Warning! The following may contain bad spelling, grammar, punctuation, cardboard characters, cheesy plots, offensive NSFW material, and / or puns. Reader discretion is advised.
“How did you know I was hiding something?” Alan asked.
“Several things,” Tom said. “Randomly kidnapping people and hoping for money is risky. It is better if you know the person has money, so there is a connection. Also, the ransom note didn’t have any instructions for contacting them to make the payoff. A strong indicator that you were already familiar with the culprits and knew who they were.”
“So what do I do now? I don’t have that kind of money.”
“First, I think we should set up a meet with the kidnappers. Maybe they will be reasonable and we can work something out. Second, we get your fiancé back safe and sound. Third, you need to get some professional help with your gambling addiction. Either professional counseling or Gamblers Anonymous. So, how do we get in touch with your bookie?”
“He’s got an office over on Third Avenue.”
“Good. Give him a call and tell him you’re on your way.”
Tom handed Alan’s cellphone back to him. Alan dialed and waited. “Hey, it’s Foster. Yeah…I’m heading over now. See you when I get there.”
Tom took the phone back and disconnected the device he had previously attached to it. He pocketed the device.
Freddie came out with three mugs of coffee and set them down on the table.
“No time for coffee now, my friend. We’ve got to saddle up and hit the trail.”
“Where are we heading?”
“We’re off to see the bookie.”
The three men headed out of the house and got into the ’67 Mustang, heading off to rescue the damsel in distress.