When he got to Tomalino’s room, he knocked.

A patrolman answered the door.

‘What do you want?’ asked the patrolman.

‘I want to impress upon you and your charge in the room about talking from a pure heart. I think you will agree with me, after a few moments of explanation, that truth is the most valuable thing we have.’

‘Get out of here. We don’t need religious nuts.’

The door started to close in Remo’s face, but something stopped it. The patrolman opened the door again to get a better slam, but something stopped it again. This time he looked to see what the obstruction was. The religious nut in the black suit with the blackened face and blackened feet was holding only one blackened finger in the way, so the patrolman decided to break that finger by slamming the door with the full force of his body.

The door reverberated against his shoulder and the religious nut pushed it open, and shut it behind himself with one hand. Something dripped red from behind the nut’s back.

The patrolman went for his gun and the hand did indeed reach the holster. Unfortunately, its wrist connection was rather weak at the time, suffering a cracked bone and a severed nerve. The other patrolman, seeing the speed of the hands, flattened his palms upward.

Vincent ‘The Blast’ Tomalino, a short plug of a man with a stub of a face, begged for mercy.

‘No, no.’

‘I haven’t come here to kill you,’ said Remo. ‘I have come here to help you speak from a pure heart. All of you sit down on the bed.’

When they had done so, Remo lectured them as a school teacher—discussing duty, oaths taken for duty, and an oath that would be taken at a trial shortly where Tomalino would be a witness.