They could hear movement and an occasional splash. Like something big and dark was moving quietly in the liquid blackness. They knelt on the remaining edge of a wooden floor. But the floor itself had been torn out, and only a small ledge was left. The vast space below them was the house’s basement, now filled with something that stank of rotting meat. Something that was alive. Their hands were tied behind their backs and a man with a semi automatic stood behind them, the barrel of his gun suggesting the general direction of the back of their heads. The men kneeling were much alike, and much different. They were both Hispanic, short and stocky. The commonality of their sharp noses, large foreheads, and elegant lips put a vague genetic connection on display. But the man on the left had pimples on his face, wore baggy pants, skateboard shoes and an untucked, oversized black T-shirt. The man on the right had dark hair, graying at the temples, a crisp white button down dress shirt, black dress pants, and black wing tips.
