The first door they opened was to Corbett’s cell. The effects of the phenobarbital were obvious. He was loopy and was slurring his words. “Where am I? Who are you people?”

Fergus and Charles ignored his questions. “Take off your clothes and put them in this bag. Here’s a fresh suit for you. Sorry, not Canali or Ralph Lauren.” Charles tossed the items at Corbett and unshackled his legs. Corbett looked confused.

“Now don’t be modest,” Fergus chided him. “Move it!” Corbett began to unbutton the putrid-smelling clothes as he staggered around in the small cell. “Maybe a hose down?” Fergus looked at Charles.

Charles shrugged. “I don’t think that’s included in his accommodations package.”

Both men chuckled. Corbett gingerly removed the cruddy suit and put on the clean one.

“That’s a good boy. We’ll be back with lunch shortly.” Charles slammed and locked the steel door.

They proceeded to Steinwood’s cell. He was sitting in a comatose state on the floor. Fergus kicked his foot. Steinwood moaned. They went through the same routine with him, but Steinwood was out of it. He barely understood what they were saying.

“Listen, you slime weasel, stand up and change your clothes,” Fergus said and kicked him again. Steinwood slowly got up and peeled his urine- and fecal-crusted layers off. Charles and Fergus were happy they were wearing masks.

Once Steinwood had fumbled his way through their instructions, Fergus and Charles exited as quickly as possible. They took turns stripping down and quickly showering in the basement’s bathroom, and then they dumped the bags of rancid clothing in a biohazard-waste container. The proper experts would retrieve the mess later.

When they climbed back up and entered the kitchen, Annie was waiting with two bowls of scrambled eggs à la Adderall. “Breakfast for our guests.” She handed the bowls to Fergus.

Fergus brought them downstairs and inserted the bowls through the small sliding steel box at the bottom of the cell doors. “Room service!” Fergus announced.

* * *

Marcus opened his eyes to see the large black nurse standing over him. “Good morning, Dr. Marcus.” He showed a big bright smile. “We’re going on a journey.” The nurse took Marcus’s chart, laid it at the foot of his bed, and began to wheel him into the hallway. He nodded at the constable, who nodded in return.

Fear tore through Marcus’s beaten body. He tried to twist and form words, but it was as if he had a mouthful of cotton. “Wha wah we gowha?”

“Easy there, Dr. Marcus. You’re going on a long ride.” The nurse moved the gurney slowly and methodically, bobbing his head with “Good mornings” to his associates, as he wheeled Marcus down the hall and into the lift. He pushed the button that said LOWER LEVEL, the level where the morgue was located.