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The scene: a quiet town near Detroit Lakes, MN.

A man in a sharp business suit is sitting in a diner, reading the paper and enjoying a nice cup of coffee. Can't wait for this part to be done; its cold up here, the man thought to himself. Not much in the headlines; a story of a local boy doing good, a crooked cop being sent away, and an adventurous pig that decided to escape from the pen. Setting the paper aside, he opened up the briefcase he had with him. Contained inside were a number of papers, files, pens, pencils, and a stack of business cards that read Justin Lynch, Attorney at Law.

The news on the TV had an interesting story regarding BBW’s switch to HBO. One of the waitresses looked up, scoffing at the news. “People actually watch that crap?” She said aloud to no one in particular. She turned to Lynch, who was sipping from his coffee cup. “Grown men beating each other senseless; its pointless I tell you!”

Lynch looked over, setting down his coffee. “Oh, I do agree, ma’am,” he began. “However, I too watch this kind of thing.”

“Really?!” she said with a bemused look on her face. “Why the hell would you?”

“Why, for my clients’ sake, of course,” he replied. “I dabble in a lot of different things...never for my sake, but to better understand my clients.”

Lynch specialized in cases regarding fraud and embezzlement, and would be visiting his client later in the day. Lynch hated to travel, especially in the winter. However, duty did call him to the task at hand, and he was being paid rather well to make the trip this far north. Today would be a good day for his client; he would be visiting to deliver good news. Lynch always enjoyed delivering good news personally.This is going to pay of big for me. New car, new house maybe.

“Well, whatever floats your boat, I guess,” the waitress replied snootily, heading back to the kitchen.

He paid for his coffee, leaving the waitress a more than generous tip. Lynch would have money to spare at this rate.

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Lynch pulled his car in to the Becker County Minimum Security prison, right off the highway. He never understood what would drive the transportation department to build roads (or prisons, for that matter) so close to highways where getaways are more likely. Lynch passed the thought from his mind; he wasn't here to question state zoning laws. His phone began to ring, and he answered, "Lynch here. ...Oh, hello dear. Yes, I made it up here without any trouble. ... Yes, it will only be a short visit; I'm planning on staying in town and coming back tomorrow. ... No, I'm not meeting friends; this is for work, I told you about-...I didn't? ...Oh right; I'm sorry, I told my secretary. You know how I forget these things. ...Oh for the love of-NO, I'm not sleeping around with my secretary. ...Because my secretary is a guy, and last I checked, I wasn't gay. ...I know, I'm sorry too. We'll talk again when I get back. ...Love you too." He put his phone away and let out a huge sigh; hopefully this trip would be worth the animosity his wife had been giving Lynch lately.

After passing through checkpoints, he spoke to a guard on duty. "I'm here to see prisoner S008425," Lynch said, and was brought to an interrogation room. The guard mumbled that he'd be outside, and closed the door behind him.

Inside the dimly lit room were two chairs and a table, both showing signs of wear. There was a man already sitting in one of the chairs, his back turned away from the door, his face obscured by the shadows. "Ah, Mr. Lynch," he said, without looking. "A pleasure to see you again. Please, do sit down."

At his client's request, Lynch took a seat. He felt uneasy; aside from court appearances and consultations, he rarely visited this particular client. The eerie calm that hung in the air was unsettling to Lynch. Perhaps he already knew what he was going to say? "You've been keeping your nose clean, I presume."

The client tilted his head. "Why certainly. Although I did have a...'disagreement' with the chef. I had no idea it would be too much to ask for a fresh garden salad." He chuckled, almost amused with himself. "Well, no harm no foul. Nothing really came of that confrontation."

Lynch set his briefcase on the table, and shuffled through the documents that were inside. "That is good. We wouldn't want you to be stuck in here for longer than you needed to be."

The client straightened himself up, turning his head slightly toward Lynch. "I assume, then, that the news is positive in nature?"

He then pulled out an important document that had the news his client wanted to hear. "As I told you last month, I put forward a motion for early release on the grounds of participating in community service and cooperating in your embezzlement investigation. This is the formal document approving that release," he said, handing the document to his client. "As of today, you are a free man,"

The client took it from Lynch without looking, thumbing through the pages to see what exactly was said. The document detailed each instance of cooperation, his hours of service within the prison, and various other documents to help carry the motion forward He then stood, turning toward Lynch, though his face was still covered in shadow. "Perfection." He set the documents aside, and looked at Lynch, who too had stood up. "Everything seems to be in order," said the client, "and you will be duly rewarded for this important service. But first..."

Lynch moved to the door, his back turned toward his client. The client them moved rapidly forward, wrapping the handcuffs around Lynch's neck as he covered Lynch's mouth and nose. "You must be calm and listen carefully," the client said, calm despite the distressing nature of the situation. "You're going to take me for a ride, Mr. Lynch..."

A stale odor of blood hung in the air inside the cold home. Blood...and a cooked dinner? It was what Lynch stirred awake to, along with a throbbing pain on the back of his head. He felt something run down his head, around the ear, and down the front of his neck. Lynch assumed it was blood...though perhaps it was sweat. He felt a cold, metallic clasp around both his wrists, and as he shook his arms, confirmed that they were, in fact, handcuffs. Lynch looked around the room, reoirenting himself to his current situation. The house appeared to be old, and showing few signs of wear; perhaps recently renovated. The lights were off, save for a few candles that were on the table, and flood lights pointed at a nearby wall, recently painted over.

“Ah, at last. Mr. Lynch has awoken.”

Lynch looked up across the table, to see his client across the table slowly and calmly eating a plate of food. Lynch noticed two space heaters on his side of the table, now feeling the chill in the air on his side. He had remembered; as he looked through the window, he felt an impact on the back of his head. Lynch assumed his client was responsible for knocking him out. “Wha...what is that?” he asked, weakly.

The client, whose mouth was the only thing visible, smiled at him. “Why, it is my supper, of course. Chicken Kiev over Rice Pilaf, a nice assortment of fried peppers, and...I believe this is Tomato Basil soup. It is quite cold these days, as I’m sure you are aware.” The client raised his arm, snapping his fingers at a looming shadow behind him. The figure brought the tray over to Lynch, setting down the same meal in front of Lynch. “Come now, eat. You need to regain your strength.”

Lynch tried reaching forward, then remembered the handcuffs. He cleared his throat, implying there was a problem. “I would, but...I appear to be…”

The client tilted his head, then opened his mouth in feigned realization. “Ah, right...the handcuffs. My associate will help you with that.”
He snapped his fingers, and the figure walked behind him, and with a forceful tug, broke the links in the handcuffs. The client frowned, sighing in the process. “Why do I bother giving you keys to anything when you simply can break them?” He shook his head. “Well...regardless, do eat.” He continued on his feast, moving on to the peppers. Lynch slowly grabbed a spoon, taking a look at his face in the reflection. His right eye was blackened, there was a visible mark around his neck from his client’s choking, a line of blood was indeed crawling forward from the back of his head, and blood was coming from his mouth as well. He looked disheveled, battered. He could only wonder what else was done to him.

Lynch looked across the table at his client. “As much as I would love to continue to play along...you still haven’t told me why I’m here.”

The client set his silverware down, picking up a napkin instead to dab at the corners of his mouth. He set the napkin down in a heap, staring straight at Lynch. “Why you’re here?” he began. “Oh my dear Mr. Lynch...you really do not know why you’re here?” The client began to methodically pace. “I was somebody...once. I had it all. Wealth. Power. Women. ...Occasionally men. I became a slave to indulgence. That indulgence...cost me everything.”

The client moved to the window, looking out on the moonlit snow-covered farmland. Lynch could now see his client wearing a nice tailored suit, very much different from the prison jumper and street clothing he had worn on the trip down to this home. The client’s grey hair shimmered with the moonlight, his hands set neatly behind his back. “I lost my home...my wealth...my earned respect. I had nothing left of my life...except for two possessions. One of those possessions was your business card, Mr. Lynch,” he continued. “When we first spoke...what was it that you said to me? ‘I will do anything I can to help you,’ I believe it was. You have done exceptionally well to have me released so early in my sentence. Now...I have another favor.”

Lynch stood, his weakness now replaced with rage, fury, and frustration. “ANOTHER FAVOR?!” he shouted. “That was all? You choke me, force me to drive in complete silence, knock me out cold, leave me to freeze for God knows how long, give me a meal that is HALF-FROZEN,” he paused, flipping the tray with his food over, spilling the contents across the table and floor. “And after all this...after all this abuse, you want ANOTHER FAVOR?!”

The client chuckled, heartily...and still eerily calm. Lynch could not figure this man out; nothing ever enraged him or caused a response, other than amusement. “Oh my dear Mr. Lynch, but I do enjoy your fire. Yes, I still have one more favor to ask.”

Lynch slammed his fists on the table. “Well you can take your favor and SHOVE. IT. Had I known you would take this to such an extreme, I would’ve turned your case down in a HEART BEAT! YOU OWE ME FOR YOUR FREEDOM! YOU-”

The client spun around, his face finally fully exposed for the first time. His right eye...was completely gone. Simply a bandage remained covering where his eye once was. “I already PAID FOR MY FREEDOM. I...owe you...NOTHING, MR. LYNCH,” he roared, showing emotion for the first time. He charged at Lynch, grabbing him by the shoulders. “I told you when we left the prison that I AM THE ONE CALLING THE SHOTS. NOT YOU. ME!!! ANTON HEEDON!!!”



The client, who just revealed himself, shoved Lynch, heartily, into his other associate. The associate then scooped up Lynch, and just as quickly, flipped him head down, and dropped him in an Omega Driver. Anton adjusted his suit coat as his associate stood, brushing the dust off of his body. The light revealed a horrendous figure; a face half obscured by a mask, deep scars running along his face and presumably his body, and a dirty trench coat with cuts, bullet holes, and burn marks.



The associate looked over at Anton, grunting. “Now now, Asimov. You have done well,” Anton said. He leaned over the body of Lynch, breathing shallowly. “The last favor is this. Continue to be my legal counsel. I will reward you dearly with more success. Fail me...and Asimov will do so much worse to you.” Asimov cracked his knuckles to drive home the point, though Anton knew the message would mean more if Lynch were conscious.

A ping was heard, as Asimov pulled out a phone, and handed it to Anton. He looked over the phone, and smiled. “You’re in luck, Mr. Lynch. I have my assets returned to me. Your reward for this service will be in your account.” Anton pocketed his phone as Lynch roused himself, dazed but no longer out cold. Asimov grabbed a coat and hat from the closet, handing them to Anton to put on. “Ah, and before I forget...your wife was never in any danger. Not to worry; your medical bills will be taken care of. Another reward for a job well done, Mr. Lynch.”

Lynch sat up and staggered to his feet, being assisted by Asimov in the process. “You...you’re diabolical.”

Anton turned, quizzically. “Me? Diabolical? Please, Mr. Lynch...we have barely begun.” Anton reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an eyepatch that he would put on. He then reached into another pocket, and pulled out a long box. He turned, handing the box to Lynch. “Ah...be sure this gets to your wife...with my regards.” Anton twirled his coat, and walked out the door. “Come, Asimov. We need to see a man about my dear nephew…”

As quickly as they came into his life, Anton and Asimov left. Lynch was seeing spots and hearing ringing, among his other injuries. He was lucky to be able to stand, let alone not be killed by his client. Lynch looked down at the box, slowly opening it.

Inside...was a silver rose.