"I was a happy man, once upon a time," Crowley said reflectively. "Little grifting, little graft. The occasional bartering of souls…" He sighed, raised his glass and took a sip. "Those were the days."

He glanced at the man in front of him.

Naked, tied to a chair, mouth duct-taped, blood dripping copiously to the floor from the various cuts Crowley had inflicted all over his body, the man showed no sign of fear.

"Let's get down to the meat of it, Moose," Crowley said, picking up another, sharper, blade from the table. "Where the hell is Squirrel?"