Author's Note: To get a better understanding of this story, visit this blog post.  You can read it before or after you read this story, it does not matter.  

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Isaac felt like he was in Britain after four days of rain.  He and his friends set themselves into Piccolo, an uptown bar, for a long night.  They got beer, heavy stuff.  The newscaster on one of four flat screens above the bar went on, “With the rising death toll in Mecklenburg County, many are taking to their homes.  The streets are empty.  Businesses are shutting down.  One expert…”

Isaac shook his head; he was tired of hearing it.  A new strain of flu, impervious to all antibiotics, had spread through hospitals across the eastern seaboard.  The government was calling it INF-36.  The influenza victims lived out the worse symptoms after 36 hours. 

Around eleven the door opened.  Isaac lifted his head and swallowed his beer the wrong way.  The man standing at the door was terrifying.  A gnarled black cane that reached his shoulders helped him walk.  The old man wore a black jogging suit and orange Crocs.  Isaac snickered, just a little, to make it seem like he was laughing at one of his friend’s jokes. 

The old man sat around the corner.  He cleared his throat and said, “Evening gentlemen.”  His voice was dry.  Isaac was surprised he even had cheeks, they were so withdrawn.  One grey eye and one black eye watched each of them in turn.  “My name is Grimlock.  I lost my card yesterday but have enough cash for a bus out of town.  Could one of you spare a few dollars for a drink?” 

Isaac’s large, boisterous friend Greene turned to Grimlock.  “Sure, so long as you buy some new shoes.”  He laughed, and Isaac’s smaller friend, Colin, joined in.

Grimlock frowned, “They’re comfortable.”

Colin turned away from Grimlock and stared at one of the screens.  Heat rushed to Isaac’s face.  Why were they leading him on to pay this guy?  “Sure,” he finally told the old man, took out a ten, and slid it over.  He handed a ten to a real ugly bastard, no doubt, but it was the end of the world.  Who cared?

“Thank you sir.” Grimlock stood and went into a hall, disappearing.  A door to the bathroom opened. 

“Oh no,” Colin said as soon as the man was out of earshot.  The bartender was in the kitchen, flirting with a chef.  No one but Isaac and Greene heard him. 

“What?” Isaac and Greene asked at the same time. 

Colin pointed to the screen.  “Jesus Christ!” Greene swore.  Isaac could only stare. 

“We’ve just gotten breaking news.  This is a police sketch of the suspected terrorist who infected Patient Zero.  After breaking into the Atlanta CDC he headed north.  If anyone can provide the FBI, CIA, or local authorities of his whereabouts there is a $1,000,000 reward.  He is not armed but don’t let appearances fool you.  He is extremely dangerous…” the newscaster warned, breathless.

The suspected terrorist was Grimlock.  It had to be; the hair and the discolored eyes were unmistakable.  “What do we do?” Greene asked. 

“What we were trained in the army to do,” Isaac said. 

Colin nodded his consent.  Greene chugged the rest of his beer and slammed it on the bar.  "Be quiet!" Isaac chided.  They started planning.  Grimlock still hadn’t come out yet.  Isaac leaned over the bar, trying to get a glimpse down the hall but the bathroom doors were out of sight.  

“I’ll keep a hold of him, you two ask questions,” Greene paused, pulling his red windbreaker to one side and revealing a shoulder holster.  He was packing a standard issue 9mm, “Any funny business…”

“There won’t be any,” Colin said coolly. 

Isaac said nothing.  The bartender was still in the kitchen.  No wonder the place was empty, he was terrible at service.  But all the same, what they needed was empty.  He stood and approached the bathroom, motioning for his war-buddies to follow. 

Grimlock stepped out like he was expecting them.  He held his cane out in front of him for support.  “Gentlemen, there is no need for violence here.  I am the man they speak of on the television, I cannot lie.  That is a horrendously excellent drawing of me.  But, one million dollars pales in comparison with what I have gathered.”

“Oh, what would that be old man?” Greene asked, getting close.  He shoved Grimlock against the wall.  One hand pushed his gun into the old man's guts.  Greene had the old man pinned with a hairy arm draped against his scrawny throat. 

Grimlock smiled.  He made no attempt to escape.  “Thirty million dollars in diamonds,”

Greene stepped back, uncertain.  “Do you have the diamonds on you?” Isaac asked.  

Grimlock shook his head, “No.  It is in Bank of America, in a safety deposit box.” He patted Colin on the shoulder, “It should be a field day for all of you.  I don’t have the correct resources to go get it now.  But you sir, work there, if I understand correctly.” 

"How do you..." Colin started.

Grimlock stopped smiling.  "Gentlemen, I know everything."

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Isaac nodded to Grimlock when he opened the door.  First thing he saw was the bartender sitting on a stool behind his bar, leaned up against the shelves of liquor.  A large knife was sticking out of his heart.  A lot of blood had leaked out of the wound.  He looked into the kitchen.  The chef was bent over the stove, face charred red and still smoking.  She was staring straight up at the ceiling, neck snapped at a 180 degree angle.  Extremely dangerous was correct.

Isaac let out a heavy breath and stepped in.  He got a text but didn’t look at it until he got to the bar.  I’m here with product, it read. 

Good, I’ll be soon, he replied.

The diamonds made no sound in his pocket.  Eight bags, two for each of them.  He took the risk of carrying four on him.  Greene turned to the old man, “You were wrong about the diamonds.  There was forty million dollars, ten even, each of us.”

“Intriguing,” Grimlock said with no emotion.  

“Security’s getting too tight on the street.  US Army is all over the place Mr. Grimlock.  We can’t possibly walk out of here with you, with forty million in obviously stolen diamonds.  They thoroughly check everyone passing by to see if they have flu symptoms.   So I suggest we move the diamonds to a secure location for now.  Until we figure a way out of here." 

Grimlock smiled, “Excellent idea, but where do we put it?”

“Under first base at BB&T Ballpark,”

Everyone looked out at the stadium, still young under the blinding lights.  Colin was the first to speak, “How do we get them out?”

“No one will be around tomorrow.  I work there, so I’ll have a reason to go back.  I can collect them then.”

“Y’all are evil geniuses,” Grimlock clapped his hands, “Go,” he waved Isaac on, “Hurry and we can go.  While you’re gone I’ll come up with a disguise.”

Isaac nodded and held his hands out, “Give me the goods.”  


Greene waited until Isaac was gone before invading the bar.  Grimlock was in the bathroom again.  He pushed the bartender’s body away and started making a drink.  Something with whiskey, he didn’t know what yet.  Laughing, he went up to Colin, playing bartender.  “What’ll it be good sir?”

Colin’s smile was thin, “I want more than ten million.” 

Greene frowned, and then nodded.  

“Can we really trust Isaac?  I know you more than I know him.  And you’re as loyal as a dog.  But him,”

“Yeah, I could live next to the stars in Hollywood with some extra dough.” Greene nodded dreamily. 

“I didn’t ask you what you’re going to do with your money Alex.  I asked you, do you trust Isaac?”

Greene swallowed.  He may have been larger than Colin, but the smaller man was a ruthless one all right.  “No.  No, I don’t.  He’s not my friend, he’s yours.”

Colin dug a quarter out of his pocket and before Greene could call heads or tails the coin was flipped.  Greene swallowed.  What was that about?  “Put your gun to good use Alex.  As of now, Isaac isn’t my friend anymore either.”  

Green looked at the bathroom door.  Grimlock was beginning to whistle.  "What do we do about him?" Kill him, he answered his own question.

"We kill him too."


Death watched from the bathroom, standing in the doorway.  Alex Greene and Colin Forsythe were drinking at the bar.  Eventually Isaac walked in with three bottles of vodka under his arms.  Death sniffed the air.  It was poison, but he couldn’t tell what kind it was through the masking drinks.  He chuckled, but no one heard him.  This was going to be fun. 

Isaac’s death actually shocked him, and that was a hard thing to do.  Greene stood up as soon as Isaac dropped the drinks.  In the blink of an eye the barrel of his gun was pressed against Isaac’s forehead.  He cursed; his last words.  Greene pulled the trigger.  Death stepped to the side as brains and skull matter sprayed from a large hole in the back Isaac’s head.  Death found some on his shoe.  He grimaced, “Idiots,”

“I propose a toast,” Greene said.  He opened it.  It didn’t have the poison in it. 

Death walked out of the bathroom in his new form, a caricature of Humphrey Bogart, and said, “Hold up, hold up.  Let me have that one, we’re richer than ever gentlemen.”

Greene nodded in appreciation, “Are you an actor?”

Death laughed and took his drink.  The other two picked out their own drinks and opened up.  “To a new life,” he toasted. 

“To a new life,” they answered.  Greene was still holding the gun.  Death knew he was going to try to use it.  He would let them. 

Drink it boys, drink up, Death urged silently.  He lifted his bottle and let the vodka burn his throat.  He closed his eyes in anticipation.  Death opened his eyes.  The gun was on the bar.  Greene was chugging.  He mentally shrugged to himself.  At least his suit would not be ruined.  Humans were insignificant but they often surprised him.  

Death could smell the poison now; one commonly associated with having no discernible smell.  Concentrated arsenic was mixed in with their vodka.  He had no idea where Isaac had found it, but that was amazing, old fashioned ingenuity.  He was jovial with the men, drinking along and laughing at war tales.  The first to go was Colin.  His small stature was surely a factor.  He swayed on his stool as Greene talked about how boring patrol in Afghanistan could be at times.  Blood began leaking out of his nose.  Greene stopped his telling his story.  "Colin?" 

Colin fell backwards off his stool.  His head cracked open and bounced up before finally resting on the floor.  Greene knocked his stool over in his attempt to get up and help his friend.  Death picked the gun off the bar and pointed it at Greene's head.  Greene gawked at him, jaw hanging open like a cow.  "Pick up the stool." Death ordered.  Shaking, Greene did as he was commanded.  "Now sit." Death said.  Greene did as he was commanded.  "Drink.  Finish it.  All of it." 

Colin had not finished, but Greene did.  Three quarters of the way through his handle of vodka his nose started seeping blood.  It ran down over his lips and onto the bar.  He took a sip and it got into his drink.  Greene gagged at the red swirls in the vodka.  "Keep it up!" Death said, tapping the gun.  Greene reached out for it, hand curled, shaking, and slow.  Death moved it out of the way.  

Alex Greene never cried.  He watched Death in rage, even as he began swaying.  He breathed, a wet noise, through his mouth and almost coughed up his increasingly bloody Mary.  "One more drop.  You can do it."  Death urged.

With a last sip, Alex collapsed onto the bar and then fell to the floor with a heavy, meaty thud.  On screen, the pretty little newscaster began coughing.  Death smiled.  

Death indulged in the news until he was finished with his clean drink, and then he went to collecting their souls.  There was time.  For him, there was always time.