Sketches

The 9.7 magnitude quake that destroyed Rome was the largest in recorded history. Now that it had transpired, Marx was strangely disappointed. He'd anticipated it would have given him much more satisfaction than it did. After five minutes of watching the televised disaster, he was bored. Nothing could fill his void. He turned off the television, got properly dressed, and then exited his office.

On his way to the lift, Marx made a detour to the boardroom where War was alone, drawing with a pencil in a sketchbook on the table. The bearded man looked up at his visitor, who stopped at the doorway. Neither smiled at the other.

'Rome is no more,' Marx said coldly. 'Death certainly makes the rest of you three appear lackadaisical.'

War ignored the comments and returned to his drawing.

Marx entered the room.

'Do you know what the definition of lackadaisical is?' he asked War, who ignored him and kept drawing.

'Of course, you don't. Lackadaisical — lacking enthusiasm or being spiritless,' Marx said as he began looking at some of the drawn-upon single pages spread on the table. One was of cult leader Chuck Goyette talking into a microphone, and another was of an unsmiling Death in her skinny-fit jeans. Then, he saw a sketch of himself seated in a chair with the picture of Mao looming behind him.

'Cute,' Marx commented sourly. 'Why do you draw like this? Stop yourself from going mad? That's what Goyette thinks. He implied you can't handle this realm's reality.'

War still didn't reply or react. He just continued drawing in his book.

Marx dropped the sketch of himself back onto the table.

'Our schedule has moved forward. Day after tomorrow, we leave for China and North Korea. There, your input is finally required,' he said before turning to go.

Marx exited the room and made his way to the elevator.

On his way down, he thought about the lack of emotion he saw in War, just as he'd earlier witnessed in Famine and Death. All dullards. Chuck Goyette, though, was another thing. He came in advance of the others, spending two years fronting Temple Science Ministries. From day one, he was as emotional as any typical American, if not more so.

Marx considered such oddities as he left his building, crossed the road, and entered his multi-roomed nightclub, The Devil's Pleasure Palace. He waved away two bouncers who usually hung around him to ensure he wouldn't be bothered by club patrons. Usually, the club was bursting with clientele on mind-bending substances, some doing deviated things. Tonight, there was hardly a soul about. The broadcasting of the end of one of the world's most iconic cities on TV kept them away.

After getting a drink, he sauntered into the club's dimly lit dance area. The large space was near empty save for dancers in two gibbet-like chrome cages that hung from the ceilings. Arty versions of the device that imprisoned Quintus centuries earlier. The space around them blared techno music. A youthful but overweight DJ in a booth was responsible for that. It was just how Marx liked it and somewhat reminded him of a softer version of the sounds he heard in the first ring of the fourth circle of Hell.

Marx felt his cellphone buzz in a trouser pocket. He took the call. It was Vacher calling from Reno. He sought out a quiet room in his club to talk.

The Playground

On his cellphone, Vacher was hiding behind playground equipment centered in a dimly lit park. Beside him, Irfan tried listening while keeping his eyes open for police. The Pakistani heard some yelling at the other end of the call after Vacher briefly explained what occurred at the diner. When Marx calmed down, Vacher switched on the speaker so Irfan could fully listen.

'And where is Peach?' Marx asked.

'We lost Peach, he might be in custody,' Vacher said while Irfan shook his head.

'No, he's dead. Stray cartel bullet to the head,' Irfan said.

'Oh yeah, that's correct, Peach is collateral damage. Sorry, Mr. Marx, I've got a slight concussion,' Vacher said.

Back in New York, Marx swore further. After half a minute of that, the fund manager steadied himself and began to explore options.

'The Reno private investigator you mentioned, is he dependable?' he asked.

'Jack Day, yeah. Ex-cop, bit long in the tooth, not cheap, but he's discreet and well connected,' Vacher said.

'Sound him out, and if he wants the work, get him to phone me ASAP. Tell him we will triple his usual rate and pay it wherever he wants. At this stage, money is no issue. I just need you two out of there and back in New York,' Marx said. 'Get to it and call him.'

The Cartel Boss

Marx hung up on Vacher only to have another incoming call. He noted the caller ID and knew he had to answer it.

'Hello, Senor Lazcano,' Marx said as he began to pace around the dark, empty room he had relocated to.

Some 2,000 miles away, Amado cartel chief Alfonso Lazcano was at the other end of the line. He was lying on a massage table, being kneaded by a masseur in the comfort of his mansion. He watched TV coverage of the Rome earthquake while he spoke on the phone.

'Mr. Marx, I've been told about a shooting incident at a diner in Reno. The details are vague, so I'm calling to ask if you know anything,' Lazcano said.

'Yes, I have only learned of it, so I'm trying to get to the bottom of it as we speak, but from what I know, there are at least two dead: one mine, one yours,' Marx replied.

Lazcano grunted and cleared his throat.

'I will send some men to Reno; they will also make enquiries. Mercenary types. Tough hombres,' he added, just for the drama of it.

'I'd appreciate it if we could work together on this matter,' Marx said.

'Of course, my friend,' Lazcano said. 'Call me when you find out more, and we will see how we can sort out this mess.'

'I won't rest until I do.'

'Yes, Mr. Marx, no rest for the wicked. That's what I admire about you. Are you watching the news about the fall of Rome?'

'I was.'

'How will it affect the markets?'

'It will be worse than anything in living memory, they may even close the markets for a period.'

For a further ten minutes, Marx told Lazcano what could happen in global markets over the short and midterms. There seemed little point for Marx in discussing the long term.

'Very interesting,' Lazcano said. 'Will it affect our China supplies? Can they still deliver, do you think?'

'Of course, it won't be an issue. It's a priority for us and my Chinese associates,' Marx said.

'I'm glad you see it that way. Time will tell, I guess, my friend,' Lazcano said. 'But the million-dollar question is, Mr. Marx, do you believe the end of the world is coming?'

'Maybe for Italy, but for the rest of us, I think it'll just be business as usual,' Marx lied.

'Yes, well, let's see what happens to you New Yorkers in a few days. To be on the safe side, you should go on holiday, even come visit me in Matamoros,' Lazcano said.

Marx sensed it wasn't a genuine offer, not that that mattered.

'Speak with you soon,' Lazcano said as he hung up.

The Email

Marx left the nightclub, and five minutes later, he was in the large entertainment room of his penthouse apartment, one floor above his office. There, he sat on a black leather sofa and surfed the net on his laptop, monitoring market reaction to the earthquake out of interest.

It wasn't until just after midnight that he received a call from Vacher telling him that private investigator Jack Day was onboard. Day had already picked up Vacher and Irfan and had them safely hidden.

Vacher put Day on the call, and an agreement was struck to get both men to the local airport in the morning. There they'd be put on Black Crest's corporate jet, which would take them back to New York. As the call wrapped up, Marx asked Day to find out what the cops knew about the diner fiasco. He could use such information to appease his cartel client.

Following the call, Marx slumped into the sofa's corner and took several sleeping pills. He promptly fell into a deep dreamless sleep, one that wasn't disturbed until a fair bit of time later when his cellphone beeped, letting him know a text message had arrived.

He sat up and noted the sun coming through the curtains. Before reaching for his phone, he checked his wristwatch and cursed after seeing how late it was. It was just before eight in the morning.

He picked up his phone and read the text message that said: 'Check email,' and he turned on his laptop. He opened an email with the subject line: 'From Jack Day.' Inside it was a link for a video from the diner's CCTV.

Marx clicked on the link and watched the video of the incident, which began with Herera taunting Bill, followed by Quintus intervening. More than once, an excited Marx replayed what he saw.

Jack Day's Dreams

For Jack Day, the deal with Marx was like all his Christmases had come at once. As the 59-year-old sat in his stationary van opposite the FBI's Reno office, he could only chuckle over the easiest money ever made. He had been promised a half-million to shelter the two guys from Black Crest and then deliver them to the airport later that morning.

Then the deal got even sweeter when Marx promised more money if he could find the 'karate guy' with the short haircut featured in the CCTV video of the diner incident. Another half-million there.

Day had FBI and local police sources, so he had no problem getting the right information — the karate guy's identity, his vehicle details, and why he was in Reno — which he forwarded to Marx as soon as he got them.

All so easy, Day smugly thought. Now, he couldn't help but daydream about what he'd do with all that money. Either early retirement in Panama or Colombia. He had zero time for all the headline chatter about a pending Apocalypse.

The guy that Day was additionally hired to find was a Canadian national identified as Quintus Bremmer. He was ordered to follow him undetected until told otherwise. When he spoke with Marx, Day also made it clear that he would not approach or confront 'Bremmer'.

He had watched the diner video. There was no way he was getting physical with him. At his stage of life, Day knew his limitations.

As he dreamed of things he hoped to come, his cellphone rang. It was from New York. It was Marx again. Day, of course, took the call, and with money on his mind, he did so with a smile.

'Mr. Marx, how may I help you sir?'

'Any developments?' Marx asked sharply at the other end.

'I'm pretty sure he is still with the feds. I'll call you when there is any movement,' Day said. 'But there's one more thing about payment. If you want to give it to me in cash today, I'm fine with that, but if you would prefer to transfer it to my Panama bank account within the next hour, that's fine too,' he said, hoping he didn't sound too greedy. 'Just need to be clear on these things, sir. Nature of the game, I'm afraid to say, and I hope you understand,' he added.

Marx didn't hesitate to reply.

'I'm flying to Reno, I'll give you your money myself,' he said. 'Where are Vacher and Irfan?

'Back at my place, keeping low until they fly out,' he said.

'Fine. There is one more thing related to Quintus Bremmer. I have some associates currently traveling to Reno by road,' Marx said, referring to the Amado cartel team sent by Alfonso Lazcano. 'They will link up with you, and they will take care of Bremmer. Is that clear?'

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

'Clear as crystal, sir.'

'They have your number, they will be in touch soon enough,' Marx said.

FBI Offer

It was a call from the hospital confirming the paralysis that immobilized Herera and some of his thugs had worn off, which meant Quintus could leave the FBI building. The authorities were holding him in case the paralysis was permanent because if it was, the feds assumed a vengeful cartel would spare no effort in tracking him down.

Now, given that Herera and his thugs weren't paralyzed, the feds judged it was marginally safer.

But it must be said, like most of the world with access to a TV or the internet, the feds were preoccupied with the idea that doomsday was just around the corner. This was in the back of Pena's mind when he and two other tired senior agents made Quintus one last half-hearted offer in the interview room they were in.

'So Mr. Bremmer, again, I can't stress it enough — the Amado cartel is brutal, they're animals; we'd like you to reconsider and take the agency's offer of protection, even if on a temporary basis,' Pena said.

'As I said, I'm fine,' Quintus said.

'Additionally, there are the guys who work for the New York financier, one of whom is now dead. The other two you helped beat up before they got away, they may also be wanting some payback,' Pena said.

'Thanks, but I can look after myself.'

Pena had now heard enough. He had other things to do.

'Okay, if that's the case, then I think we're done here but contact us if you have second thoughts. One of our guys will drive you to your hotel.'

Quintus nodded in thanks and left the room with an agent who'd be his driver. As they walked, he battled, trying to keep Rome's obliteration from his mind. He had to focus on getting out of Reno and flying to China as per prophecy. Humanity, he presumed, still needed saving.

From the FBI building, the agent drove and dropped Quintus off at his hotel, where he washed and changed. He made a phone call canceling his helicopter job interview, meditated for half an hour, and then checked out.

After that, he drove his pickup truck to one of Reno's hospitals, unaware that along the way, he had a tail following him. Day's white van.

Hospital Visit

Quintus was thinking it'd be best to fly from San Francisco to China as he walked through the hospital's reception after visiting Bill in his sick bed. Near the exit, he was intercepted by Tina, the waitress from the diner.

'Hi there, were you just seeing Bill?' she asked.

It was a moment before Quintus recognized her, given she was dressed in sporty clothes and carrying a bike helmet.

'Hey again, yeah, I was. He seems to be doing okay. Doctors say he'll be out of hospital in a few days, which is good. You on your way to visit him?'

'I already have, just a bit before,' she said, smiling.

A half-hour earlier, Tina was leaving the hospital after visiting Bill until she saw Quintus. She first saw his glowing golden aura enter the reception area, followed by his physical self. He was unaware of her presence as he passed through on his way to see Bill. Not wanting to miss the chance of speaking to him again, she sat and waited for his return which, as you know, just occurred.

'I was about to go, then I saw you and thought I'd say hello, see how you're doing,' Tina said.

'I'm fine, and you after that mad circus last night?'

'Took a while to get to sleep for sure,' she said. 'At least Bill is in good spirits despite everything, but he's pretty much always like that: chilled. But it still looks like he's getting out of town,' she added.

Quintus nodded.

'Yeah, he mentioned he and his wife are already planning to take their two kids to stay with her brother in Montana, who's into prepping and survival,' he said.

'The Rome earthquake has everyone spooked. It's all they're talking about,' Tina said. 'I told my friends what happened at the diner, and they're like: "Who cares — New York is gonna be destroyed in a week!"'

'Yeah, it's bizarre,' he said. 'You staying in Reno?'

Tina shook her head.

'I need to get to Sacramento to be with family, hopefully via bus or a train whenever one was next available,' she said.

'Well, I'm heading to San Francisco today, and I have to go through Sacramento, so I can give you a lift if you want,' he said. 'It's only a few hours' drive from here, I think.'

'Yes, two and a bit, but my mom and dad would kill me for traveling with a virtual stranger.'

'Well, we don't want that to happen,' he said, smiling.

But Tina knew what Quintus was made of and understood she was safe in his company. What's more, she wanted to spend more time with him.

'But dang it! It's the end of everything, so some rules now no longer apply. So, gosh, yes, I will take you up on your kind offer,' she said. 'I can go this morning if that is what you had planned or whenever, but I just need to get some things from my place on the other side of town, if that's okay.'

'Sure, not a problem. I'm glad to have company,' he said.

They left the hospital building and made their way to his pickup in the parking lot. Unknown to them, Day was taking their photos from his parked van. After putting Tina's bike into the rear of the pickup, they drove out of the hospital grounds, and an hour later, after going via her student house, they were on Dwight D. Eisenhower Highway heading towards California. Meanwhile, Day was following.

The Crow

It was midday, and Marx was halfway across America, flying west in his corporate jet. It was painted black, his corporate color. Unsurprisingly, it was nicknamed the 'Crow.' The lavish $53 million aircraft was divided into five sections, including a walk-in cargo area.

Typically, the Crow could take 13 passengers, but on this occasion, Marx was one of three. Behind him, at the very back, just out of earshot, were two of his Black Crow soldiers for hire.

He looked out his window down upon the Great Plains with unfocused eyes. He held his Atomos phone to an ear while waiting for the private investigator Day to pick up at the other end. When the connection was made, he drew down the window shade.

'Hello, Mr. Marx,' Day said.

'Did you link up with my associate's men?' Marx asked about Alfonso Lazcano's own mercenary types, the tough hombres.

'Yes, two teams in separate vehicles. They are now tailing the subject who entered California some 20 or so minutes ago,' Day said. 'I'm on my way back to Reno and will see you at the airport after I pick up your two guys from my residence.'

'Good. I'll see you soon enough,' Marx said before ending the call.

He picked up his iPad and revisited a breaking news report he had seen earlier. Its headline read: 'Cult Leader Brings Forward Doomsday Prediction, New York City Now Only Has Three Days.'

Marx could only sigh and shake his head at what was Chuck Goyette's first media interview since the Rome earthquake. Out of frustration, Marx regathered his phone and dialed it. Someone at the other end picked up, a Temple Science Ministries staff member.

'I need to speak to Mr. Goyette; it's Aaron Marx calling,' he said.

The staff member handed the phone to Goyette, who was with his team behind a stage inside a jam-packed sports stadium,

'Greetings and salutations from Los Angeles. How are you today, Marx?' Goyette asked.

'Somewhere between frustrated and baffled. I've been reading the news, and according to at least one New York publication, the schedule has been altered,' Marx said.

'I presume you are talking about that article with the overly sensational headline,' Goyette said. 'But yes, the doomsday schedule has been brought forward because you're the one zipping off to China earlier than expected. Thank you for the notification, by the way, about changes to the so-called plan you always harp on about,' he added.

'There have been complications. It certainly wasn't done on a whim, but it doesn't really affect what you are meant to be doing,' Marx replied.

'Look, I don't care for lame excuses. You should have consulted with me first,' Goyette said. 'Stick to the plan, isn't that what you like say?'

'It's happened now, so just tell me your amended schedule,' Marx said, now not even trying to hide his sullenness.

'Marx, how about you just follow the news like everyone else? I see no point repeating myself to every Tom, Dick, and Harry. You're the delivery boy, so just get War to the Far East, as you're supposed to, and let nature take its course,' Goyette said. 'This venture is bigger and more finely tuned than you think. I'm surprised the demon kings failed to spell that out for you.'

A large chant in the stadium began, making it hard for Marx to hear Goyette and vice versa.

Some 10,000 people in front of the stage were now chanting: 'Chuck! Chuck! Chuck!'

'What's that appalling racket? I can hardly hear you,' Marx asked.

'Oh, ignore that; it's just the sound of well-earned adulation,' Goyette said. 'But look, I, for one, have no doubts you'll also be an outstanding king of the pit and that you'll be as cruel as the best of them.'

'This is straying from what I want to discuss,' Marx said.

'I just wanted to say you could've got so much more if you negotiated with a bit of gusto,' Goyette said. 'The demon kings of the pit are not really that bright y'know. Anyway, your loss.'

An exasperated Marx could hardly restrain his ever-increasing hatred for Goyette.

'I got what I bargained for,' Marx said.

'Ha, yes, you did; driven by a fusion of terror and near-ancient grievances, no doubt. Either way returning to Hell must be a horrid predicament, king or no king,' Goyette said.

Marx tried reining in his emotions, which he knew could send him over the edge if he let it. He breathed in deeply and waited a few seconds till he could reply in a steady manner.

'Yes, and a multitude of words, Mr. Goyette, is no proof of a prudent mind,' Marx said.

But this only made Goyette burst out in laughter.

'Dear me, resorting to pilfering Greek proverbs now, are we Marx? How pitiable,' he said, chuckling away. 'You know what else I heard? That you're planning to conduct a coup once you get to hell, get rid of the demon kings, and make yourself top dog.'

'Ridiculous,' Marx said.

'Yeah, maybe, but don't tell me you haven't fantasized about it. Now, my people are waiting, and I dare not test their patience anymore. Time to go. Just do your bit and just get War to the East,' Goyette said as he hung up.

Goyette gave his phone to one of his assistants, who, in exchange, handed him a microphone. The crowd on the other side of the stage was still chanting his name. He walked up some steps onto the stage and made his way to the front into full view of the crowd, who gave him a rock-star reception.

He lapped it up.

'Well, hello, Los Angeles! Oh my, this truly is West Coast hospitality at its finest. Isn't this a grand occasion?!' Goyette yelled. 'No matter what has happened halfway around the world in Italy, it's still an awesome day if you are a member of the Temple Science Ministries!'

The crowd roared back in the affirmative, and a new chant began circling the stadium. 'Survivors! Survivors! Survivors! Survivors! Survivors!'

Moms Know Best

Tina did most of the talking for the bulk of the trip right up until her mother called her cellphone to check on their progress.

'He's a Reno friend,' Tina said in response to her mother's question about who was driving the vehicle. 'Don't worry, mom, he's a very responsible driver plus a super nice guy,' she said, shooting a grin at Quintus at the wheel. 'We're still an hour and a bit away, so maybe we'll be too late for lunch. Yes, mom, okay, mom.'

She lowered her phone and looked at Quintus.

'Do you like Thai food? Bangkok Thai, to be precise? Not so spicy. Mom wants to know if you would like to have a late lunch with us.'

'Thank your mom for me, but I gotta keep driving to San Francisco.'

'You hear that, mom?' Tina said into the phone and then listened to her mom's reply. 'Mom said a man's gotta eat. She'll have some food there at home for you.'

'Well,' he said. 'Sounds like I can't say no, so count me in.'

'All right, mom Quintus is in, so we will see you soon. What? Ha, ha, err okay mom, I'll check,' Tina said. 'My mom wants to know what kind of name is Quintus?'

'It's an old Latin name.'

'There you go, mom, you hear that? No, he's not Latino.'

'Italian heritage.'

'Quintus is Italian, mom, not that it matters where he is from!'

For the last 30 seconds of the call, Tina and her mom said goodbyes in Thai.

After ending the call, she looked at Quintus.

'My mom is the best cook in the world. You're one lucky guy,' she said.

'I'm sure I am. Did you tell your mom about what happened at the diner?'

'Not yet. She'd worry too much if I just blabbed it out over the phone,' she said. 'I'll tell her in person after we arrive.'

'Wise girl,' said Quintus.

'But given the events in Italy and what that's all about, she was pretty chilled. Heck, she mightn't even be fully aware of what's happening. Mom has never been a fan of watching regular news, maybe she tunes into Thai language news now and then.'

'You speak other languages apart from Thai and English?' he asked her.

'Some high-school Mandarin and French. How about you?'

'Some Spanish and bits of pieces of others.'

From what she could see, Tina knew Quintus was great. Going by his aura, he was unsurpassed as far as she was concerned. But he was very guarded in what he said. So far, he had offered few real details about himself. She wanted to know more, but she was too well-mannered to intrude, so she just stayed on the obvious topic of conversation.

'It's hard to fathom the end of the world might be soon,' Tina quietly said.

'Let's hope it doesn't come to that,' Quintus said.

In a bid to lighten the mood, he asked Tina about her art education studies. And from that, she was gladly surprised to find that they both shared a love for the Renaissance and the culture that it created. Quintus, of course, experienced that glorious period, not that he could share that with Tina. For decades he actually helped drive the Renaissance with his architecture, first in Florence and then through Italy and elsewhere in Europe.

Quintus spoke in moderation, saying about as much as he thought she could accept. In turn, he listened to her talk about her admiration for the likes of Raphael, Andrea del Sarto, and of course, everyone's favorites, Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci.

The flow of the conversation stopped when Quintus noticed the pickup truck's temperature gauge was higher than usual. It wasn't extreme, but he didn't want to risk it. A month earlier, the radiator needed repairs which he did himself, but he wasn't overly confident in what he did. After passing through the town of Colfax, he pulled up at a small gas station that was devoid of customers.

'I better check under the hood,' Quintus told Tina as he parked the pickup. 'And get some backup coolant while I'm at it. Won't take long.'

'Okay, sure, do what you gotta do,' she said.

'You like anything from the gas station store?' he offered her as he stepped out of the vehicle.

'No, I'm good. Hope you don't mind me not coming out, I have to speak with some friends who have been messaging me all day,' she said. 'With the Apocalypse, they're freaking out somewhat.'

'No problem,' Quintus said before he popped the hood to check on his engine's coolant levels, which he promptly found were in order.

After dropping the hood, he went into the shop, where he was greeted by a young shop clerk armed with a price gun.

'Excuse me, buddy, I'm after some coolant,' Quintus said.

'Yeah, over in that corner. I haven't been there yet, so it's still reasonably priced. So be quick; I'm bumping everything up by 70 percent today,' the clerk said. 'With the world going to end, the manager reckons prices are set to skyrocket.'

Group Chat

In the parked pickup, Tina was talking on her phone in a group chat with four of her friends; three girls and a guy. All were engrossed in their conversation.

'I tried getting on the website for Temple Science Ministries earlier today and couldn't,' said one of the girls.

'I heard it crashed with so many people trying to visit it after Rome,' said another.

'Hey, everyone! Chuck Goyette is actually live on TV right now from Los Angeles,' chipped in the third girl.

'I'm not going to watch him just out of principle,' the guy friend said. 'Goyette gives me the creeps. He is the Walmart version of the Antichrist.'

Laughter.

Tina was so occupied with the conversation she didn't notice as two vehicles — a van and an SUV, both black — parked to the left side of the pickup.

Nor did she register two men getting out of the van and quickly approaching.

It was only when they yanked open her door that she realized she was in trouble. They grabbed her and hauled her out of the pickup's cabin.

'Make noise, and you're dead; do as we say, and you'll live,' one of them said to her in accented English.

As they dragged her towards the van, her phone spilled out of her hands. Her online friends yelled hopeless concerns until a thug crushed the phone under the heel of his boot.

A hood was placed over Tina's head. The last thing she saw was the murky blackness of the thugs' auras.

After forcing her into the van, they waited.

Gold Tooth

Carrying his coolant purchase, Quintus exited the store and promptly saw that Tina wasn't in the pickup. A split second later, he saw thugs around the van where Tina was inside with her head covered. She sat near the open side door. Beside her, a thug — with a gold tooth — had a pistol thrust into her ribs.

Quintus had, by this stage, stopped in his tracks. He counted seven thugs, one of whom was behind him. The one with the gold tooth smiled in a not-so-friendly manner.

'Machotes, you've caused an awful mess, and now we gotta clean it up,' said the thug with the gold tooth. 'No matter. It's our job. Nothing personal, okay? So, take three steps to your left, and then get down to your knees,' he ordered.

Quintus may have performed wonders at the diner the night before, but he couldn't repeat them under these circumstances and risk Tina's life. There was little choice but to do as instructed and hope to do something when odds improved

After dropping the coolant, he stepped to the side and got to his knees. As he put his hands on his head, the thug behind him approached and walloped him on the head. Quintus went down semi-stunned. Sprawled on the ground, the last thing he sensed was a needle jab into his side and something being injected inside him. That something knocked him out.