chin. Gravy and blood mingling. 'Eat.' 'Please ...' 'Not going to tell you again.' She took a tentative bite. Chewed and swallowed. Wiseman glanced over his shoulder at the fat man, sitting there with a furious scowl on his bright purple face as the bitch ate the rest. 'Don't worry, plenty left for you.' He dug another slice out of the pan and turned to Inspector Fat Wad. 'Here's the deal. You eat this, or I slit her throat.' He ripped the duct-tape gag off. Insch gasped and snarled and opened his mouth to shout something, but Wiseman rammed the slice of meat in. The inspector spat it out, shaking his head from side to side, swearing. Wiseman grabbed the fat bastard's ear and twisted. Then the fucker sat still. Insch growled at him. 'I'll kill you ...' 'Really think I won't do it? Slit her throat?' He gave the ear another twist. 'Now eat your fucking breakfast! ' 'I'll kill-- ''OK, be like that. I gave you the chance to save her, and you blew it.' He walked over to the table and picked up the boning knife - it glittered against the bitch's throat. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and sobbed. 'Any last words?' 'Don't! I'll ... I'll eat it!' The fat git's face was pouring with sweat. 'Just leave her alone! She didn't do anything to you, it was me. I did it. Not her ...' 'That's better.' Wiseman laid the knife next to the frying pan and picked up the fork. He speared the slice the fat git had spat out - picking off a few stray dog hairs from where it had hit the carpet - then held it out for Insch to bite. Insch stared at it, then at his wife, then back to the slice again. Took a deep breath. Closed his eyes. And bit. For a moment it looked as if he was going to vomit, but he chewed and swallowed instead. Shuddering as it went down. 'There's a good boy.' Wiseman smiled. 'Did you like that? Tasty and tender was it?' 'I'm ...' He gagged. The bitch's voice was small and trembling. 'David? What's wrong?' 'Keep it down, Fat Boy, there's more where that came from.' Insch didn't look at her. 'Nothing's wrong. It's all going to be OK.' 'Go on, Lardy, tell your lovely wife what the Flesher does. Don't be shy.'
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