Michael
I leap from the car, bulleting up to them. Klempner’s in the driver’s seat, two more in the back that I don’t recognise. James is getting out.
They must have a gun on him.
To Klempner’s startle-eyed gaze, I yank open the door, and grab him, hauling him bodily up and out of the car. “What have you done, you bastard? Where are they?”
His goons jump out too, waving guns, but Klempner’s between me and them and I keep him that way, using him as a shield against his own men.
“Get your f*****g hands off me, pretty boy,” he hisses. Then to James, “D’you want to put your friend right on a couple of points.”
“Put him down, Michael,” says James. “It’s not Klempner.”
“James…”
He holds up a hand, forestalling me. “I said, put him down. I’m not a prisoner and he doesn't have the women.
