“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?”

“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!”