He was blindfolded, so he could not see when Nancy picked up an ice cube and dragged it along his raised arm. “How does that feel? You sure do bleed...easily.” That last was a reference to the melted ice water than ran down his arm and must have felt like blood. “Let’s see what happens when I cut your other arm.”By this time, the man was already screaming for mercy, but Nancy ordered him to shut up. He finally did slow down to a kind of blubbering, and I asked the first question. He refused to. The drive from Quincy to Beacon Street was just over twenty minutes if I-93 was clear, so we’d arrive maybe fifteen minutes before the show started. I glanced in the mirror one last time. I’d gone with a knee-length skirt, black tee, and topped it off with a white cropped jacket; it was simple, but it should suffice. Traffic was pretty clear, a gift from the gods of Boston I suppose. About halfway there Claire turned the radio down saying, “So, the reason I invited you is that I wanted to. More

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