A long guttural moan came from the blood soaked heap of flesh as he rocked the chair back onto all four legs.

A big guy in the shadows reached into his jacket to pull out a silver gleaming case. The light ricocheted off the metal and struck the darkness, slightly illuminating the man’s pate. A bald head with cauliflower ears grinned down at him as he peeled a cigarette from the tin. He cut the rope that bound Trimble’s hands and handed him the cigarette and a gold lighter.

“Of course. I understand. That sounds fair enough considering you aren’t the police and I don’t have my attorney present.” His voice was difficult to understand since the blood from his broken nose was draining down the back of his throat. He choked down a mouthful of blood and spit, then grabbed his nose with a closed fist a blew the mixture back out. The large glob spilled off the palm of his hand and began to drip onto the floor, but he hastened the process by swinging his hand back and throwing the mass, smashing it into the ground.