“Its doors opened and jarred shut. Voices spoke briefly. Huddled in the stifling dark of the boot, Dave waited. He heard the sound of something being dragged, the creak of hinges, a quiet thud. A little later the click of a key in the boot lock, and the lid was raised. He began to sit up but a hand grabbed him by the throat and jammed him back. The figure that leaned over him in the dimness had no face. The head was a bag with eye and mouth slits. The place smelt of musty hay, or straw. He tried... to speak, to protest, but the hand, hard as timber, tightened on his throat. There was a sharp pain beneath his earlobe. “No speak,” said a level voice. “No noise.” A hand came into view between him and the masked face, holding a stubby knife. “Understand?” said the voice. “Yes,” Dave whispered. The hand relaxed its grip but did not let go. “Your name?” said the voice. “Dave Doggony.” “Your father rich man? American?” “I suppose so. Yes.” “Man at Principessa Hotel no your father?”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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