Once Freeman was gone, Palmer gave orders for his clothes to be removed, cleaned, and stored for later use. The men complied. As Palmer was walking back toward the transport pod, he stopped by the creek to clean off his hands and his machete. Once he was finished, he replaced the machete to its scabbard at his hip and then washed the blood from his hands.
“What did you do to Freeman?” Phylicia asked in a shrill voice, her entourage not far behind.
“First of all, I only answer your question because it suits me to do so,” Palmer said smugly. “Second, you better get used to no one jumping when you snap your fingers. You’re no longer in charge. So, I would suggest all you bitches get used to the way things are, because they’re unlikely to change. Lastly, trying to leave will result in you be
