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“Turn off the car and get out.”
I owned a gun. Most did in my community and not for safety against man but wildlife, as we lived close to it. I hadn’t brought it with me because I didn’t have a license to carry outside of Maryland.
“Okay, okay,” I said as the man got impatient.
As I moved to open the door with my left hand, I dropped my phone to the floor kicking it under my seat as best I could. Then, as I angled to get out, I removed my wallet and did the same.
I lifted my hands and another man appeared, closed my door, then zip tied my hands behind my back. Whoever had taken Natalie had a well-coordinated security detail. What had I stumbled into?
They weren’t nice as they herded me back towards a car parked not too far behind my own. I was shoved face forward into the back seat. The door closed and two opened almost immediately. The doors locked and I didn’t try to get out. I banked on them taking me exactly where I wanted to go. To Natalie.
I’d adjusted my position in time to see them turn into the circular driveway but follow a path straight to the back. I wasn’t surprised they didn’t plan on bringing me through the front door.
They parked in front of a shed. A slightly larger, more sophisticated one that fit more with the structure of the house. I didn’t make it easy for them to take me inside. The fact that I wasn’t going into the house likely meant I wouldn’t see the light of the next day.
I was pushed into the open area inside the shed. A light snapped on, and I spotted a chair that was already in the center of the room. Either they’d turned up another person before me or I’d been spotted long before we’d gotten into the neighborhood and they’d prepared for my arrival.
The pat down came next. “No wallet or phone,” the second guy said after.
I was thrust into the chair where the second guy secured me to it with more zip ties.
“What’s your name, Romeo?” the first guy said, with a gun pointed at me.
I laughed. Somehow, they’d guessed I was here for Natalie and not for the man that had taken her. “Funny enough, Romeo will do.”
The blow snapped my head to the right as the second guy stood from binding me to the chair.
“Is that all you got?” I said, egging them on.
It might have seemed counterproductive, but the angrier someone was, the more likely they’d make a mistake. All I had to do was survive the punishment headed my way, awaiting an opening to present itself.
“Name?” the first guy asked with the same level of calm.
“Would you prefer Joe Shmoe?” I asked flippantly.
The next blow split my lip and I spat out the blood that filled my mouth.
“How about John Doe?” I asked and braced myself.
The punch rang my bell as it caught my left eye, leaving my ears buzzing.
“I got all night,” the second guy said in a way that suggested he was delighted to do just that.
Pain was universal and I felt it. Yet I opened my mouth and said, “Maybe Johnny B. Goode,” knowing a world of hurt was coming.
The next hit was likely the blow that broke my nose, as the world turned black around the edges until it was all black.
I awoke to another voice in the room and didn’t know how long I was out. “You didn’t think to take his picture before you bloodied his face.”
“Sorry, boss.” I thought it was the second guy, but I was floating in pain, so I couldn’t be sure.
I kept my eyes closed and controlled my breathing with hope they wouldn’t know I’d regained consciousness.
“He had no ID on him.” It could have been the first guy who spoke.
“Did either of you think to check his truck?”
Nobody said anything, so I guessed they shook their heads no. If they’d checked the car they would have had it.
“I’ll do it now,” one of them said.
“No. I’ll have Shawn do it. We have guests and I need you inside. Is he secure?”
“Yes, boss. We’ll lock up on our way out.”
Great. Locked in and zip tied to a chair. I had one play literally up my sleeve. Sewn in at the hem of my right sleeve was a one-inch razor blade. It wasn’t there because I feared anyone in my hometown or even here in New York. But my top-secret airman black ops-like training was hard to shake. I’d been on missions where the likelihood I’d end up in a similar position I was in now was an almost certainty. Something like a razor, small nail, or even a hair pin could save your life. It was a habit to have something I could use. One I hadn’t broken.
