Stan Beeman and Vlad Kosygin in “Unfinished Business”

Stan Beeman

When you shoot a bird—duck or pheasant, say—your dog, your retriever, picks it up in its mouth—its soft mouth. Soft mouth is key. Otherwise, the dog sinks his teeth into the bird's flesh. Anyway your dog brings it to you and lays it at your feet. But sometimes, when you shoot the bird, it's not dead. It's just wounded. Strange thing is, whether the bird is dead or just wounded, once the dog gets it in its mouth, the bird goes limp. Like a rag—doesn't move. It acts like it's dead. Doesn't struggle or scream. It just goes limp. Don't you think that's strange? You know what I think it is? Fear. The bird's scared out of its goddamn mind. Who wouldn't be? I know I would. Then again, maybe the bird is faking. You know what I'm saying? Maybe it wants you—talking about the bird now—to think it's dead so when the dog drops it out of its soft mouth at its master's feet, it can take off. It works sometimes. You wouldn't think it does, but it does. Not a lot. Once in a blue moon.

Please, I swear I'm not KGB. I don't know anything. Please, I swear.

Stan Beeman

You're scared. I know. I would be, too, because I've got you in my soft mouth, and you're not dead—not yet. Maybe you think you can run when I drop you at my master's feet. Maybe you can. Maybe you will. But the thing is, you have my partner. If you don't tell me where he is, you will never get dropped at my master's feet. My bite will go hard, and you will know you are dead before your heart stops beating.