Los Angeles, the Face Gang's headquarters at the Night Color Club's VIP room.
Leonardo, Nicholson, and Wes Craven had just finished a round of face cleansing services, comfortably leaning on their individual sofas, savoring the soft and slippery sensation.
"It always feels like something's missing," Nicholson said.
Wes Craven seemed to be asleep and didn't speak.
Leonardo continued, "It's missing the most bastardly of the creeps."
Taking advantage of the worst one being absent, Nicholson asked, "Martin has screwed with you, and he's screwed with me, but we haven't really screwed him over, have we?"
Leonardo replied, "We have, but not successfully."
Nicholson suggested, "Next time he's with another woman, we should set off some fireworks on him and watch him tear apart!"
"Great idea!" Leonardo agreed first, then furrowed his brows, "But that guy doesn't do it outdoor; if not at home, then he's at a five-star hotel, which is difficult to mess with.
