Questioning the Littlest Hostage
Markie was scared. He was not in the same room as his parents anymore and he wasn’t sure what was going to happen to any of them. When the door opened he curled more tightly into a ball in a corner.
“Hey there, Sport! How’s about we go talk now!” the man tried to sound friendly, but even in his sharp business suit flanked by two hulking stone faced men, he only managed oily condescension.
Markie whimpered and didn’t move from his corner. The oily man lifted his chin slightly and one of the muscle men stomped over to grab the boy by his twiggy bicep. His eyes, wide with fear, met the oily man’s for a split second.
“There we go, now. Sit on the chair there. That’s a good boy.” Markie was tossed into the chair. “Do you know what daddy does for a living?”
“Well let me tell you. Daddy steals things. He takes personal information from businessmen, like me, then sells it to the Feds. Yes, he’s a bad man. He may not even know it, himself. But now you do. Will you help me get back what he stole?”