"Well paid and made, boys!" Max shouted to his companions over the hubbub of the bar, "Let's drink!"
"To us, and to money!" John shouted, "How about you, Carter? What do you propose a toast to?"
Carter lay unresponsively slumped on the bar stool, his head on his plate of hot chips. A distinctive, loud snore emitted from his face, and his companions watched for a fraction of a second before bursting into boisterous laughter.
"Well, there's one reason why I never drink decaf." Max muttered with a grin on this face, "And we're looking at it!"
Max and John propped Carter up, his arms hanging limply around their necks. "What has he been eating?" Max jeeringly shouted. Slowly but surely, they made it to the abandoned apartment building and once opening the half-stuck door, they dropped Carter on the floor and ran to the couch. Eagerly expecting some coverage for their actions, Max grabbed the remote, fumbling to find the right button and finally turning on the aging television set. A late night news channel reported the factory's explosion and blatantly skewed the fact that the majority of the charred bodies had indeed been found with several bullet holes. However, that same channel did admit that the police suspected the factory had been detonated by the use of the various explosive chemicals used in the production of hairspray. The police had also not ruled out The Marxmen's rumoured existence or their speculated involvement in the destruction of an alleged drug lab within the factory
The following morning, Carter awoke, his memory, not particularly amazing could not remember much after ordering his beer and chips. He sat up, and groaned after he felt an unusual pain in his back. "They dropped me on the floor again, didn't they?" Carter thought and, assumed correctly.
He walked over to the kitchen and saw a bulging envelope with a familiar looking green paper-like object sticking out from the broken seal. "We must have gotten a bonus for creativity." Carter thought, once again wincing and groaning in pain. Carter continued to search the timeworn kitchen and something caught his eye. It was a small photograph hidden behind an old kettle, he thought it curious that he had never noticed its presence. He snatched the photo out of its hiding place and almost at once dropped it on the floor. "Max isn't married. I'm sure that he isn't!" Carter thought, half-mumbling his thoughts. He picked it up tucked it neatly into his jacket when he heard footsteps coming from bedroom.
"Morning, Carter!" Max said snickering softly, "Did you have a good night's sleep?"
"No thanks to you, dickhead" Carter muttered under his breath, "I hope you didn't."
"No hard feelings, Carter", Max said inching closer to the kettle, "We wanted to see if we made the late night news."
"Did you? Not like I care anyway" Carter replied, "But, just because you two were too excited to drag me to my bed, I hope we got more than just the local news!"
"Yeah, we made Fox News and a few local channels in the vicinity", Max answered, "And this time the cops mentioned us, maybe now we'll get more business."
John awoke shortly after and the trio checked their mail. An unmarked sender had sent personal details of a well-known and respected local politician, and the full payment in advance. The only clue of their employer, the mysterious initials "T.R" and another single "R" inside the envelope.
Alright, boys! Another job, another dollar!" Max said, whistling a familiar tune.
The Marxmen all got into their signature trench coats and hid their weapons inside before departing for the bustling city center of Detroit. They drove their average-looking car to the MGM Grand Detroit, where they had been told to present a calling card with "T.R" and that they would be shown a room with the assassination weapon in the walk-in wardrobe.
The Marxmen entered the lobby, presenting the calling card, a busboy led them into the elevator and took them up to their hotel room. Only after tipping the insistent busboy so that he would leave them alone, Max stepped into the wardrobe and two large briefcases with the same initials "T.R" instantly caught his eye. "Not suspicious at all." Max said to himself. Carrying the cases to the bedroom, where his companions were waiting, he placed them on the bed, unlocking them with the supplied combination codes. They stared in awe at the beautiful masterpiece presented to them in the form of the Denel NTW-20, a portable sniper rifle, legendary for its power, accuracy and of course, it's portability. After careful consideration to the instructions, The Marxmen assembled the rifle and approached the bedroom window, mentioned in the contract details as being directly in the line of sight of their target's favourite coffee shop.
"Uh, Max I was just wondering, won't there be people down there as well?" Carter asked, with a concerned look on his face.
"You can count on that Carter, you can count on that." Max replied, with an unnaturally calm voice, "It's now or never!"