You and your accomplice, Carol, are holed up in a grimy motel room, the kind where the carpet seems permanently stained and the air smells like stale cigarettes. The criminal informant, bound to a rickety chair, whimpers and pleads as Carol towers over him.

“Spill it, you useless piece of shit!”

Carol’s voice is a harsh snarl as she lands another vicious slap across the informant’s face. Blood from his split nose pools on the threadbare carpet, mingling with the grime.

“Tell us where the briefcase is, or this gets a lot worse.”

Carol threatens, pulling out a switchblade and presses the sharp tip up against the informant’s Adam’s apple. The cold steel glints ominously in the dim light.