The third goon returns, hauling two chairs and a rope.
The tracksuits sit us down and lace our hands up behind our backs. They’re good. I won’t be able to get at my secret pocket tied up like this.
Minutes pass.
The tracksuits plant themselves by the wall, guns out, as they talk and keep an eye on us. I look at Lucie. Her tanned, usually radiant face is now pale and pasty with fear. Having heard the gang leader’s remark, she must be imagining what he and his friends might do to her.
I want to punch myself for dragging her into this.
“Hey, babe, I have a riddle for you,” I say. “If ten birds are sitting in a tree, and a hunter shoots one, how many birds are left in the tree?”
She turns to me. “There’s a trap in there somewhere, right?”
Under normal circumstances, I’m sure she would’ve given me if not the correct answer, then one so creative it would’ve been better than the correct one. But she’s too panicked to picture the scene, too scared to think.
My chest constricts.
“Come on,” I say, keeping my tone of voice as light as I can. “Show me you’ve still got it, girl!”
She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. “None. There are no birds left, because when one got shot, the others flew away.”
“Well done!”
One of our captors darts over to me, shoves his face in mine, and hisses, “Did you and your fiancée just use some secret code to communicate? Are you going to try something?”
“I’m just trying to distract her, you dumbass,” I whisper back.
He straightens up and surveys Lucie’s sweat-beaded face. Visibly satisfied with my reply and with what he sees, he retreats to his post by the wall next to his colleagues.
They’re growing impatient.
“Why is Butcher taking so long?” one of them asks rhetorically.
Charming nickname.
He places a call but Butcher doesn’t pick up. I suspect Carlo is keeping him busy with files and transfers. Making him wait. Dragging it out as long as possible. Buying time.
“Maybe something’s wrong,” he says, hanging up. “I’ll go check up on him.”
“I’m coming with you,” both of his teammates offer at once.
He points at Lucie and me. “We can’t leave these two unsupervised.”
The guy who came up to me earlier shrugs. “What canthey do? They’re tied to their chairs, unarmed. We have their phones, the car key, and his high-tech watch. We’ll lock them in, obviously. They aren’t going anywhere.”
The other two agree. They check our ties and exit the room, locking the door.
Now it’s just the two of us in this dark, musty room. No windows, minimal light from the crack underneath the door, not enough to see with. If there’s anything that can help us within reach, we can’t grab it.
“Hey,” Lucie says. “I can move my hands.”
“How much?”
“Just a little.”
Lucie struggles for a moment. I can hear the plastic coils around her wrists rub together. Whoever tied her up, must’ve gone easier on her than his colleague went on me. That’s a French gangster for you. He won’t hesitate to rape a lady, but he’ll make sure her binds aren’t too uncomfortable!
“Okay, listen,” I say. “I’ve got something that can get us out of here.”
