“You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you, Matty?” Donald called out from the rear of the limousine.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Trump,” Calamari assured him.
“Anything at all?”
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“Yes, sir, Mr. Trump.”
“Would you kill for me, Matty?” Donald pressed.
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you kill for me, Matty?” Donald repeated, as if he were a cheerleader inciting a crowd to riot.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Trump!”
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