Jonas Saul - The Hostage

“Why did I think I could ever control someone like Sarah? Fuck, she has single-handedly ruined everything I’d spent years building.”

It further infuriated him that he couldn’t find a parking spot. Downtown Toronto on any given day was always a test of patience and today Elmore had little. After circling for what felt like an hour, he found a parking lot that allowed him to park near the back by workmen who were tearing up a street.

Summertime in Toronto wouldn’t be summer without construction going on all over the place.

Then he smiled to himself. Drake lay in the trunk. The jackhammers were cutting into cement fifteen feet from his car door. No one would be able to hear Drake with the cacophony of men at work. Elmore had stopped on the way downtown and pulled into the back of a gas station to put duct tape over Drake’s mouth and cuffs on his wrists. With enough shouting, Drake would attract someone’s attention from the trunk soon enough if his lips weren’t sealed.

Taking one final look around, Elmore got out, locked his car doors and started walking the two blocks to his studio. He’d always kept the studio legal and aboveboard so it covered his ass with the tax man. There had to be something to explain the income from Japan and how it got generated in the first place. Because it was registered to him, that meant the cops would find it easily, but would they come there first? He felt they’d focus on his house first.

Maybe he needed to call a lawyer. He had the money. He could stop the cops from entering his house. Probable cause, search warrants and illegal entry were all things he needed a lawyer to deal with. If they searched his house, they’d have enough to charge him right away. An investigation would ensue and that’s where things would get bad.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have left the house. When Sarah ran away and disappeared so quickly, his urge was to get out and get out fast. But if he was still at home, he’d be able to stop illegal searches. Would Sarah’s word alone be enough for them to walk into a private residence? How long did search warrants take to process?

“Damn her,” he said out loud.

Two women wearing business suits and carrying briefcases walked by and looked at him.

He passed them and didn’t look back. Fuck them if they think he’s crazy.

When everything was over, he would hunt Sarah down and find her. Whatever it took, he would catch up with her. But he would only want one thing from her then and that would be to watch the last breath cross her lips.

It’s too late now. You’ve run. You have to keep running. Who knows what’s going on back at the house?

The front of his studio looked normal. No one watched him or his premises. He waited a full two minutes and then ran across Duncan Street to the side of the building.

The L’Amore Photo Studio sign sat with pride on the door. For a brief moment, he reminisced of all the beautiful young things who had walked through that door. How many had he taken home and used for pleasure for so many wonderful years, he couldn’t remember. Those were the days. Now his studio would serve as a temporary shelter for his captive before he fled to the airport to leave the country. Maybe he should think about going to the Hamilton International Airport and taking a domestic flight to Vancouver and then flying internationally after that. Would they monitor every airport across the nation for one man?

After looking up and down the alley and satisfying himself that no one watched, he fished out his keys and inserted them into the door. The locked clicked. Elmore pushed the door open fast and stepped up to the alarm panel to enter the four-digit code to deactivate it.

But the alarm panel remained unlit.

Did I forget to arm it the last time I left?

He’d only forgotten once before. He was very anal about things as serious as that. There was no way he forgot. Couldn’t be. Someone had to have turned it off, but who?

There was no way the police could already be here and broken into his business just to re-lock the door and let him walk in.

So who was here?

He turned around slowly and surveyed the main foyer area. Two doors led to the back. One was the staging area photo room and the other was a hallway that ended at the bathroom. The little light coming in from the outside was enough to see into each doorway.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

Someone knocked on the door. Elmore jumped and snapped his head toward the door, his heart suddenly 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.