beating as fast as the jackhammers by his car.
Fuck!
If it’s the cops, they would’ve seen him enter. If it wasn’t cops, then who could it be?
Curiosity drove him to step up to the door and grip the handle. He took a couple deep breaths and pulled the door open.
A man in a long trench coat filled the door, each shoulder brushing the doorframe.
“Can I help you?”
Elmore thought about grabbing his gun.
Something cold touched the back of his neck. He jerked away and spun to look at who was behind him. An old man, probably in his sixties, aimed a long gun at Elmore’s face.
“What the fuck-”
The man in the doorway shoved Elmore further into his studio. The old man with the gun moved out of the way.
“You are a stupid human being,” the old man said.
“Who are you people?” Elmore asked. “What are you doing at my studio?”
“Who I am doesn’t matter. I’m here for Drake. Where is he?”
“Who the hell is Drake? This is a photo studio. I have shoots planned for this afternoon.”
The old man looked at the large man in the overcoat and nodded. The huge man stepped closer, lifted his arm and brought his fist down hard and fast. So fast, Elmore didn’t have a chance to move. The brick of a fist connected with his nose. A blinding flash of light swept across his vision and pain erupted throughout his face. He felt the gush of blood before he saw it. Both eyes watered to the point where the men standing in front of him were a blur. He could not believe the pain. His face was on fire.
“Why did… my nose… broken,” he said with a nasally voice.
“We are out of precious time. Where is Drake?”
The guy had a hard accent. Central Europe. Romania or Hungary. What would he want with Drake?
Elmore stepped back and leaned against the wall. His vision hadn’t cleared and his equilibrium wavered. He wasn’t sure if he could remain standing. The pain was overwhelming.
“Look, Elmore,” the old man shouted. “The police just announced that they were on their way here. Sarah Roberts is coming with them to examine your photo studio, because they believe this is where you fled with Drake. I’m thinking we have two, maybe three minutes before they arrive. Tell me where you have left Drake and I will make it easy for you.”
The pit in Elmore’s stomach grew. It was truly over. There was nothing he could do now. It could take them a week to locate his car parked blocks away. By then, Drake would be dead. His final act would be to never reveal where Drake remained hidden.
He smiled at the old man and said, “Fuck you,” blood spitting out with his words.
The old man leveled his weapon and fired. Elmore fell, unable to hold himself up on one leg. Momentarily, the pain in his face forgotten, he wiped his eyes and looked at his ruined knee. The bullet had entered the top of his right knee. The bottom of his leg sat at an odd angle.
The old man standing over him showed nothing on his face like sorrow, shame or guilt. He stared at Elmore with anger and the will to continue shooting.
The pain in his leg amplified with each breath. Elmore vomited twice before he got his breathing under control. Blood still ran down the front of his face, and now it seeped through his pant leg.
“Last time. Where’s Drake? No more chances.”
Elmore stared at the two men, stunned. How did it come to this? Who were these people? What had he gotten himself mixed up in?
He opened his mouth to answer, but realized that he’d waited too long. The old man had brought his weapon up again and pulled the trigger as Elmore shouted for him to stop.
The bullet punched his other leg. Aghast, Elmore stared at the hole where his other knee had once been. He threw up again, but not much came as his stomach was empty. Vomit mixed with the blood from his nose.
I’m going to die here.
The old man knelt down by his head. “My friend here wants to call you an ambulance. You won’t die from these wounds if you’re taken to a hospital quickly. I’ve heard they can do wonders with artificial knees nowadays. The other option is, you continue to refuse my request and I will be forced to use the next bullet on your eye hole. So, decision time — bullet in the eye, or ambulance?”
Elmore didn’t have to think long. “Ambu… lance,” he managed to say through the blood entering his mouth.
“Good choice. Then where is Drake?”
“In my car,” Elmore said and reached into his pocket for his keys. His legs shifted with the movement and he winced and moaned. The brute in the long coat ripped the keys from his hand.
“Where’s your car?” The question came out as a solid order.
“Two blocks from here. By the road construction… jackhammers.”
The pain took over. All he felt was pain. His thoughts were scattered. What was happening? What would life be like now?
The old man said something about waiting for Sarah. Park the car on Queen Street. Wait there. They would murder her and Drake as soon as they got out of the area.
At least Sarah will finally be dead, Elmore thought.
He lay back, his head sliding down the wall and bumping off the baseboard until it landed on the tiled floor. An odd thought struck him about the day he tiled the floor and how the first girl he kidnapped had walked in, a modeling portfolio under her arm. She had glowed in the sunshine. His first sex slave.
Memories, what memories.
Something covered his vision. He forced his eyes open to see what was happening. The old man had brought the gun up in front of his face.
Did he have more questions?
He heard the gun go off, but he couldn’t see anything anymore. More pain entered his consciousness. His body convulsed. He tried to shout but nothing came out.
In the distance, he heard another crack of the gun.
Chapter 35
Spencer raced down Queen Street and parked along the curb. Sarah’s stomach growled at the sight of the Korean restaurant on the left and Indian restaurant on the right.
“We’ll leave the car here and walk to the studio. Parkman, we’ve got dozens of uniforms within one block waiting for me to give the okay to move in.” He turned to Sarah. “This is almost over. We’ll get Drake out. He’s my friend too.”
They all got out and started down the busy street. Pedestrians clogged the sidewalk. The threesome had to separate and walk around people at times. It wasn’t until they turned down Duncan Street that they got away from the bustling activity on Queen Street.
At the corner of the building that housed the photo studio, Spencer slowed and peeked around. He turned back to Parkman and Sarah.
“No car in the lane.”
He stepped out into the open and walked along the alley to the photo studio’s door, where he stood against the wall to the right. Parkman walked over and stood on the left. Sarah stayed back by the entrance to the alley.
Spencer tried the door. It was locked. She was close enough to hear him radio someone who had been set up to watch the front of the building.
“Nothing. No movement your way,” she heard through the small speaker.
The two cops walked around to the front and tried two other doors. Everything locked up tight. No way
