I had fallen asleep sometime during the ride, but I was suddenly jarred awake as the car came screeching to a halt. I heard two pairs of hurried footsteps make their way around the car to the back. The trunk popped open and revealed the starless, evening sky of a city. Which city, I had no idea.
Dan lifted me out of the car, holding me warily at arm’s length as he followed baldy. They had parked the car behind a dumpster and as baldy walked away, he casually tossed the keys to Dan. Dan looked as confused as I was.
“Put the brat down and start the car.” Baldy said calmly, pulling out a knife. To my surprise, he cut the rope around my feet. I was about to kick the little demon where it hurts when I felt the cold touch of a gun barrel press into my stomach. I broke out into a cold sweat. It was the first time I’d ever had a gun pointed at me, though it would become a pretty common thing.
“Don’t think you’re in luck, Mr. Brey.” Baldy said smoothly, like holding guns to scared kids was something he did every Saturday night. Or Sunday night. The whole kidnapping thing made me lose track. I heard the car start behind me.
“They know we have this car. Drive around the area. When someone starts tailing you, give them hell trying to catch you. When you’re certain there’s no one following, ditch the car and head to the rendezvous point. ” Baldy ordered. Dan pulled the car out of the alley and sped off down the road.
I breathed a sigh of relief as the gun left my stomach, but gasped as I felt it jab into my back.
“If you like your back hole-free, I suggest you move.” Baldy said, pushing me out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. Streetlamps flickered in a half-hearted attempt to brighten up the abandoned street. Baldy pushed me along, hurrying me to wherever our destination was.
I heard tires screeching and gunshots in the distance. The gun pressed harder into my back and I broke into a jog, jostled along by baldy. He was breathing heavily and struggled to keep the pace, probably due to him being so short and fat, which I informed him of several times during the jog. I was feeling confident that he wouldn’t shoot me as long as he had a mysterious client to take me to.
Fatso stopped pushing me, and I realized we had arrived at our destination. It was a suspicious, dilapidated old apartment building that just screamed ‘kidnapper meeting place’. Fatso smoothed his suit, straightened his bowler hat, and opened the door.