Dude, you swore never to contact me. Especially not like this.
You remember last June? I was out with you and Bill. We were just going from one bar to another, trying to drink away your ex, not staying any longer than it took to pound a few and hit the door.
Club 419, the Blue Rock, Crow's Foot, Big M... Shit, we musta gone through every door downtown. It was after we got tossed outta that Tejano joint you told me that Club Excess was having that fetish ball. If I hadn't snorted those pills your "sister" gave us, I'd a never gone with you.
We were in there ten minutes and this one crazy bitch in a corset and swastika armbands told you there was a basement room. You wanted in, but you didn't want to go in by yourself. Pussy.
So you got Billy to follow you. I was tired of getting bumped into by Ponyboys, so I said I'd get some air outside.
But I didn't. I puked in the alley and came right back in. It was all wrong in there. I felt my way through the bodies to the door you'd both gone through. The doorman was busy slapping around some skinny dude wearing a leather diaper, so I just slipped in.
And there you were: strapped to a table with Billy, screaming the whole time, putting big fishhooks through the flesh of your ass. This hugely fat black dude was holding a gun to Billy's head, waiting for him to pussy out and stop so he could kill something. There must have been a dozen people watching the whole thing.
Then they heard me and dragged me into the middle of that mess. They made me wear the mask, and the rest I pray I never remember.
I told you in the ER, I'd kill every one of them. And I made you swear you'd never contact me until the job was finished. You'd get a pack of Cheezits in the mail, and a phone number would be written on the foil. Remember?
Now you find me like this and I'm not even half finished.
Something's gone wrong. I don't think you can be trusted anymore, Les. You won't go like the others, Les. You won't even know it's happening. I'm sorry.
Goodbye.