I stand up and swing the shovel like a golf club right into his upper left arm. The shovelhead snaps his humerus. He screams and doubles over in the pit...
"Here's your fucking problem, cocksucker," I yell down at him. "You don't answer every one of my questions, then I'm gonna break your other arm, both legs, and a few other bones here'n there for good measure. We're gonna bury you alive with a garden hose taped in your mouth so you can breathe. Cuz, how long you figure it'd take a man to die that way?"
"Days probably," Eddie says.
I lean back in toward XXX who's on his knees in the pit.
"So we'll come back tomorrow and dig your faggot ass up. Break a few more bones, cause you have about two hundred - we're not gonna run out. Bury you again. Keep doing it till we get bored. And you know what? There sure ain't a lot else to do in Nebraska. You can only bowl so many nights a week."
All this frozen heartland talk makes me wanna go read Scott Smith's A Simple Plan or John Rector's The Cold Kiss, Anthony Neil Smith's Yellow Medicine, Charlie Stella's Rough Riders Les Edgerton's The Bitch or Benjamin Whitmer's Pike again. Thanks a lot, Fargo.