I make it to the airport, but I never do catch my flight. Last thing I remember is turning off the engine and opening the car door— after that things seem to get a bit hazy. I guess that tends to happen when one is hit in the head, bound, gagged, and drugged. Next thing I know, when I come to again, I’m alone in some old house. It smells like old books and after-shave.
“Oh, good. You’re awake,” a male voice calls from the shadows. He’s been watching me, obviously. Waiting.
WaitingI don’t answer, because the best way to learn anything is to shut up and listen. There’s also the fact that I’m not dead yet, which tells me he wants something.
“You have information I want,” he says, and this is good, it appears we’re in sync. Still, I say nothing. Even if I wanted to speak to this bastard, my
