Wake up and get these cuffs off me!” The corpulent figure of Brock, who had been snoring happily, jerked out of his sleep and sat up as quickly as his pudgy frame allowed. “What? What?” he blurted, still befuddled from dreaming. As soon as he saw Matt, though, his mind cleared and the bitter resentment returned. “You motherfucker! What do you think you’re doing? Are you stu…?” Matt could tell that this insane, fat man wanted to come over and beat him badly for this unexpected sign of rebelliousness, but Matt just smiled and pointed at Montana, who was sitting calmly on her bed pointing a shotgun at him. Brock swung around in her direction, “Montana! What the fuck? Don’t point that thing at me. Are you fucking stupid?” “Sit down!” Matt ordered. “Now!” “The fuck I will! Who the fuck do you think you are?” Brock bellowed, as his face turned red with rage. “Shoot him Montana,” Matt ordered calmly. She aimed the gun at Brock’s crimson, acne-scarred face and cocked the hammer.
