breathing," Bexley says. Each word takes extra effort as the adrenaline dump kicks in.

Zandra shakes her head. "Yeah, he's still breathing, but he's going into shock. He needs to get to a hospital."

"Hospital? No."

It's the best of the three options before us, although I can't expect these two to be in a right mind to consider them. I'm the only one who can think right now, as usual.

"We can let him lay here in the yard, or we can bring him into the house, or we can get him to the hospital," Zandra says, breathing easy. "Leaving him like this isn't an option. I don't have the time or inclination to babysit him in the house. That leaves the hospital, and so it is."

Bexley is going to ask me how we get him to the hospital without a vehicle.

"How do we get him to the hospital? We don't have a car," Bexley says.

Who says I'm not a psychic?

"We don't, but we don't want an ambulance showing up, either," Zandra says. She drops to her knees next to Ray's ankles. "Which is why we're going to make Ray someone else's problem."

"Huh?" Chad says, finding his breath again.

"Help me tie this chain around his feet," Zandra says.

It takes a lot of grunting and tugging for the three to loop the chain into a knot around Ray's ankles, but they get it done. It takes even more grunting and tugging to drag Ray across the yard, past "grandma's house," through the neighbor's yard, and onto another street. They leave him in the middle of the pavement, taking the chain with them.

He'll either get hit by a car or someone will stop and call for help. I'd wish you good luck, Choke You Ray, but I need it all for myself.

They're exhausted by the time they make it back to "grandma's house." Zandra yearns for a nap on the couch in the living room and an ice pack on her bad ankle. She settles for the former, although the siren's song of the packet in her pocket rings loud in her ears.

"I wish one of these TVs worked. Like, actually worked," Bexley says with a yawn as she unfolds a lawn chair next to the couch.

Chad hoists a TV atop a makeshift stand of various and sundry shit. The cracked screen wouldn't offer much to look at even if the TV's visuals turned on, but Chad makes an effort for Bexley's sake.

It'll work this time.

It does.

Two for two.

"I thought this one was totally busted. Turns out it wasn't plugged in," Chad says.

What a waste of psychic powers if this is all that clairvoyance gets you. "The TV will turn on." Oh, so amazing, tell us more. Fuck, for that reason alone, I hope I'm not a real psychic.

Shards of picture flicker in and out of the spiderwebs on the TV screen. Whatever the show is that's on, it's boring, but that's perfect fodder for falling asleep. Which is exactly what happens one by one to Chad, Bexley, and Zandra—in that order. Zandra sleeps with her hand rested on the lawnmower knife up her sleeve.

When Zandra wakes, it's already time for the evening news. It's the broadcast out of Wausau. She stirs the others awake when she hears the lead story. For once, Chad and Bexley snap straight to attention.

"...found the man in the middle of the road. First responders transported him to the Stevens Point Hospital," the anchor says.

"Holy shit," Chad says. He wipes at his glasses for a clearer view of the TV, not that it matters.

"Hospital officials declined to comment on the identity of the man, citing policy. A spokesperson for the Stevens Point Police Department said it appears the man was struck by a vehicle. The incident is still under investigation," the anchor says. "Hospital officials wanted to remind the public that a fund has been set up to help alleviate medical debt in the community, given the current economic condition of the area. Donations and recipients are kept anonymous. Contact the hospital for more details. No one will be turned away for care."

Zandra fidgets with the packet.

"This is good news, right?" Chad says.

"I mean, I guess. Your cousin did get hit by a car," Bexley says.

"Yeah, but he's kind of an asshole."

"Yeah."

I wonder if whoever found Ray in the road mistakenly thinks they hit him with their car. Maybe the police are thinking the same thing.

Zandra coughs into her sleeve.

Oh, well.

"It'll be dark soon," Zandra says. "It's time to hide in some bushes."

"Huh?" Chad says.

Zandra wipes the spittle from her chin and says, "We're going back to the empty lot. Bring the chain."