Joe the Rabbi was crouched, leaning over the the tub, sawing the dead guy"s leg off. Cutting through the thigh was always tough. This was the part of his job Joe hated most. Worst thing was, this guy he was cutting wasn"t even for work. Just some Irish prick he"d met at the bar. The guy had had a few too many drinks and had started mouthing off about the screwdriver Joe was drinking. “Only fags drink fruity drinks,” the guy had said, laughing. Well, f**k him. The prick wasn"t laughing now. He was nearly finished sawing through the thigh when the cellphone sitting on the toilet rang. Joe looked over at it.
“Jesus Harold Christ,” he muttered, dropping the saw. He reached for the phone with his blood-covered hand. He answered.
“I"m kinda busy here, Mikey,” he said.
“I"ll keep it short. I g
