“I don’t know what you want from me!” Lawrence cried out as the masked men cuffed him to a radiator.
“Quiet,” one of them snapped as they started to go through his pockets and drawers. “Boss Mackrel says that your money’s overdue. Should have kept an eye on the calendar.”
“Boss… who?” he asked before getting a fist to the jaw and duct tape pressed over his mouth.
“Hey guys…” one of the masked men said, looking in an envelope on the table. “I think this guy’s a dentist.” They all stopped and looked over. Then they looked back to Lawrence.
“You… are Lawrence Baker, right?” Lawrence nodded weakly. “The same Lawrence Baker that runs the horse racing track?” He shook his head.