As it turned two o'clock that afternoon, a black Porsche 911 GT2 arrived outside a club in Down Town Los Angeles. A large neon sign above the door read: ‘Donnelly's'.

Soon a door opened inside the large, dimly lit bar area, and a black guy propped against a juke box, looked over to see Marcus Donnelly enter.

"Boss!" he announced with delight, then walked over to the tall, big-built shaven headed man. Marcus was in his mid thirties, and as he grinned at his friend, he exposed gold caps on his teeth.

"Bobby. How's the place been since I was gone?"

Bobby was happy to see Marcus, but looked nervous.

"Well, there have been one or two developments. I think you should come into the office."

Marcus gave the place the once over, and noticed two girls dressed in tight fitting, minimal dresses, chatting whilst playing pool. But something wasn't right.

He followed Bobby into the back and down a narrow corridor adorned with large framed photos of exotic women in various states of undress. Bobby paused at a door. A gold, stencilled sign read ‘Private'.

"There's something you should know." he said quietly.

Marcus nodded, "Relax. I'm already two steps ahead." then he stepped in front of Bobby, and grabbed the gold door knob.


Inside the finely decorated office, sun from a window bathed a large oak desk, and sitting behind in Marcus' leather chair, was Donatello Concotti. A creak of hinges announced Marcus' entrance.

"Mr Donnelly! So glad you could join us! Care for a cigar?" Donatello announced, and revealed a large cigar case complete with a selection of the finest Cubans.

"They were my Father's." Marcus replied sternly, "Leave them be."

Then as he approached the desk, he saw Vincent standing beside the door, equalling him in height but not build.

"So, what's the situation here, Concotti? Where's my wife?"

Donatello smiled smugly, then sat forward, taking a cigar and snapping off the end with a small silver cutter.

"She's safe. You know me, Marcus. I don't make idle threats. She won't be harmed as long as you do as I say."

"How do I know she won't be hurt anymore? She already told me you'd left some marks. I swear if she doesn't come out of this, I'll fuckin' kill you!"

Donatello smirked, "I haven't touched her. I promise. But if you do feel the need for revenge, I have come up with one thing."

"What are you talking about, Concotti?"

"The person who has hurt your wife, has agreed to accompany me to our little meeting. She's got her uses, granted, but I can't have you pursuing any personal vendetta against me or my business. I had to do what I did to get you here today, Mr Donnelly. How else does a guy like me find a guy like you?"

"Now that sounded fuckin' gay." Marcus quipped.

Vincent sniggered in the background, until Donatello sent him a look before once again focusing on Marcus.

"So I'm offering you this. Take your vengeance out on her. Gouge out her fuckin' eyeballs for all I care. It makes no difference to me. But then it is finished. No come back. Then once you hand over your friend to us, our work will be done, and we can all go back to whatever the fuck it is we do all day, and keep our egos intact."

Marcus didn't know what to say. He was still thinking about Justine and just what these sick bastards had put her through. Donatello signalled Vincent with a nod, who then walked over to another door to Marcus' left. Marcus knew it lead into a bedroom where he had had some interesting encounters with various girls. He guessed now that wasn't the case. The door then opened, and Vincent allowed the big, butch foreign woman in, and she smiled at Marcus.

"What is this about, Donatello? I have work to do." she said in that thick accent.

"Have you met our guest?" Donatello said.

The woman rubbed her chin with a leather gloved hand, and Marcus noticed a smear of blood across the knuckles - Justine's blood?

"No, I don't believe I have." she said, then went to approach.

All of a sudden, Marcus pulled a gun, pointed it with one out stretched arm, and fired. The woman was shot in the head, and tumbled back through the door, landing on the floor in the bedroom. Blood began to soak the carpet.
Donatello looked stunned, then got up, just as Marcus lowered the piece.

"Vengeance done. Now let me see my wife." he remarked calmly, before handing the gun over to Vincent, who seemed more than a little shaken.

At a roadside diner on a length of highway a couple of Miles out of LA, Nina walked past a table, and smiled at a man seated with a single mug of coffee. The man was wearing a grey over coat with a trilby hat pulled down to cast a shadow over his features. He was unshaven like Malcolm, and had already gone through five cigarettes, now no more than stubs in a tin-foil ash tray. He watched Nina walk back to a table where Malcolm was positioned in his wheel chair, and she sat down, picking up a sandwich.

"So, you not hungry?" she asked, noticing he hadn't touched a salad.

"Why Carson City? It's more than 300 miles from here." Malcolm then asked, looking uncomfortable, eyeing up every person in the place like they were his sworn enemies.

"Why not? It's out of California, and I know this cabin we can crash at. My Uncle..."

"Yeah, you said. But why do you think they will not look there? It's as good a place as any."

"The folks in Carson keep themselves pretty much to themselves. It's an old farming and mining community, all ranches, a healthy collection of live stock, and not much else. It's old country. It's well, nice. And anyway, won't they keep the search down to just California for now?"

Malcolm nodded, "I guess. I'm just nervous. Nervous of everything right now. I could just be putting off the inevitable."

"What kinda talk is that? You have to think positive."

"Thinking positive is for people who can't pay there bills or have had bad luck at the races. I could be dead tomorrow."

Back at the other table, the man was still watching, taking a sip of his coffee, then got up, leaving a few dollars on the table, then walked away.

Soon he entered a toilet, and approached the urinals. He unzipped himself and began to relieve his aching bladder. Soon he came back out, and paused just short of re-entering the main area of the diner. He took out a mobile phone and made a call.

A black limo travelled through the city, and in the back, Donatello answered a phone.

"Speak." he said.

"Mr Concotti. I have some information for you." came a voice sporting a thick, Texan accent.

"Who is this?" Donatello asked, sitting opposite Vincent as Marcus followed behind in the Porsche.

"Called me John. We have worked together in the past. You could say I make irritating problems, disappear."

Donatello suddenly smiled with recognition.

"Ok, erm ‘john', what is this news you have for me?"

Back at the diner, the man observed Nina & Malcolm from the secluded safety of a corridor leading to the toilets.

"Would you recognise the name Raven if I was to declare it?"

"Ah yes. An associate of my Father, I believe."

"Well this cat's just been spotted at a small establishment I kinda frequent between assignments, and you're not gonna believe who's keeping her company."

"Who?" Donatello asked.

"None other than that rich playboy who's been all over the news recently."
Donatello almost dropped the phone in shock.

"Well..." he said, "That is interesting news."

"What is it, Donatello?" Vincent asked.

Donatello lowered the phone, covering the receiver with his hand, "After we let our friend get acquainted with his wife again. I have to disappear. Looks like there's been a rather interesting development."

Vincent looked intrigued, as Donatello raised the phone again.

"Well, thank you er, ‘john'. You stay in touch now. Keep an eye on them for me."

The man smiled, then lowered and switched off the mobile.

"You can sure guarantee that, Mr Concotti." he said with a wicked grin.