Trevor held the door open as an old man exited, grumbling about the poor lighting, then he placed a cardboard sign on the outside that read CLOSED FOR REPAIRS—PLEASE USE CLUBHOUSE RESTROOM. Returning inside, he placed a strip of yellow caution tape across the urinals, then slipped on a pair of gloves. With a utility knife in hand, he went from box to box, slicing open the seams and dumping the contents upside down. Out of each box tumbled four eleven-pound blocks of commercial-grade dry ice, frozen carbon dioxide, that was wrapped in plastic. Flattening the cardboard boxes and stashing them in the end stall, he stacked the dry ice around the back of the bathroom, then methodically shredded open their plastic wrappings. Gaseous vapor began to rise immediately, but Trevor covered the blocks with the flattened boxes to limit their melting. Under the dim lighting, he was relieved to see that the vapor was barely noticeable.

Checking his watch, he hurriedly placed a small toolbox and his hat and jumpsuit near the door. With a penlight and screwdriver, he unscrewed the interior door handle until it hung just barely attached. Throwing the tools in the box, he carefully opened the door and returned to the bar.

Goyette was nearly done with his meal, but Trevor sat and casually ordered another beer, keeping a sharp eye on his intended victim. Guffawing loudly, Goyette was everything that Trevor expected the tycoon to be. Vulgar, selfish, and savagely arrogant, he was a walking psychiat ric ward of deep-seated insecurities. Trevor looked at the man and fought the temptation to walk over and stick a butter knife in his ear.

Goyette finally pushed his lunch plate away from his belly and rose from the table. Trevor instantly left some bills for the barmaid and hurried down the hall. Pulling the CLOSED sign from the door, he ducked inside and slipped back into his jumpsuit, just barely affixing his hat when Goyette walked in. Eyeing Trevor in his workman’s attire, the industrialist scowled.

“Why’s it so dark in here?” he huffed. “And where’s that steam coming from?” He pointed to a low cloud of vapor visible at the back of the restroom.

“Plumbing leak,” Trevor replied. “Condensation is creating the vapor. I think the leak may have shorted out some of the lights as well.”

“Well, get it fixed,” Goyette barked.

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

Trevor watched Goyette as he eyed the barricaded urinals then made his way to the first stall. As soon as the door clicked shut, Trevor stepped over and turned the portable heater on to HIGH. Then he stripped away the flattened cardboard boxes, exposing the stacked blocks of dry ice. He quickly spread a few of the blocks around the rapidly warming room, as the melting vapor began to quickly rise.