“How does it feel? Your own littleCama del Diablo?”

Moses tapped the wood next to Coates’s head. Coates looked there quickly, but Moses had already moved.

Cama del Diablo. Coates didn’t need to translate. He understood exactly what Moses meant.

“Of course it lacks the defining finish, that unrivaled lacquer, equal parts puke and shit and blood. And you’re missing the ineffable stink of course. But we’ll do something about that in a bit.”

Coates tried to speak, to reason, but the duct tape over his mouth prevented it. All that came out was a whining mumble, pathetic even to him.

“Remember what you said to me in Agua Negra? You said, ‘David, when you die you’ll think hell is a vacation.’ Christ, where did you get that line? A Bruce Willis movie?”

In the dark, sparks suddenly exploded between Coates’s widespread legs. The flash illuminated Moses for an instant and also the countertop behind him. In the place where the toaster had been an old car battery now sat, covered with a film of grime and oil. Coates recognized that it had come from his own garage. In his gloved hands, Moses held two cables that were connected to the battery terminals. He brought the cable ends together once again, and their kiss produced another explosion of sparks.

“You always enjoyed this,” Moses said. “But then, you were never on that side of the experience.”

Coates heard water running in the sink, then the filling of a glass tumbler.

“I’ve been thinking,” Moses said. “Jesus had it easy. He had only one Judas to contend with. After you I still have two more.”

Although he knew it was coming, Coates still winced when he felt the cold water splash over his testicles. He tensed when he heard the cables snaking toward him across the tiles of the kitchen floor.

“Let’s get started,” Moses said.

Coates screamed, a sound that died in the sealed hollow of his mouth.