All Due Respect Issue #1 by Mike Miner, Chris F. Holm, Todd Robinson, Renee Asher Pickup, Paul D. Brazill, Travis Richardson, Walter Conley Page B

back to the kitchen. Past the entrance to the kitchen, on the other side, was a narrow door an inch from being closed, a dim glow beyond. He nudged it with the .38. A wooden staircase led to a rough concrete floor.
    “Tommy,” he said, “I’m coming down.”
    He slid a hand along the two-by-four railing as he descended. The basement contained a haphazard arrangement of lawn chairs, camping equipment, a fridge, a dartboard on the wall, a ping pong table with a case of beer and stack of porno mags on it. Over the ping pong table was a fluorescent light fixture held by chains. Tommy stood behind the table. His arms were folded over his chest. He looked more pissed than scared.
    “Look who’s here,” Tommy said.
    “Didn’t think you’d see me again, did you?”
    “Didn’t want to.”
    “Why not?”
    “What the fuck difference does it make?”
    What difference does it make , Jack had said, when Isaac asked what was in the case.
    “It makes a difference to me, asshole.”
    Tommy shrugged, tightening the “X” of his forearms. He didn’t pack a gun in case he was searched by cops he didn’t own. Tonight that practice would cost him his life.
    Isaac closed the gap between them, moved around the table. “What did we do to deserve that? Setting us up that way?”
    “You look mad.”
    “I’m a little mad.”
    “You want to talk about your feelings? Hold hands? Cry on my shoulder?”
    “Fuck you, man.”
    Tommy’s eyebrows went up. He sighed, as if he were growing bored, then spoke with the cooing tone of a kindergarten teacher. “You want to know why, Isaac? I’ll tell you why. You guys are a fucking joke. The pair of you. You’re dumb. You’re soft. You make mistakes.”
    “You’re crazy.”
    “I’m tired of having to worry about you. Babysit your stupid asses.”
    “You won’t have to worry much longer.”
    They stood there, neither of them blinking. Isaac heard voices above—the guys who’d gone outside coming back in.
    Tommy said, “This is what I’m talking about, Small-time. What the hell are you waiting for?”
    Isaac centered the barrel on Tommy’s left eye to give himself a target. Tommy could have tried for the gun, but still didn’t seem frightened enough to act.
    “Well?” Tommy said. “What’s it going to be, Isaac? Did you come here for revenge? Or you come here looking for love?”
    Isaac felt a rage swell through him that almost lifted him off his feet.
    Then he felt a hand in his hair, his hair being gathered, his head whipping back and knocking the floor.
    Ray stood over him, looking down.
    Isaac, on the verge of unconsciousness, skull throbbing, raised his hand but the pistol was gone.
    “Uh-oh,” he said.
    And Tommy said, “Uh-oh is right.”

    Isaac came to with his arms stretched overhead. His wrists ached from bearing his full dead weight. A dog leash had been knotted around them and looped over a pipe in the ceiling. His head hurt, but it paled in comparison to the fresh pain radiating through the rest of his body. They’d beaten the piss out of him. His eyes weren’t functioning properly. His mouth was filled with blood. He realized that he was naked, though he couldn’t feel the chill of the basement.
    There were others with them now. Isaac heard them scraping around. He couldn’t turn his head because they’d done something to his neck.
    Tommy stood where he’d stood before, arms crossed, a palm now cupping his chin.
    Ray stepped into view. He had a blowtorch in one hand and an old lighter in the other, like a giant safety pin with a cup attached. He turned on the gas and it hissed like a demon.
    This can’t be happening, Isaac thought. We should have never made that delivery. Never crossed that road.
    “I changed my mind,” he said, the words jumbled by his swollen mouth.
    “How’s that?” Tommy asked.
    “I came here looking for love.”
    The room erupted with laughter as Ray—grinning for the first time since Isaac had known him—scratched the