Taj and DaRose were walking down the deck when they heard a voice come from a garbage can they were passing. Looking down into the trash receptacle, they saw a folded up Kyle with a banana peel on his head and his right knee pressed against his throat. “I have a note for you,” Kyle managed to squeeze out of his dented esophagus.
DaRose grabbed a neatly folded note that was positioned between two of Kyle’s lifeless fingers. Unfolding it, DaRose read aloud, “Meet me in the lounge. – Zlatan.” He looked at Kyle and asked the man in the trash, “Who is Zlatan? Is he the one who did this to you?”
Kyle asked if they would first free him from the can. It seemed like a reasonable request and our heroes obliged. They set him down on the deck. The broken man did not unfold, instead he more/less stayed in the same shape he was inside the can. “Now out with it,” Taj commanded in his stern voice and a fist raised. DaRose gave him an upset glance and gently pushed Taj back.
DaRose asked again, “Who is Zlatan? Kindly tell us.”
Kyle was barely able to speak when he let out, “He is a pirate-ish looking Swede.” And with those words, the louse breathed his last stinky breath. There was a moment of silence that followed, then Taj carefully picked him up and set him back in the trash.
Our two heroes then looked at each other, nodded, and started toward the lounge. It was a short, uninterrupted walk to the lounge. The room was lit up in red and deserted, save for one table. At that table was Zlatan, flanked by Mike Jimmy to his right and Joakim to his left. Their eyes were lifeless. Across from Zlatan was another man with his back to the entrance, with his back to Taj and DaRose. Our two heroes stayed at the doorway, surveying the situation as a lounge version of Smells Like Teen Spirit was crooned by a lady in a studio 6,256 days before this one. After she sang, “My libido. Yeah,” in her sultry voice, Zlatan stared at the two newcomers and let out a ear-shattering cackle.