“They had him stashed in some kind of locker. Marsha! Get everybody ready to hit the road. We’re gonna move as soon as we can get the kid cleaned up. Playmate, take him to the pond.” My instructions inspired a hundred questions. I ignored them all, located my local buddy Mr. Thring. He had value under the new plan. He glared daggers once I removed his blindfold but he’d begun to understand that bluster and attitude weren’t his best tools here. “Mr. Thring. Good morning. I’ve been talking with my associates about what we should do with you. Most of them think we should take you over to the pond and hold you under until you can’t remember names or faces anymore.” Surprise and fear lit up the dusky round face of the estate manager. “But it seems to me that you might be more use to us healthy. If you’ll help us with a little something and can leave us comfortably assured that you wouldn’t discuss your adventures with anyone later on.” Thring was eager to provide assurances.
