I tied Opah to a chair, using a full roll of ductape on him. I stepped back, checking my work. He stirred, and looked around the room lazily. I walked up to him and grabbed his throat, lifting. He gurgled and stared at me. "So, why have you been following me? Nod when you want to talk." He just stared at me. I hate this part. I grabbed a flat end screwdriver and pushed it underneath his thumbs fingernail.
He looked at me with fire in his eyes. "Nod when you want to talk!" The ductape exploded of him and he grabbed my throat, raising me into the air. He yelled "no, now you get to talk. Where is the hideout?!" Gasping, I moved my hand onto his elbow. My foot connected with his face, and as he dropped me, I spun backwards, pulling on his elbow. He flew over me and onto the floor. His hand raised, and I kicked it. Air escaped from his hand, blowing a hole in the ceiling. I took my gun out and put three rounds into his chest. He gasped as his blood seeped out onto the hardwood floor.
Screams sounded upstairs, of all the mistakes to make, the silencer. Gritting my teeth, I sprinted out of the apartment and kept running until I made it back home in Central Park.