“Why not the head first?” asked Paulie.
“That's not the way we do it,” replied the boss.
“Because. Go grab the leg for me and shut up.”
Paulie crossed the yard, grabbed the leg from a bucket, and dragged it back.
“Here.” And he dumped the leg on the kitchen table.
“Hey. Remember the arm.”
The acid would do wonders, but last time he had to deal with an arm, it flipped in such an odd way he didn't sleep for a whole damn week.
“Why not the head...?”