The guy with the baseball cap comes back into view, but he’s on the opposite corner from where he turned left. How did he get there so fast?
“Humor me, his name?”
“Tyler Bentley or Tyler Sampson. He went by both. Also, just an FYI, I finished my report and sent a copy to you.”
There’s some mumbling in the background. “Durango, I hate to do this, but I have to go. Please don’t go straight home.”
I laugh. “Not my first time being followed.”
“Sorry, of course. I’ve been working with some inexperienced people lately.”
I’m curious how that happened, but now is not the time to ask her about it. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
She ends the call, and I still see no one out of the ordinary aside from the guy with the cap, who continued to walk down the sidewalk farther from me. I’ll just take this block by block until I get eyes on someone. I walk, looking back over my shoulder every few steps. At this point, no one else is on this block with me. It’s not unusual now that I’ve hit a residential area.
As I pass the end of the building and land on the corner, I spot a van parked against the curb to my left with its sliding door open. Two men jump out of the van and run toward me. I immediately cut to my right in an attempt to sprint across the street. If I can get some distance between them and me, then I can turn and defend myself better.
Once across the street,I turn to face them. I feel the prick in my neck and then spot a man holding a gun. But it’s not an ordinary gun. I pull something out of my neck and stare at it.
A dart?
I feel woozy. It must have been a tranquilizer gun. I don’t have much time. I glance around. Someone has to see what’s going on. But there is no one nearby. I turn and try to make my way to another block where there are some shops. But with each step, my body becomes heavier and heavier until finally, I fall to my hands and knees.
The van pulls up to the curb next to me. Two men grab my arms, and a bag is placed over my head. I try to fight back, but I can’t. I yell out, hoping someone sees and calls it in, but even my voice is weak.
It takes them no time to get me into the van, and it’s moving. My lids grow heavy, but I don’t fall asleep. I’m aware the ride is short. Or at least I think it is. The men in the van remain quiet. I have yet to hear them utter a word.
The van stops, and they shove me out onto the concrete. With this bag over my head, I can’t tell if I’m on a sidewalk or in a garage. They drag me through an area that echoes. Finally, they drop me. The floor is cold. More concrete.
My eyes grow heavier. Whatever they gave me is only now fully kicking in. Footsteps back away from me as I feel sleepy. How the hell did they catch me off guard? I knew someone was following me. Although it’s not like I thought I’d be shot with a dart. This can’t be how I die. Not being caught like this. I evade men like this all the time. It’s the last thought I have before I go under.
I struggle to open my eyes. It’s dark. I sit up. I’m not dead. My arms and legs aren’t bound anymore, and there is no longer a bag on my head. Why would they unbind me? As my eyes adjust, I see a door with what appears to be a three-inch slot that’sclosed. They plan to keep me here. No one intends to come into the room. That’s why they untied me.
And it’s doubtful they intend to let me go because I could hurt them as I leave. As this sinks in, I continue to evaluate the room for any potential escape. It’s dark, and once my eyes adjust, I take in that there is no furniture in the room. A little light is coming through a small window in the upper portion of the door. It’s not sunlight and is very dim.
I stand up and sway a little. My head hurts like a hangover. How long have I been out?
Slowly, I make my way to the door’s window and peer out. There is a light just outside that barely illuminates the space. All I can make out is what appears to be a dark hallway. I can’t see how long it is.
The light allows me to see the area near the door. I pound on the walls. Drywall. The floor is cement.
A door opens down the hall, and footsteps click and clack as they approach.
I move to the door, and a man steps up and stares at me through the window. He appears to be in his forties with dark hair and is unfamiliar to me.
“Damien told you where the weapons are.”
It’s not a question. He’s stating it as fact. I don’t respond. Now I understand why I’m here.
“Tell me what he told you, and I’ll let you go.”
He’s lying. There is no way he’d open the door and allow me in that narrow hallway with him.
I need to buy time and find a way to escape. I grab my head and sway into the wall. “I don’t feel good. I think I might throw up.” I push off the wall but visibly sway. Okay, so I might be playing into it a bit. “Where am I?” I slur my words.
The man huffs and brings a phone to his ear. “How much did you give him? He’s too out of it to question right now.”
I slump against the wall again for effect.
