A (0:01)

This show is sponsored by BetterHelp. Therapy is a great way to bring yourself some comfort that never goes away, even when the season changes. If you're thinking of starting therapy, give BetterHelp a try. It's entirely online, designed to be convenient, flexible and suited to your schedule. Just fill out a brief questionnaire to get matched with a licensed therapist and switch therapists at any time for no additional charge. Find comfort this December with BetterHelp. Visit betterhelp.com fullbodychills today to get 10% off your first month. That's BetterHelp. Start nice and slow. Learn some words naturally, then some phrases, and then what do you know? You are on your way to making a full blown sentence and conversation this holiday season. Share a new language with your loved ones. A lifetime membership to Rosetta Stone makes a meaningful present for friends and family. Learning new languages is not my forte, so I depend on Rosetta Stone to give me the tools I need to be successful when I go and learn whatever language I'm setting out to try. Start learning today with Rosetta Stone's Lifetime Membership Holiday Special. Visit rosettastone.com fullbodychills for unlimited access to 25 language courses for the rest of your life, available for a short time@rosettastone.com FullBodyChills PO is a 2021 audio chuck original made for our friends at SiriusXM. We hope you enjoy this exclusive content re released for free on Full Body Chills and for the best experience we kindly recommend you listen with headphones.

B (1:53)

Hate and jealousy age like poor wine curdling Corked up, it swells with the taste of anesthesia and a damp cellar. Thoughts like parasites multiply in the bubbling spoil past boiling, roiling temperaments Temperatures build pressure rising, plans devising, plotting each step with brick and mortar and far from exploding the mess is stored out of sight and out of mind, chained in the dark where none will find. In this story, one man's sinister legacy comes to light, his secrets long outlasting. The Cask of Amontillad the Cask of Amontillado Written by Jake Webber Based on the story By Edgar Allan Poe 2021 if you are hearing this, I am speaking to you from the grave. This is not a confession. I do not regret what I did then or since. I treated the world as it treated me. It told me I had to fight for everything. They all looked down on me. I was never accepted because I didn't look or sound like them, because I wasn't from the same class as them. My Parents were Italian immigrants who worked hard when they got to this country. I was the youngest of seven and the apple of their eye. I became a sommelier. And the American dream meant I could rise above my station. But there is only so high a first generation Italian American kid born in 1951 in Bayonne, New Jersey can aspire. There is fine print in the brochure. They all thought they could condescend to me, patronize me. But I'm Sicilian and we never forget a slight. Franklin Harris was born with a silver spoon of his. You know what? He went missing in 1977 in New Orleans. It was what they now call a cold case. We had trained together as sommeliers and he was always the big shot. He was tall and handsome and rich, from an old east coast family. Daddy was a bigwig Wall street type. And they lived in Connecticut and vacationed in Maine. Frank was a trust fund kid who never had to work a day in his life. But he was the black sheep of the family. An underachiever, a rebel, a drunk. His brothers Chip and Chad took the train to Wall street. And their sister Chloe married a guy named Chester who also took the train to Wall Street. They were so happy. I have no idea what their real names were and nor do I care. But I do know they were kissed into life. Franklin was a disappointment to his family, but they loved him in the restaurant business. He got the plum jobs. He only worked in Michelin starred restaurants. And he had his pick. Charming, handsome Franklin Harris was a star. I had the palate, and in fairness, so did Franklin. Sommelier training is highly competitive. To be certified, candidates must pass an encyclopedic test to receive the Master Sommelier diploma, without which you would never get a position in a top tier restaurant. Frank and I were the best in those days. There were no women. Now there are. And the test is even more competitive because there are wines to learn from many different countries. In those days it was mostly French wines. Though at the time of Franklin's disappearance, California wines were coming into vogue. And I championed those vineyards. You were always learning, always having to up your game. And my game was good. I stayed in the business until I retired at 60 in the winter of 1977. I was working and living in New Orleans when I ran into Franklin during Mardi Gras. If you have a working class accent, there was only so far you could go in the restaurant world. So I worked like a dog to lose mine. Now I am dead. I have no reason to keep up the facade. I am a Kid from Bayonne who clawed his way up the ladder of the American dream only to learn there was a limit to how high he was allowed to climb. I lived alone, and that February night I was returning from work, walking the opposite way to the people in the parade, moving against the tide of drunks and girls on floats who would never have looked twice at me but happily lifted their shirts to long haired boys with ridiculous sideburns. Jimmy Carter had just been elected, but I had been a Nixon man and then a Ford man. And as far as I was concerned, the country had gone to hell in a handbasket since the hippies took over. Whatever the sexual revolution was, it never reached my bedroom. I knew him from his walk. It had that confidence, the confidence that comes from knowing the world will never say no to you. He was alone, and though he held his wine well, I could tell he was hammered. I followed him, and when I was sure no one was coming to join him, I caught up. Franklin, I said, out of sight. If it isn't little Robbie Marino, the pride of Paon, he said. He was a gregarious guy, the kind of guy who makes friends easily. I don't think I ever saw him in a bad mood, even when he was battling a hangover, which was pretty much every morning. He had always been nice to me, but that didn't stop me resenting him. In fact, I hated him more for the generosity of his spirit. It's easy to be nice if everything has gone your way. Was it the looks, the charm, the personality, the money? It was all those things. While I had to scratch and scrape my way to get anything. An opportunity, a position, a girl. My whole life I had to prove myself, Prove I was better than privileged fucks like Franklin Theodore Emerson Harris. I heard you were down here, pal. At penise, is it? He said. Yeah, Chez Panisse. You should come in, I said. We'll come in tomorrow. We'll put you through your paces. You'll do that? Who is we? We're here with another couple. The Sutherlands, he said. You can meet my foxy lady. Your foxy lady? What's her name? I asked. Jenny Jones. Jenny Jones. You were always lucky with the ladies once you, Frank. I don't know what they see in me, but who am I to argue? You got a Cajun girl, you crazy cat. Somewhere along the way, Franklin had adopted the slang of the freaks and the hippies. But I knew who he was. You can take the boy out of the mansion, but you can't take the mansion out of the boy. I got a whole litter of kittens, I said. Just gotta declaw them first. Franklin laughed and that transitioned into a coughing fit, which he wrapped up by pulling out a pack of Chesterfields. Those things will kill you, I said. I'm going to live forever. I'm a Viking. He said. Where is Jenny Jones? In the Sutherlands. I asked. I lost him. It's madness here. It's pagan. I love it. Hot running, decadence. He said, come back to the hotel, man. Let's drink. My brother from another mother. You're three sheets to the wind already. I said. I am from a venerable line of alcoholics and I have cocaine. What do you say, Marino? He clapped me on the back. He was big on physical contact. All that hail, fellow. Well met. Business. Cocaine. I asked. Are you hip? He said. Am I hip? No, Cracklin. Nor you. Be cool, man, he said. Why are you fucking around with drugs, Frank? I said. You got everything a man could ever want. You gonna piss all that away? For what? You're such a square man. Get with the times. I hated that fucking lingo. I don't do drugs or cocaine. But I will drink with you, I said. Excellent. Now how the hell do we get back to the Plaza? Come by my house first, I said. I have something I want to show you. A cask of Amontillado. And if you do as you're told, we can bring two bottles of 61 Chateau Haute brilliant with us. 61 Haute Brion. Out of sight. You. You are a gentleman of the highest order. And you are going to have eight barrels of amontillado. You're gonna have to wait on that. I know. I'm in no rush. I could put it away for 40 years if I have to. 40 years. You may not outlive your sherry. I'll get to it. Don't you worry, I said. Franklin had another coughing episode and I waited for him to recover. Are you not well? I asked. I'm Yar. What does that mean? It means I'm solid seaworthy. I'm not familiar with that expression, I said. That's because you didn't grow up with boats. My family did. Did? In Sicily. Right on, man. Fishing boats. The salt of the earth. Call me man one more time and I'm going to punch you in the mouth, I thought to myself. Franklin took a deep pull off his unfiltered cigarette and coughed again. You're not well, I said. I know, Doctor. Should we get you back to the hotel? I asked. We should. We absolutely should. But not without that Haute Brion. How far to your pad? Not far at all. Follow me, I said. You're probably asking yourself, why did I do it? Franklin sounded like a good guy. Why would I cut him down in his prime? Why take the life of a young man who had so much going for him? What was the motive? I did it because I could. At the end of the day, we're predators. It's how men are programmed. It's just that some are better predators than others. If you don't give to me, I will take from you. And if you do give, I will take more. You lose, I win. There is a fancy name for this. It's called a zero sum game. It's the game of life. The thing about New Orleans is its history. It's an old city, dirty and decadent. An amoral city. Anything goes down there to this day. It's corrupt from the top down. The politicians are corrupt. The cops are corrupt. I lived in an old house in the French Quarter that was run down but suited my needs. It had a huge cellar that was perfect for storing wine. Franklin was his usual generous self about my dilapidated house and meager furnishings, and I led him down to the cellar. There was a section I was in the process of breaking in. I had plans for that area but wasn't sure when the project would be completed. When the time was right, I would know. I was in no rush. I showed Franklin the massive oak cask of Amontillado. That's enough for a lifetime, he said. Not the way you drink. Find the oat we own, I said. I'll be right back. I left him there and went to gather what I needed. When I returned, Franklin was grinning at me, a bottle in each hand. What a stroke of luck running into this lovely cat in the this lovely old city. And now we get to share these lovely bottles. I mean, what a. What a beautiful world it is. He laid the bottles carefully on the ground and gave me a hug. I don't like that kind of contact. But knowing what I was about to do, I let him and felt the warmth in his embrace. I want to show you something, I said. Have a look in here. I pointed to a section of the wall I had built waist high. Climb in, I said. What's in there? He asked. Come look, I said. We climbed in and looked around the dingy cellar. Can you believe that? I asked. Holy shit, he said. There were two iron rings bricked into the back wall. Attached to the rings were chains with cuffs that hung open. What the fuck is this? Said Franklin. It was some kind of holding cell. I guess I'm breaking it in because I want to look at it. Can you believe people were chained up down here? Slaves would be my guess. Those fascists Nixon and Haldeman did like this. Tortured people, murdered innocent women and children. Burned them alive. Whole families. I mean, we're on this earth to love each other. I mean, it's up to us. It's up to us to make this cruel world a better place. I poured into a cloth dish towel from a small bottle I was holding. What is that? Franklin asked. It's chloroform, I answered as I put the bottle on the ground. What do you need that for? It's going to put you to sleep, I said as I stepped towards him. Franklin was not a fighter. He wasn't the type. I dropped him with a right, wrapped my legs around his back and held the cloth to his mouth. In the movies you see someone passing out right away from chloroform, but that's not the way it works in real life. In real life it takes a while, usually a few minutes. I thought he was going to pass out from a coughing fed, but that only forced him to inhaled deeper. Plus he was drunk and he didn't have the strength I had. That's just genetics. He passed out after about 90 seconds and I went to work. When he came to a couple minutes later, I had him on his knees, cuffed and chained. He registered the predicament he was in and looked at me. You want a cigarette? I asked. He nodded and I got his pack and his lighter from his coat. I put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it for him. He took deep drags until they brought on another coughing fit. I pulled over a wine crate and put it on its side and smoked his cigarette. Why, Robbie? He asked. I don't know, I said as I took a drag from his unfiltered Chesterfield. I looked at it. These are strong, I said. Why would you do this? I don't have the answer to that. Did I do something to offend you? He said. If I did, I'm sorry, Robbie. No, you didn't do anything. Then let me go. Let me out of here. I took another drag off his cigarette. Can I have that? He asked. Sure, I said. He got to his feet and I held the smoke for him. He took shorter drags this time. There was something intimate about it, being there together, me feeding him like a baby. I took the final drag and stubbed it out. My pants were dirty from the Floor. And I brushed them off and went back to the wine crate. This is a joke, right? Said Franklin. This is a fucked up joke. You're one strange cat, Roberto. He laughed then, and I laughed with him. You're out of your mind, he said as we continued laughing. I am. I'm out of my mind, I replied. I'm totally nuts. As my laughter belt, Franklin's began to fade. It's not funny, Robbie, he said. This is not funny to me, so let me out of here. Robbie, come on. I didn't move from my stool, and Franklin went on. Let me out of here now. I mean it, man. It's not funny. Let me go. I mean it, man, I repeated. Be cool, man. Don't be heavy. It's all about peace, man. Can you dig it? I saw his face fall, and no one said anything for a moment. How long are you going to keep me here? He said. They'll look for me. No one knows you. You were just some guy who disappeared in New Orleans during Mardi Gras. My family will look for me. They have connections. They'll find me. Not down here, they won't. The police here don't do shit. They will if they're paid enough. He said. Let me go. Let me go. Let me go and I won't say anything. I promise. I'll never say a word. I sat there picking at my thumbnail with my index finger. Do you want money, Roberto? I. I can get you money if you need it. Just to say thank you. I don't need your money, I said. Then what. What. What can I do? What. What can I do for you? Just tell me. Tell me and I'll do it. There's not much you can do. You see, I don't want anything from you except for you to not exist and not exist. Are you gonna kill me? Is that what you're gonna do? You gonna let me die down here? What. What did I ever do to you? Tell me. What. What did I ever do to you? But be a friend to you and support you and speak well of you and treat you as a fucking equal. He was moving into the anger phase. They say there are seven stages of grief. He would make his way through all of them before we were done. I am your equal, I said. I never said you weren't. You just did. What are you talking about? He said? You just said it without saying it. You implied I wasn't your equal. Because if I were, there would be no need to say it. It would be automatically assumed. If I was like you from your class. You wouldn't say what a great person you were by treating me as an equal. I treat everyone as an equal. I hate that class bullshit. Those are bourgeois notions meant to divide people against each other. I treated you the same as I would anyone. But you're not the same as me. So you don't get to treat me as if I were. You condescend to me by not acknowledging the differences between us. What? Which is it, Robbie? Are we equal or not? I was. I was kind to you. If anything, I hate you more for that. Why? It reminds me of how small I am. My kindness made you feel small? Yeah. Your pity made me hate you. I said, robbie, I'm begging you. Let me go. Please, man, let me go. I don't want to die. I'm scared. I'm scared, Robbie. Don't let me die here. I beg you. It went on like this for a while. He argued, he pleaded, he blubbered, he bargained, he screamed. I just went about my business, mixing concrete and laying brakes. I will say this for Franklin. When he came to the acceptance phase, he took it like a man. When I was on my last few bricks, he called out, said he forgave me. He said he felt for me, for the pain that must be inside to make me do such a thing. After he was immured, I didn't hear much more. I could faintly hear moaning sometimes. But I had sealed up the basement well. Soon the wall would age and you would never be able to tell it had been an addition. And never suspect there was a corpse behind it. It usually takes about four days for someone to die like that. It's not the lack of food. It's the lack of water. The chains were long enough that Franklin could sit on the floor. It was not the plaza by any means. But he would not hang like Christ from the cross. He would die slowly and painfully. But I didn't torture him. He was a nice guy. He didn't deserve to die. But who said life was fair? I stayed at Chez Panisse for almost 20 years, even though the restaurant was below me. Those were decent years. People sought me out for advice on all kinds of subjects, not just wine. I was considered an erudite man, a wise man. I lived in that house all those years with Franklin in the basement. When I moved to New York in 1995, I left him there as a housewarming present for the nice young family who bought the home. I never had a family myself. My family were my restaurants. My family were my customers. I lived for that moment. They took that first sip of a wine I had selected just for them and the light would brighten in their eyes. I liked giving to people. Now I give to you. I bow gracefully as I did to all my customers and exit. You were probably wondering if I killed again. You couldn't keep up when I was alive. Can you catch up now that I'm dead? I just gave you a head start. Now give me my legacy. The amontillado, by the way, was excellent. PO is an Audio Chuck Original this episode was read for you by Jake Weber so what do you think Chuck? Do you approve? Netcredit is here to say yes to a personal loan or line of credit when other lenders say no, apply in minutes and get a decision as soon as the same day. If approved, applications are typically funded the next business day or sooner. Loans offered by Netcredit or lending partner banks and serviced by Netcredit Applications subject to review and approval. Learn more@netcredit.com partner net credit credit to the people at Amica Insurance, we know it's more than just a car. It's the two door coupe that was there for your first drive, the hatchback that took you cross country and back, and the minivan that tackles the weekly carpool for the cars you couldn't live without. Trust Amica Auto Insurance Amica Empathy is our best policy.