James
I lift the latch of the door to the walkers’ shelter, push and step inside…
… something presses to my temple. “Don’t move.”
“What?” I start to turn, but the something; cold, metallic, nudges at me. “I said, don’t move.”
“Who the f**k are…?” But my words are cut short. Abruptly, the shelter is flooded with light. It shoots through my eyes, blinding me.
“Is that any way to speak to your father-in-law?”
The voice is oh-too-familiar, and as my vision clears, I see the figure sitting on a bench; hands clasped behind his head, ankle crossed over knee. “Good to see you, James,” says Klempner. “Do sit down.” Then snapping his fingers to the figure beside me. “His phone.”
Gun-muzzle to my head, I freeze, my hands semi-raised as the gunman’s hand works through my trouser pockets, first
