—Winston Churchill He went to the address he had written on a piece of paper and shown to the camera in case they couldn’t hear him. It was an old watering hole in South Miami by the name of El Habanero, and ironically not far from where Dago had met him and Angela after stealing that Tiara yacht in another world. Jack drove one of the Harleys he found parked outside the farmhouse since the police were probably already looking for the convertible he had stolen earlier. He continued down the picturesque Tahiti Beach Island road, the wind in his face, the sun in his eyes as he steered the bike past opulent mansions, manicured lawns, and beautiful parks, all backdropped by the Atlantic Ocean. The oceanfront bar, one of Dago’s favorites from the old days, had two floors of decks overlooking the water plus a large parking area that ran along both ends of the establishment as well as on the street side, where Jack steered the bike into a corner spot facing the exit, ready for a quick getaway should anything go south.
