Hell do you think we're going to do instead, just hand it to him and say "Oh, by the way, figured you might need this dead thief skull hand cream for those burns you're hiding"?

[Oh, boy, we may be gearing up for an ADVENTURE.]

So either somebody thought he was a threat, or some amateur thought they could — fuck, I don't know, practice on him.

[He can't quite restrain the snarl that escapes him at that; he's been doing well at hiding his feelings, but that one gets away from him.]

How long does it take to make a Belmont contraption like those cuffs?