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When the two men, one a tall, muscular, balding Caucasian and the other a smaller Hispanic with a feathery mustache, appeared in Cecil's garage, his first thought that he was going to be robbed. Then, when they XXXX him to his knees and, at XXXXpoint, roped his wrists together and his arms to his upper torso, Cecile began to understand that he was being XXXX.

That is pretty stupid, Cecile had thought. The house is mortgaged to the hilt, and he and Sheila had been juggling accounts just to get the bills paid. Where did these fools think the money for a XXXX would come from?

Then they crammed him into the back of his own car and threw a smelly packing blanket found in a corner of the garage over him. Cecil screamed into the gag, now terrified and shaking. The men had made no effort to hide their faces from him! The implication of that was terrible.

Cecil never had had much of a sense of direction. He and Sheila had bought the expensive house in the development partially because it was such a straight shot from the house to his workplace. He knew enough to tell, however, that they were moving away from town.

He could hear his captors talking, and the smell of tobacco came to him. Cecile's fear became anger. How dare they? Why now? Why today? Why when the commission on the deal that was going to close on today would reverse his recent financial misfortunes?

He was bodily jerked out of the car heels first and painfully banged his bottom on concrete and his back against the doorsill. They were in a neighborhood of boarded up houses from what looked a failed development. Straggly yellow weeds tufted up in what had once been a lawn.

"Get up and get your ass in there," ordered the tall one. To emphasize the point, he tapped the back of Cecil's head with the XXXX barrel. Cecil struggled to his feet, and, once inside, was rudely shoved onto the bed. He saw that the inside of the house was nicer than the outside. Did these men LIVE there?

"Tie up his ankles, We don't want him running off."

Cecil then had his crossed ankles bound together. A rope from his ankles to his wrists finished it off. Still, he noticed, the wry Hispanic had not spoken directly to him.

The two men left the room, and Cecil heard the sound of cards being shuffled. As quietly as he could, he began to struggle against the ropes. What was he hoping for? He had no idea of his location, and he was perfectly helpless. He had no idea why he was taken here, or what his captors intended.

To the right was a cabinet that had some wine glasses in it. This was so suprisingly domestic that Cecil was certain that he was in the home of one of his assailants.

Then the tall guy came into the room. Cecil was pulled forward by his grasped tie and told, "You don't need to be anywhere for the next five hours. Stay here, be good, and wait it out. You won't be hurt if you cooperate. Got that?" And he gave the tie a yank.

"Mrrmmph," disagreed Cecil.

"Cool shoes, man," said the Hispanic as he entered the room. "Think they'll fit me?"

"Take 'em," said the other. "They're probably worth more than we'll get for this gig."

"He's mighty red. Think that gag may be too much for him?"

"Nah. He's just mad 'cause we're holdin' him here."

"I do like them shoes."

"You think he's going to argue with you? If you want 'em, take 'em."

"Okay. You can tell this dude always wears shoes," the Hispanic said as he slipped the dress shoes from Cecil's feet. "His feet are SO tender."

Then the phone in the other room rang.


Cecil huffed into his gag. This was no abandoned house if the thugs had phone service.

"Uh, yes, sir, we got him."

"No, sir, he don't know how come."

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

"Yes, sir, I will."

The taller man walked into Cecil's line of vision holding a portable phone. Cecil was still on his belly, having been pushed over by his shoe thief. The tall man held the phone to Cecil's ear and gagged mouth.

"Weatherspoon," said a not immediately identifiable voice, "you're not going to get the McCaulkey contract today. I'm afraid you're going to be a no-show. But I'll be there - it's not important right now that you know who am - and if it goes through, somebody is going to give you a job offer that'll have you burning rubber to get away from Carmoodey and Kingsman."

"So sit tight for a little while now, and before the afternoon's over, you'll be able to tell Sheila that you have a new job offer and your financial woes will be over."

"Whyrifille," Cecil yelled through his gag into the phone.

"Rest, my friend," said the voice on the other line. "This should soon become clear, and you'll benefit from the McCaulkey contract more with us than you do with Carmoodey. Trust me - it's the truth - and when my boys let you go, take a good look around the neighborhood. You, son, are gonna be the man that brings it back. Your name is gonna be on the project, and you're gonna be rollin' it."

Then the caller rang off. Cecil thought about the calm deliberate words and sensed that his quietly desperate underfunded life might be just changing for the better, even if it didn't seem that way at the moment.

And the Hispanic guy said, "You know, I bet I'd look good wearing his tie."