Vinny's Stuff: Someone has to do the truly dirty work.
"Forza piccolo cucciolo, spingere!" Vinny yelled at a young man as they pushed hard. The black plastic shifted with each motion they unevenly pressed in.
The youth was crying, his face was full of snot that bubbled out of his nose. His face held a myriad of colorful bruises from being beaten senseless at different times. Healing cuts and a burn mark on his cheek were all signs of the recent abuse. He whimpered not understanding what was even yelled at him.
Then the bag fell in some finally, yet, suddenly and his torso slipped into the unpowered freezer box with it. He could feel them, the sudden crunch of a body part bending after rigor mortis. The squelch sent nerve-racking signals down his entire spine, "Oh god." He was unsure if the words even came out of his mouth as he puked. Colorful bile with bits of red from the internal wounds he'd suffered.
"Per carità… Come on kid, get – get up." Vinny's hand grabbed the back of the young man's collar hauling him up and giving him a shake, "Go on, go get yourself cleaned up." He turned the young man in the right direction then gave him a shove, "I'll finish up with those friends of yours."
The young men in the freezer we this youth's former friends. Vinny did not ask for the details, he never did, it always made the job more complicated than it needed to be. However, he had been tasked with making sure this young man disposed of them. A brutal form of initiation. The young men had all been beaten until they betrayed their boss to join Falcone to make it stop – all but this young man still alive. They made him watch as they killed his friends and now he was to take care of them because; as Carmine put it, this is what happens to traitors.
Vinny was just thankful that he had talked George into using that pit-faced bulldog's truck rollers or that this freezer would never get into his van before morning.