Jonathan

He didn't have many material needs. But he really wanted a car. He had found an old Ford station wagon which would be perfect for hauling around his buddies and their surfboards. It had a custom paint job, chrome wheels and a roof rack. And the price was right, because the owner needed quick cash.

That meant Jonathan needed quick cash, too. He'd already borrowed so often from his family and friends that they were sick of it. Each of them turned him down. But one of his beach bum friends told him about a guy in the city who made loans, even to people with terrible credit.

Jonathan hitched a ride to town and walked for about an hour until he found the address. It was, strangely, an Asian grocery. He asked the cashier for Mr. Lee and was ushered to the back of the store. The cashier pointed up a flight of dimly lit stairs, saying nothing.

On the second floor, Jonathan found only a single door at the end of a short, narrow hallway. He knocked three times on the door. Nothing. He had just raised his hand to knock again when suddenly the door flew open. The room was brilliantly illuminated with fluorescent light, and was empty except for a small desk, two chairs and a safe. As Jonathan walked in slowly, a voice from behind startled him. "I am Mr. Lee." Jonathan whirled around to see a short, stocky, Asian man holding the door. He was dressed in a butcher's apron, dotted with blood stains.

"Please put hands on head and stand very still. I must frisk to assure safety."

The man's small, strong hands explored every inch of Jonathan's body, from his ankles to his armpits and then down to his crotch, where the man's hands seemed linger quite a bit longer. Apparently satisfied, Mr. Lee said in a cordial tone, "Please, sit, young man, and tell me how I can be of service."

Jonathan sat down and explained his situation to Mr. Lee in detail. When Jonathan was finished, Mr. Lee simply stared at him in silence for some time. It was making Jonathan very uncomfortable. The man broke the tension by suddenly smiling broadly and asking, "You are healthy young man? Free of disease?" Jonathan nodded, not sure of what the man was driving at. "Good. Then we can do business. The amount you require not large. The amount of interest I charge not large. But you must pay in weekly installments, each Thursday, before store closing. If you fail to do so, I must repossess all collateral listed in contract. You will provide me ownership papers for vehicle which I retain until loan paid in full. Let us fill out contract now."

Mr. Lee asked Jonathan many questions and wrote slowly onto a long sheet of paper. Suddenly Mr. Lee rose, extended his pen toward Jonathan and said, "Now you sign." Jonathan took the pen and looked incredulously at the document. It was written in Chinese or some other Asian language. "I can't read this," Jonathan complained. "Standard contract. Sign

or leave now," Lee said firmly.

Jonathan thought about the car, sighed, then signed. Mr. Lee snatched the document away quickly and began rolling it up. "Cashier downstairs will have your money. You also make weekly payments to cashier. Cash only. Goodbye."

As Jonathan left, he glanced back to see Mr. Lee placing the rolled document into his safe.

Jonathan got his cash from the cashier in a small envelope and left the store feeling dazed, but eager to get home and get his car.

For several months, Jonathan was more responsible than he'd ever been in his life. He delivered the ownership papers to Mr. Lee's cashier and he made his payments on time, every week.

But Jonathan's line of work became a problem. He made some of his money by selling marijuana. That worked very well, until he made the mistake of selling a bag to an undercover cop. He wound up in jail for eleven miserable days, until he finally could reach a friend and tell him to sell some of his stuff to raise bail money.

His friend bailed him out and Jonathan was feeling a lot better as he walked out down the front steps of the jail. Then he remembered Mr. Lee. He grabbed his buddy by the arm and said, "Shit, man. Got any more cash? I gotta make my car payment." His friend dug through his pockets and eventually came up with 23 bucks and change. He gave it all to Jonathan. "Thanks, man. Gotta run," Jonathan yelled, as he ran down the street toward Mr. Lee's neighborhood.

The shop was just about to close as Jonathan arrived, out of breath. "I need to talk to Mr. Lee," he told the cashier, panting and almost breathless. The cashier picked up the telephone on the wall, spoke in a whisper and hung up. She pointed to the back of the store and said, "You know where office is. Mr. Lee expecting you."

When Jonathan reached the top of the stairs, the office door was open. Mr. Lee was standing behind his desk, arms folded. "I am so sorry, Mr. Lee! I can explain!"

"No need for explanation," Mr. Lee said calmly. Jonathan heard the door close behind him and turned to see two large blond men in white disposable jumpsuits.

"We have already taken possession of the vehicle," Mr. Lee said. "Now we must take possession of the remaining collateral."

One of the men grabbed Jonathan from behind. Jonathan was so exhausted from running to the store and up the stairs, he couldn't put up much of a fight. The second man quickly unbuckled Jonathan's belt, pulled open the button front and yanked his jeans and briefs down to his ankles in a single stroke. The men scooped up Jonathan, one holding his shoulders and the other, his ankles. They plopped him down on the desk and held him firmly. All the while, Jonathan was cursing the men at the top of his lungs, but they seemed to pay no mind.

Mr. Lee reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a wide roll of cloth tape and tore off a large piece. Mr. Lee grabbed Jonathan's penis roughly by the glans and quickly taped it to his abdomen. Using both hands, Mr. Lee began to examine Jonathan's balls, kneading them in their sack.

"Even larger than I had ascertained. My customer will be very pleased." Jonathan heard another drawer open, along with the sound of metal instruments clanging together.

Mr. Lee slipped on a pair of rubber gloves, picked up a gleaming scalpel, grasped Jonathan's scrotum and stretched it as far upward as possible. Jonathan began screaming. As Mr. Lee made two quick, deliberate cuts in the back of tender sack, Jonathan's screams became hysterical shrieks. Mr. Lee put down the scalpel and massaged Jonathan's testicles through the open slits. He reached into the drawer and produced a pair of surgical shears. "Two," he said, then made his first cut, freeing the testicle. "One," he said, then made the second cut.

"Zero," he said as he held the two bluish gray testicles for Jonathan to see. "Account is closed. Now I close your

large scrotum and assistants send you on your way."

Jonathan watched, stunned, as Mr. Lee pushed his testicles into a bowl of ice.

At that point, Jonathan had lost his will to struggle or scream. He lay there in a fog as Mr. Lee made two methodical rows of tidy sutures, swabbed the area with betadiene, applied a large bandage and gave Jonathan an injection in his right cheek.

The assistants helped Jonathan to his feet, pulled up his pants and carried him down the stairs and through the back of the store into an alley. They helped Jonathan into the back seat of a taxi, and one of the men handed the driver an envelope. "Address on envelope. Payment inside." The man's accent sounded odd, perhaps eastern European. And they were the last words Jonathan heard before he slumped over unconscious in the back seat of the taxi.

Jonathan awoke the next day in an old, slumped in overstuffed chair on the front porch of his tiny rented shack near the beach. He reached down, felt his bandaged crotch and slid out of the chair to his knees, hunched over and sobbing violently.

That night, Jonathan's Ford was in a shipping container, already on its way across the ocean.

And Mr. Lee's wealthy customer was seated at the head of his dining table, about to be served two very exotic and costly delicacies.

Jonathan's friends never knew what happened to him. They just noticed he didn't talk much anymore.

But as Jonathan served his sentence for selling the marijuana, his secret was discovered and spread rapidly throughout the cellblock.

Jonathan served a good deal of his sentence on all fours.