The Holy Death

Chapter 41

"Hold on, Don Calderon," Jack said. "Is this really necessary? I mean, do you really have to kill Scott?"

"What?" replied Don Calderon. "Are you arguing for his release?"

"Well, you know, I did make the guy."

"And this is my concern, how?"

"I'm just saying."

"I thought you were going to be loyal to me. Already you are showing that you have no stomach for this job. I am not impressed, Jack."

"Oh, now, wait a minute! I'm just saying, that's all."

"Good. Then do not 'just say'. And do not ask about his friends either, because they are all about to die, as well."

Cressida rose from her seat. "Where are you going?" Torres asked.

"Oh, I'm going to the bathroom."

"Oh, okay."

Don Calderon noticed Cressida leaving the box seats. "Where is she going?"

"She is going to the bathroom," Torres replied.

Jack laughed. "Might as well relax, boys, she's gonna be busy for a while!"

*

Canute looked upon the ashen remains of his fallen master.

"No, Santa Muerte," The troll cried, as tears came to his giant eyes. "You were good to me, my master, my friend!"

Gibson, who had been so intent on killing Scott, now looked at the large beast. "Yeah, well, now you're unemployed, and, oh, by the way, I don't really like trolls either."

Canute roared, his tears of loss now turning to tears of rage. The advancing troll distracted Gibson from his previous target, as he turned the pistol on the troll and opened fire.

Trolls are notoriously tough critters to take down. Pistol caliber rounds are not enough to do the job, even if they are warheads. Don Calderon directed his men to open fire. A dozen commandos firing a dozen automatic rifles began to take their toll on Canute, as the troll swatted fruitlessly at the advancing commandos and the withering volleys of gunfire. Eventually Canute the subway troll collapsed. Gibson walked up to the wounded troll and put a final warhead into his head.

*

Black-uniformed commandos entered the catacombs and headed for the cells. They lined up in front of the cells, one man per cell. The occupants were wondering what this meant.

"What does this mean?" Dawn asked. "Did Scott win? Or not?"

"Scott won," Grace said. "He had to."

"Then what are these guys here for? They don't seem to be letting us out of the cells."

One of the commandos, apparently a ranking officer of some sort, called the men to attention. They snapped to attention with military order.

"Listos!" The commander ordered. The commandos all chambered rounds into their carbines. Grace, understanding Spanish as she did, knew what was coming next.

"Uh, guys?" She said. "Whether or not Scott won, I think we lose. All of us."

"Apunten!" Came the next command. The commandos pointed their G36's at all of the prisoners.