I talk about a Guber Naculum Jr, his grey tower, leaking, collecting water in buckets; wind fights with the rain to force its way into the room. Guber Jr sits in his high-backed chair in front of the fire, throwing books on to keep himself warm. In the corner on a perch, right in the damp draught sits an eagle with its feet nailed to the perch. A private nurse resplendent in uniform and no bra tends to the eagle, ensuring scabbing without septicity; there's no point nailing an eagle to a perch (bit of wood, not the fish) if its legs can turn gangrenous and it can fly away leaving them behind.
"Bring in the first one, Dickchain," screams Guber Jr, wrapping one warm lapsed atheist around him and throwing another on the fire with a book to get the flames roaring. Dickchain drags in the first man, black of course so the bruises don't show. The beaten man looks with disinterested scorn towards Guber Jr, as he absorbs the heat from the fire. "Say your fucking line, bitch," prompts Guber Jr with as much bile as he can be bothered to muster. "I thought you said he was ready," he says, turning to Dickchain, who in turn apologises, hits the oppressed mass and insists that he says his line or he'll put him in the rat suit again.
"Give me liberty or give me death," submits the man sotto voce, fully aware of his fate, and just trying to maintain his position in front of the fire for as long as he can. The powerful kick to the back of his knee knocks him to the ground, a kick to the jaw follows, replete with a suspected hairline fracture. "Give me liberty or give me death," moans the man, spitting blood. He's used his fall to the floor to roll closer to the fire.
"Tails it's liberty, heads it's death," explains Guber Jr. The toin is cossed high into the hair, spinning, glinting in the firelight. Shooting his arm out like a snake's tongue, Dickchain grabs the toin, and flips it on to the back of his hand, showing one of the two heads to the prisoner who just savours his last moments before the fire. Another kick to the jaw shatters it and Dickchain drags him out the same way he came.
Guber Jr stands up and throws four more books on the fire to keep him warm during the long walk to the corner of the room. Once there he feeds the eagle a decaying worm and prods the wounds on its feet. Rain water is dripping on to them, washing away the scabs. He orders the private nurse to place her hands above the eagle to keep the water off the dried blood. She submits without hesitation, he feeds the eagle another decaying worm and heads home to the comfort of the high-backed chair.
Dickchain has been working over Guber Jr's next visitor, coincidentally also black, also poor, also without competent legal representation. Dickchain wants no repeat of the arrogance that the previous man attempted to show; Dickchain wants Guber Jr to tickle him behind the ears as once he did. This time Dickchain follows the prisoner into the room, showering him with knuckle-laden punches to the back of the head and sharp kicks to the ankles; it creates an image that Guber Jr is bound to be impressed with. A frightening lip wobble that could either be a smile or a minor stroke breaks out on Guber Jr's face. "....And what did you do little boy?" asks the smiler.
"I killed a man Mr. Naculum sir. It wasn't..." He's interrupted by a squawk from the eagle, who has tried to flap its wings, but has only succeeded in pulling on the nails through its feet; in response to a glare from Guber Jr the nurse pumps it full of some sickly drug and all goes quiet again. Before he has an opportunity to finish his sentence, our man in pain is asked if his lawyer would object if they bypassed the toin coss. "I don't have a lawyer sir. I couldn't..." Wonderful. No need to go through the charade of the toin. Guber Jr's smile spreads to his whole face, Dickchain punches and kicks the young man out of the room. They break for breakfast, paid for by Dickchain's slush fund after heads came up again in the coss.