The van and the car parked and Jack saw a man walk toward them. The man was taller than Jack, but had a thin build. He had a full, neatly cropped beard and a trimmed moustache. His hair was wavy and cut to collar length. He was wearing slacks, black dress shoes, and an open sports-jacket that showed a silk shirt underneath.

Jack glanced at Mongo and saw him slip the pistol under his seat.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said Cocktail. “Glad that you are all on time.”

“Yeah,” said Sy. “This is my buddy I was telling you about. Jay, this is Cocktail.”

Jack stuck out his hand and Cocktail shook it and smiled. His smile disappeared when he saw there was something in Jack’s other hand.

“What’s in your hand?” he said, stepping back cautiously.

“Oh, sorry,” replied Jack. “Something I twiddle with to pass the time. Never have solved it,” he said, passing the cube to Cocktail.

Cocktail twirled the cube with his fingers and said, “I used to do these in under a minute. Not much challenge, really.” He gave it back to Jack and said, “Keep working on it. You’ll get there some day.”

Jack put it back in his pocket.

Cocktail waved over the two men who’d arrived with him and said, “Okay, gentlemen, the four of you will be frisked by my associates and taken for a ride. No talking until we get there. I hope it goes well tonight and I wish you all good fortune.”

Jack studied the faces of the two men who searched them. Don’t recognize them from any pictures of Satans Wrath. The club must be growing …

Jack, Sy, Mongo, and Munch were subsequently searched, placed in the van, and blindfolded. They were driven for an hour before Jack could tell by the sound of the tires that they had left a paved road and had entered a road that was gravelled and bumpy. Within seconds, the van came to a stop.

The side door on the van slid open and Cocktail said, “Okay, gentlemen, we have arrived. You may take off your blindfolds and get out.”

Jack did as instructed. He saw that they were parked in front of a small barn. The stench of manure hung in the air.

He looked around and saw that behind them there was a farmhouse near the road. Lights were on inside the home, but no other people were visible.

“Where are the bikers?” he asked.

“The others haven’t arrived yet, so I expect there are only a couple out at the road and maybe some in the barn. Which, incidentally, is where we are meeting,” he added, while gesturing toward the barn with a leather attaché case he was holding.

“It stinks here,” said Mongo, while stroking his goatee and looking around.

“Pig farm up the road,” replied Cocktail. “Shall we continue, gentlemen? Time is wasting, although it would appear that we will have a short wait.”

They entered the barn and Jack saw that it was divided in half, with a wall down the centre. A glimpse through a doorway revealed that the far side held a row of empty stalls and stanchions to hold cattle in place. The section of the barn they were in was open in the middle with empty pens on each side. A wooden ladder nailed to a wall led to a hayloft up above.

A room at the far end of the barn locked with a combination lock caught Jack’s attention. It wasn’t the lock that caused his adrenalin to surge. It was the picture of a hamster on the door that told him they were not on mutual territory.

Jack spun around as Balvinder, Fateh, Quang, and Rashard appeared behind them. Balvinder and Rashard each brandished sawed-off shotguns while Fateh and Quang held pistols.

“Cocktail! What —”

Cocktail’s chortle interrupted Sy’s panicked voice. “Sorry guys,” he said, “you didn’t make the honour roll.”

Jack glanced around for a chance to escape. His glance did not go unnoticed. Cocktail’s smile mutated to a sneer. “All of you,” he barked, “lay down on your stomachs and put your hands behind your back!”

They slowly complied, laying face down in a row on the floor.

Jack could taste the dust and particles of hay in his mouth as he lay on the floor. More of it caused his eyes to water, but he hardly noticed as he waited for the inevitable sound of gunfire to announce their executions. I wish I could write a note to Natasha and tell her how much I love her … and to say I’m sorry. Sorry that she will be a mom all on her own. Sorry, too, to my child for not being there …

Quang stuck his pistol in his belt and tied each of the captive’s hands behind their backs with zip ties.

Jack pondered on the use of the zip ties. Why didn’t they shoot us? This is the ideal spot …

Jack’s thoughts were interrupted when Fateh kicked Sy in the face and said, “That is for what you cost me the other morning.”

“Fateh! Wait,” commanded Cocktail. “Stick to the itinerary. You’ll get your chance. Let Quang finish.”

Quang picked up a short length of heavy chain and weaved one end through the bound arms of each of the captives.

“Gentleman, stand up,” ordered Cocktail.

They did as told and the chain was used to bind them shoulder to shoulder in a circle with their backs against a thick support beam that ran from the floor up to the ceiling. The ends of the chain were tightened and padlocked together.

“Listen carefully,” said Cocktail, “you will all die, that is without question. For those of you who are slow to grasp concepts easily, I will give you a moment to accept your fate.”

Jack saw Cocktail smile before whistling part of the tune to The Bridge on the River Kwai. He’s enjoying this, he thought. He recalled the bloody splashes up the back of Gabriel’s house and looked around the barn. Cocktail can do anything to us here ... drag it out for days … try not to focus on the pain. Focus on something else … Natasha … too painful … focus on an object … the picture of Harry the Hamster…

“Okay, gentlemen, your time is up,” said Cocktail, as he strutted around his captives with his hands clasped behind him. “The bad news is that you’re going to die, but the good news is you can decide how. It is all a question of economics. The richer you make us before you die will decide whether your death is quick and painless ... or long and slow. You see, I have listened to most of you brag about how much you’ve made.” Cocktail stopped to stare at Sy and continued, “Brag about how you made a million dollars …” Cocktail shook his head and added, “How very, very foolish you have been.”

“Fuck you,” seethed Mongo. “You’re gonna kill us, anyway. I sure as fuck ain’t payin’ you to do it.”

“Well, thank you, Mongo, for volunteering to go first,” said Cocktail. He nodded to Quang who approached Mongo with a dirty rag to use as a gag.

“Okay, you’re right. You win,” said Mongo, gruffly. “Let me go and I’ll give ya the money. I’m done with this stuff. I give up. Let me go and I’m out of here. Fuck, I’ll even leave B.C. if ya want me to.”

“Of course you would,” said Cocktail, “but you weren’t paying attention. None of you will leave here alive.” A bemused smile crossed Cocktail’s face and he said, “Open your mouth like a good boy. You’ll get a chance to talk later.”

Jack saw the look of rage on Mongo’s face turn to panic as the gag was tied around his mouth. The reason was obvious. Rashard had set the shotgun down and approached with a pitchfork, which he jabbed in the air toward Mongo’s face. At the same time Rashard was joined by Quang who held a barbecue lighter.

“The rest of you watch our first volunteer closely,” said Cocktail, “and decide how best you can spend your money before you die.” Cocktail gestured for Rashard to stand back and said, “Mister Quang, please demonstrate to our audience how painful death can become.”

Quang clicked the lighter. On the third click the flame erupted out the end and he slowly moved the flame under Mongo’s goatee.