After exchanging some more self-consciously dry humor about whether they 
should settle their bills before departure, and how much you were supposed to 
tip a bellboy who came after you with a carving knife, they agreed it might be 
safest to exit through the kitchens. Half a dozen dead Fists littered the floor 
here, their bodies striped with the marks of cookie-cutters. Arriving at the 
exit they found two fellow guests, both Israelis, staring at them with the 
fixed gaze that implies the presence of a skull gun. Seconds later, they were 
joined by two Zulu management consultants carrying long, telescoping poles with 
nanoblades affixed to the ends, which they used to destroy all of the light 
fixtures in their path. It took Carl a minute to appreciate their plan: They 
were all about to step out into a dark alley, and they would need their night 
vision.