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“What am I supposed to do with this?” Jackson took the bag from Jimbo.

Jimbo sat back down and began cutting the coke. “Get rid of it.”

“What is it?”

“Your mother.”

“Fuck you.”

“It’s a bag, asshole. Look.”

Jackson peered inside and stepped into the light. Realization broke on his face. “Jesus!” he yelled, and dropped it. Jimbo spat out an ugly, loud chuckle.

“They’re human arms! What the hell am I supposed to do with those?”

“I don’t care. Eat ‘em. Whatever.”

Jackson heaved it outside and stood in front of his car, wondering if the bag leaked.

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