Joe, indeed, knew where the knife came from. He also knew that said knife could not be here unless someone was willing to open a coffin to get it.

It was a message, all right.

I'm going to take everyone you love from you, Rogers. And then I'm going to kill you. It may not be tomorrow or next month...but someday, your life is going to come crashing down around you. And I want you to remember what you did to her when it does.

He ran down the stairwell and into the lobby, sprinting for the front door. He saw a male figure get into the passenger side of an old Chevy Cavalier as the car screeched to life. Going for his bike would take too long, so Joe ran after them.

The driver must not have expected that or expected Joe to keep so close after just a few seconds. The car sped up and Joe stopped, pulling his sidearm from inside his coat. He fired three shots at the car as it sped away, hitting the trunk, the back window twice.

The car swerved wildly about one-hundred yards away and slammed through the glass of a jewelry store. Joe ran toward the car as the second occupant, the one who'd run to the car, crawled out and fell on the concrete. He saw Joe coming and reached toward his pocket for a weapon, but was met with a swift kick to the face from Joe.

Nomad reached down and pulled the guy from the floor by his collar and slammed him against the car.

"Who sent you?"

"I ain't tellin' you nothin', white boy. Pack sand." the gang-banger said.

Joe pulled his gun and placed it to the man's temple.

"Talk or I end you." he demanded.