Caged Bird

As we snaked our through the tables I looked for my way out of this mess--Todd Davis. I spied him bent over his plate hacking away at his cooked “so-that-a-good-vet-could-save-it” porterhouse. I opened my mouth to get his attention but before I could formulate sensible words, the goons closed in around me virtually enveloping my five foot four frame.

They ushered me through the door into the back seat of a revved and waiting non-descript black Suburban. Two of the goons squeezed in beside me, Blue Eyes climbed into the passenger seat in the front.

As soon as the doors slammed, Blue eyes spoke into his wrist. “The bird is in the cage. I repeat, the bird is in the cage. Rendez vous at twenty-thirty.

I checked my watch. In two hours, I would be facing a much grimmer fate than dinner with Todd, probably consisting of a few hours of agonizing torture, ending in a unbelievably painful death.