George and Timmy walked back to the parking garage where their car was parked. As they walked in, two black SUVs pulled up in front of them. The valet that was driving the first one got out and walked up to George and Timmy.
"And these are you guys' cars," he said. "Mr...ah, Jenkins," he said, pointing at Timmy, "the one in front is for you, and Mr. Cresto, the other one is for you."
George was confused. "We took the same car to get here. Why do you want us in different cars?"
The valet gave George a sympathetic look. "Sorry, sir, but it's policy. My boss will have my hide if I don't follow it. We got you guys some drivers, too, 'cause we figured you might be tired after the press conference."
Timmy told the valet, "Hey, it's okay. I get it. We'll get in different cars, and it'll be fine. Right, George?"
George frowned. "I guess that's fine. I got a bad feeling in my stomach though. Just call me when you make it to the hotel, okay?"
Timmy assured George that he would be fine, and that he would call George when he got to the hotel. They both got into their separate cars, and drove away.
George couldn't relax on the ride back to the hotel. He felt like something bad was going to happen. At some point, the two SUV's had gotten separated in traffic, and he couldn't see the one Timmy was riding in anymore.
Timmy was enjoying the ride. He sat in the back seat of the SUV, listening to music. He couldn't see George's SUV anymore, but he didn't think much of it. He knew that the traffic was bad, and just thought that George's car couldn't get in when his did. He thought that the car was cool, until he noticed something strange. He had been in the car for half an hour, but the hotel was only a few miles away from the convention center. He was about to ask where they were going when a cloth pressed over his face and everything went black.
