***
“They are like pests,” Stan muttered. “They keep coming back. We need to stomp on them once and for all.”
“I can’t wait to meet those excuses for human beings.” Jeremy rasped as he reached for his half-full glass of whiskey. “They’re going to pay for what they did to my brother.”
“Too bad we can’t trace them.” Philip breathed. “And that’s what’s irritating me. We don’t know where they are. We don’t know when they will strike. And they have these nasty tricks I’d rather not deal with.”
“The fools are probably strategizing.” Stan emptied his glass and stared at the empty glass. “I can just picture them, sitting around a burning bush in gowns and wielding pitchforks. Thanks, Jim.” He gave the manager of the club a thumbs-up sign when he placed two new bottles of whiskey on their table.