Hamilton immediately got on his cell phone and began making some calls. Mitch just said, “Didn’t get corn-holed there in the slammer, did ya?” A police unit borrowed from neighboring towns was standing guard by the ship. Everyone was allowed a few hours to gather their things and step off. Reporters were shooed away and Hamilton had given orders not to talk to any of them yet. The mayor would be getting his, he assured everyone, but better not to upset him right now. Patrick and Christopher decided they didn’t want to go back to the hostel yet so they walked the streets for a while and then went to a local bar. It was an upscale place but like any bar the floors were dirty and near the bathrooms it stunk of vomit and urine. At a table in the center of the bar was Mitch and three other of Hamilton’s men who’d beaten them there. “Boys!” he said excited, “come join us.” They pulled out chairs at the table and sat down.
