“No, no, no!” Renard grumbled, hiding his face in his hands. His well laid plans had come to naught. There in Izzy’s flat stood Pablo and John, triumphant, larger than life. Izzy and Marguerite had come bumbling in and both shrieked when Pablo produced a gun. Now that blind misanthrope from upstairs (or was it downstairs?) had barreled in the door and straight into Pablo.

“Enough!” Pablo shouted, jumping up and brandishing his pistol like a conductor’s baton. Even John backed away.

“Foda, you bully,” Izzy hissed taking a bold step towards him. Renard flinched as Pablo took her down with a heavy backhand. He stood but was met with the barrel of the gun.

Pablo glared, a mixture of frustration and seething anger, “I want answers, and I will get them or people will start getting dead.” He turned the gun away from Renard, aiming it menacingly at Izzy.

“Wha-what’s going on?” Pierre asked, still on the floor. Marguerite slumped against a wall in shock. Renard only prayed his ace up his sleeve would be enough.