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Amit.  
    “If that is the case, you might as well help me. You may perhaps improve your karma in so doing. When you die, perhaps you will not have to live again as a slug.”  
    The Right Hand spat at him. Amit tried to dodge, but caught most of the spittle on his cheek.  
    Amit reached down, took hold of the man’s right hand, and held it up in front of his face. The Right Hand tried to pull it away, but Amit held firm. Then he dug his fingers into the sides of the man’s wrists.
    “The wrist joint is composed of bones like marbles, connected by ligaments,” he said, his strong fingers pinning the hand in place. “But because of this, it is hard to get them back exactly right when one is popped out of place … say, by an overly aggressive massage.”  
    Amit rubbed with both his finger and thumb, massaging the man’s wrist from both sides. He pushed very hard, summoning strength that could only be honed from exercising the smallest of muscles daily, and the Right Hand’s wrist gave a terrific pop as his tendons snapped. The wrist felt like a bag of loose rocks. The big man made a blood-curdling scream, as if the world was ending around him.
    “I am so sorry,” said Amit. “I am new to this.”  
    “I can’t tell you where he is!” screeched the Right Hand. “He’ll kill everyone I know!”  
    “But you only know criminals and murderers” Amit pushed again. Another tendon popped. A large, boulder-like bone began to bulge from the top of his hand. A bruise blossomed under the surface. Again, the Right Hand cried out, rolling and thrashing.  
    “Jesus fucking Christ!”  
    “I hear that Jesus is a good man,” said Amit, nodding pleasantly.
    “They’ll kill you! They’ll kill everyone you know! They’ll kill everyone you love! You don’t know who you’re fucking with!”  
    Amit moved his hand from the man’s wrist, then bent his middle finger far enough that it touched the veins on the back of his hand. Something else popped inside, very, very loud. A bone ripped the man’s skin on his palm, causing a rivulet of blood to run down his wrist.  
    “I know exactly who I am fucking with,” Amit said, examining the mangled hand as if it were an interesting bug on a slide. “But unfortunately, I have nobody left that I love.”  
    The Right Hand was screaming and thrashing, fighting for breath among his screams. Finally he managed to yell, “Oh my God, it hurts!”
    “ Shh . Focus on the pain in your shoulder to distract you.”  
    He looked up. “What?”  
    With a very hard, very powerful short stroke of his other hand, Amit shattered the Right Hand’s collarbone.  
    “Jeeeeesussssss!”  
    “Tell me where the boss is and I will stop. Despite appearances, I am not enjoying this.”  
    “You broke my neck!”  
    “Your clavicle,” Amit corrected. Then he gave a small, good-natured chuckle. “Oh, listen to me. You’re making me sound like a doctor.” He pressed his thumb into the area where the Right Hand’s clavicle (not neck) had been broken. After 30 seconds of screaming, he stopped.  
    “I figure this is like hangman.” Amit returned his attention to the man’s hand. “After enough tries, the man is hanged.” He shrugged. “And after enough fingers, you are no longer any good as a ‘right hand.’ I can break two more. But then I will simply kill you.”  
    “I! CAN’T! TELL! YOU! What don’t you understand?”  
    Amit bent the man’s pinky back until it snapped. Another wound opened on his palm. Blood was getting everywhere, and Amit noticed with irritation that another few drops had landed on his robe. Nothing got blood out, and his feet were already so stained.  
    “HOLY FUCK, OKAY, OKAY, JUST STOP, HOLY SHIT JUST STOP!”  
    Amit stood, then backed up. He sat on the bed again with his hands clasped in his lap, looking down as the Right Hand tried to roll up to a seated position. His hand was useless, so he couldn’t manage it. He writhed while Amit