Quentin sat back down and slid a gold and black butane torch lighter across to Kruger. The GoBox manager said, “Or marijuana or hashish or whatever they desire. Do you have a problem with my clientele?”

“Not at all. We may even know some of the same people.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“People worry too much about the almighty Why. You don’t need to know why I’m here. All you need to know is what I want from you.”

Quentin leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Then what do you want from me?”

“I need your code, Quentin. The door code sequence for your back room.”

“I have no idea to what you are referring.”

Kruger looked at his cigar and said, “Am I supposed to just bite the end off this beautiful cigar?”

Quentin rolled his eyes and reached for his cutter, but Kruger raised a hand and said, “Never mind, I have something that will work even better.”

He reached into a pocket of his long black coat and produced a pair of black pruning shears, the small handheld version often used by gardeners. He said, “I love these things. It’s a pair of pruning shears, but they have a ratchet drive system, so that you can cut through almost anything without exerting much effort.”

He held the shears up to the end of his Cuban cigar and easily lopped off the end. The blades were sharp and maintained. It slid through the tightly packed, handcrafted cigar like it was made of warm butter with barely any pressure applied.

Quentin Yarborough said, “If you’re trying to intimidate me, you’re doing a poor job. I am a former—”

“SAS. British special forces. Yes, I know. I know all about you and this place and all of those people out there. We are not common criminals. I know your service record in the first Gulf War. I know when you went to work as a bodyguard and then eventually worked your way up to a management position. And then, eventually, you were chosen as regional manager for GoBox. Don’t act like you’re royal blood. You were born in the same kind of trash bin I was. Yours was just a little farther north. So don’t act like you’re better than me.”

“Sir, I never judge anyone by where or to whom they were born. I judge people by their actions. And you have shown yourself to be a man of low moral fiber and display a total disregard for human life. That is why I’m better than you.”

Kruger laughed. “I always try to give people a chance without things getting messy. But for some reason, everyone always needs a demonstration.”

As he spoke, Kruger squeezed the handle of the shears in rhythm with his heartbeat, so that as he spoke the shears made a constant whish-whish sound of two blades crossing one another.