You got out?

“Nothing stops capitalism, baby. Look! We’re all touching it to gain its power.”

Uh-huh. People used to make pilgrimages for this sort of thing.

“People were dumb back then. Not like now, when they can come into the city and look upon Garcia’s briefcase in person and, perhaps, be healed of their ailments.”

Don’t say that.

“Not legally! Legally, I am not saying that. But between you and me? Laying your hands on the relic will definitely cure you of lupus. And HIV. Not AIDS. If you’re full-blown, there’s very little the briefcase can do.”

I renounce all of this.

“Dude, this is just the beginning.”

Oh, God.

“We’ve got a collection of his old tin foil scraps. It’s the size of a basketball.”

Jesus, that’s ghoulish.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet! I have old answering machine messages from his daughters wondering why he didn’t show up for the holidays! They cry and everything!”

Shapiro, stop it.

“And not just Garcia. Remember how Brent died?”

Yeah.

“I got it.”

You got what. Oh, no. Please tell me you don’t mean–

“I got the syringe!”

–the syringe he…holy fuck, this is wrong.

“What? We’re honoring them!”

You’re parading their failures and sadness around like a statue at the Feast of San Gennaro.

“Hey, you ever see how many dollar bills get pinned to that sucker?”

This is not right.

“You want an exclusive? We just signed a contract with Mountain Girl. Every Tuesday night, she’s gonna come in and answer questions about Garcia until she cries.”

No.

“Guess what I’m gonna do with the tears?”

I’m done with this conversation.

“I’m gonna sell the tears.”

Yes, I figured. I want nothing to do with any of this. It’s morbid.

“Got the sheets he died on, too. You can still see his outline!”

SHWIZZLESHWAZZLEKAZOOM!

Briefcase of Infinite Felonies?

“Hey.”

Eat him again?

“No jury would convict me.”

What if they did?

“I would eat the jury.”

Sure. Could you not let him out for a while?

“I’ll try. But he does not taste good.”

I could buy you some Nathan’s to put on top of him.

“They still do the crinkle fries?”

Fuck, yeah.

“Lead on, MacDuff.”

You eat the rest of those fuckers, too?

“Bandanas and all.”

You’re the finest magical briefcase I know.

“Something stops capitalism, baby.”