“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.
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