45*13 N, 62 * 42 W

The goon woke in a hospital with a bandage wrapped tightly around his ribs and an IV dripping sedative into a vein in his arm . Though he could not remember how he had been injured or how long he had been unconscious , his first thought was to call the office and find someone to cover his shifts . He had a busy week of beating people to a bloddy pulp , and his victims weren't going to punch themselves in the face . He couldn't leave his bosses in the lurch . He was evil , but he was professional .
                       Perhaps it was his dedication to his work that had built him such an impressive resume : fifteen broken jaws , fifty - seven legs , a hundred arms , and more noses that he could count . He had knocked out thousand of teeth , pushed a few people off bridges, and once buried guy in concrete up to his neck . He had been nominated for Goon of the Year nine times by OUCH ( Organization of united criminals and henchman ) , and had won its highest honor , the Brass Knuckle , seven times . At the office , he showed up early and left late . He had his lunch on the job , frequently beating people as he ate his peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches . You didn't get on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted list by taking a sick day ! He leaned over to the IV line that fed his body sedatives and yanked out the needle . He couldn't have predicted how much it would sting . The pain brought back a wave of memories .