George.
	George, although deep in sleep, was vaguely aware of movement
in the room. An enormous hand clamped down on his shoulder. He
jumped, but he was too slow, too groggy. Before he could even
raise an arm in defense, a searing pain shot through the back of
his head. He slumped forward, unconscious.

 	"Caesar, we shall rule the world. We have merely to take
control of this city and the rest of the country will fall to its
knees." A sinister, greedy laugh followed as Mad Max glanced over
his plans once more. "My plans are complete. We only have to put
the operation into effect." He rubbed his hands together. Caesar,
sitting in front of the table reading a crime magazine, smiled.
"We shall be powerful, Caesar. Powerful."
	George awoke with a splitting headache. It took him a few
minutes to realize that he was not still at home. Then he heard
voices. He recognized one of them. It was Mad Max. He surveyed
his surroundings as he listened to the conversation. A store
room of some kind, piled high with sacks and packing crates. His
hands were tied behind his back, but his feet were free. He
tried to stand up, rising swiftly. But his balance was off and
his knees were too weak to support him at the moment. He toppled
over, slamming against a stack of crates, sending them crashing
to the floor. Footsteps. The door of the store room opened,
revealing Max and Caesar.
	"Well," said Max, looking down at George. "I see you are
awake. George made no reply, but tried to stand once more. This
time he was more successful and managed to stand shakily on his
feet. "You're not being very sociable, Mr. Jefferson. It's been
ten long years, and I went to a lot of trouble to arrange this
meeting.
	"You shouldn't have bothered," replied George dryly.
	"I'm glad to see that you still have your sense of humour."
Max was smiling, but on him a smile was hideous. "Ch, by the
way, I would like you to meet my aide." He turned to Caesar.
"A friend from inside. Big Caesar."
	"You're not kidding! I'd shake hands," said George, "but
as you can see, I'm all tied up."
	"A very old joke," commented Max.
	"I suppose you can do better with a broken head," snapped
George.
	"I never was one for humour. And I am so sorry about your
headache. But I promise that it won't bother you much longer.
Tell me, Mr. Jefferson, do you like animals?"
	"Nope." He tried to sound casual, but somehow the sight of
Big Caesar took all the joy out of the occasion.
	"That's a pity. I was so sure that you would be an animal
lover."
	"Cut it out, Max!" snapped George, too nervous to put up
with Max's little games. "This isn't an S.P.C.A. convention.
What's on your mind?"
	Max stopped smiling. His eyes narrowed. "Getting you out
of the way, Mr. Jefferson. That's what's on my mind. I wouldn't
want you and your freak luck around to botch up my plans again."
He nodded to Caesar, who stepped forward and grabbed George, shoving
him out the door.