You crud .... leading me on this way.
Fascinating tale. Give me the ending. PLEASE!
I love it ...
Mick
"You're a winner you know, a real winner", shaking his head and toeing the ground with a penny loafer that has seen some serious service.
I don't like the way he looks down, he won't make eye contact. He probably thinks I live in a huge house with an estate or something. Gee, can't these kidnappers stick to the Fortune 500...
My wife is leaning over a low railing trying to say something to me, but I can't make it out. She is really waving her arm. I wish she would back away from that damn rail...
Every saying in the Farmer's Almanac is screaming through my head, "A stitch in time saves nine", "Do what you know don't be slow", "Early to bed, early to rise". What the hell is going on? I must keep him calm. I say awkwardly, trying not to telegraph emotion:
"What do you like to do with your time, when you're not doing this".
He replies wryly, "I'm in law enforcement, actually I'm a detective."
Oh shit, that's all I need, a cop turned bad, a bitter one, he has the training, the access, the guns, the contacts. We are talking deep doodoo Houston.
A wave of relief runs over me, relief not from the situation, but of narrowing my choices. I love simplicity. Taking him here is a bad idea, detectives think things out, and his lady has my wife by that rail with nothing but concrete below...
A bitter sarcasm envelopes me. I purse my lips. I am angry, angrier than I have ever been. Maybe its time to go toe to toe with detective Moriarty... I wheel to face him, stopping him dead in his tracks. He is surprised and takes a step back after nearly bumping into me. Before I can speak he see's the fire in my eyes, the pin on my grenade is out and lying on the ground, my fuse is burned to the core. He steps back and says:
"Publisher's Clearinghouse hired me to find you. We have not been
able to find you since you went on vacation. You won a large prize.
You are a rich man now. You can retire. You have money..."