Boris “The Fist” Timisov still marveled at America. It was 2:00 am and he was waiting in a line at a convenience store. Two in the fucking morning and there was a line at the Qwik-Mart. Amazing country.

The clerk hardly looked at him. “What for you?”

“Fifty pounds of ice.”

“Big party?”

“Yeah.”

“$10.95.”

Boris paid for his ice and went out to get the bags. He carried them to the trunk of his car. He looked around and opened the trunk and threw in the ice. Alexey’s lifeless body had hardly even cooled yet.