Free Life Struggles (Life Stories Book 1) by Mark Treble Page B

me. Talk about overkill. Oops, how about over-supply? That kill thing sounded too likely.
    “Who's the boss?” I hope I didn't sound like the scared little boy I was feeling like.
    The only guy in the room without a gun walked forward.
    “You know, you're not getting out of here alive. Now, let Sarge go and give him back his gun.” The guy knew what he was doing. Except he was counting on me hoping to survive.
    “Look, boss, I just want to find my son.” I dug in my wallet and pulled out his graduation picture. I walked over to The Boss nonchalantly (at least I hoped it was nonchalantly, but I was afraid there was a lot of chalant in my steps).
    The Boss didn't look at the picture. “Never seen him.”
    I pointed the gun at him. “You seem to have mistaken me for someone who cares if he lives. Look at the fucking picture. Now, where is he? He's my son and he disappeared yesterday morning.”
    The Boss didn't look at the picture. And I had taken the gun off of Sarge, who clobbered me on the back of the head with something. I went down and was mobbed.
    They searched me for weapons and found the panic alarm. “Fucker's with the police. What do we do now?” That was from one of the eight guys with guns.
    The Boss put his hands on his hips. A vision of Alex doing the same thing yesterday morning went through my mind. I need to survive to find him.
    The Boss nodded to one of the guys, no idea which one, who slugged me in the stomach. After I righted myself I was slugged again. Journalism just wasn't as glamorous as they talked about in school.
    “Who are you and how did you find Stiletto?” That was from The Boss.
    “My name is Ethan McQuade and my son is missing. He was kidnapped yesterday morning and I need to find him. You're going to have to shoot me before I stop looking for him. Now, look at the fucking picture.” I might have sounded brave, but it was all I could do to keep from pissing my pants.
    Before The Boss could look at the picture his phone rang. “Yeah … No shit? … You're sure he's serious … Hold on.”
    The Boss addressed me. “What do you know about Angola, dipshit?” I looked at him in complete bewilderment. Then it hit me.
    “I was there this morning, Boss. You got somebody there you want me to talk to?” I was bluffing, of course. All I could hope for was that he would mistake my shaking body for something other than the abject fear it really was.
    “You know my brother's in there.” That was a statement, not a question. I nodded.
    “Anything happens to him I'll find you and kill you.” This was said without an ounce of emotion and I knew it was a promise he'd keep. I nodded again.
    “What's goin' on, Boss? How ‘bout I just shoot his ass now?” That was one of the eight guys with guns.Boss, or whatever his name was, held up his hand and the guy stopped talking.
    “I don't know what kind of juice you've got in Angola, but that was my brother. Davey says if anything happens to the guy lookin’ for his kid the same thing's gonna happen to him. Is that true?” The Boss's eyes were boring holes in my head.
    “Ask Davey.” I figured that was the safest thing to say.
    The Boss actually looked at the picture then. He passed it to a couple of the men still pointing their guns at me. They shook their heads.
    “We ain't never seen him. I promise. We don't use little kids for anything these days. The publicity is just too bad, and the kids ain't trustworthy. They always want to sample the merchandise, you know. Is there anything else?” The Boss believed the meeting was over, and I agreed.
    “Thanks guys, that will be all. I'll be on my way. And, if I don't call the police in seven minutes you'll all be far more than sorry.” I backed toward the door and asked for my shit back. The Boss nodded and they gave me back everything. I was surprised, but I guess the threat of Davey being beaten and robbed in Angola was one his brother was taking seriously.
    I continued backing out of the