The air in Joe Pondani’s cramped apartment was thick with unspoken tension, the kind that precedes a storm. Judy, his mistress, moved with agitated grace, her firm breasts vibrating as she unstrapped her red lacy bra. The soft click of the clasp was loud in the silence. From the large double bed, Joe watched her, his mind a turbulent sea of worry and resentment.

“Seven hundred and fifty United States dollars, Joe, is a lot of money—by any calculations, especially mine. A woman cannot live on sex alone, you know,” she stated, her voice heated, a stark contrast to the sheer pink nightdress she was now slipping on. “Nor can a woman live on a man’s sweet promises alone. It’s tomorrow or never; and I mean it, Joe.”

Joe sighed, running a hand over his bald head. He knew what she wanted. It was the insane plan to double-cross the Syndicate, a move that felt like signing his own death warrant. He had always been a man of caution, but Judy’s relentless ambition was a force he found increasingly difficult to resist. The thought of the Syndicate's wrath sent a cold shiver down his spine.

Later that day, the faded sign of “Angelina Bar and Restaurant” glowed faintly as Major Andrew Ndlovu pushed through the swinging doors. He patted the service revolver nestled inside his jacket, a habit born of years in the field. Joe Pondani, behind the counter, smiled cheerfully, wiping whiskey glasses with a white cloth. “Ah, there you are, Major Ndlovu. As usual, you are right on time.”

The major was led to a private room, then through a hidden passage behind a wall with badly painted pictures, descending into the secret underground lair of the Syndicate. On the second step down, as Major Ndlovu’s back was turned, Joe moved with the speed of a panther, his nine-inch hunting knife unsheathed. He plunged it deep between the unsuspecting major’s shoulder blades.