Page 37 of Soul of Discretion

Peter stood up. “I’m going with you.”

Simon shook his head firmly. “No, you aren’t. You’re going to stay here and help these guys. Where you’re safe.” He waved around the room. “I’ll have an escort anyway with that wanker Jeffries. He’s downstairs. I’ll take him with me.”

“But…” Peter spluttered.

“Stay here,” Simon commanded. “I’ll be fine.” He hurried over to the door. “I’ll call you later.”

“He treats me like I’m a damn puppy,” Simon heard Peter grumble as he exited into the hallway. He couldn’t help smiling at the schoolboy whining.

As he exited the building, he saw his bodyguard, Officer Jeffries, standing on the pavement talking to the building security guard. Earlier, when Simon had entered the building, Jeffries had said there was no need for him to accompany him to the office. He’d be safe enough with the police officer standing watch downstairs; no doubt because the restaurant was there, Simon noted. Jeffries seemed inordinately fond of large cups of coffee and waffles.

Simon didn’t like the man—Jeffries was clearly not a fan of Simon being gay—so he’d agreed with alacrity to Jeffries not being in the same room upstairs.

Now, however, he wondered whether he should tell Jeffries he was on his way out. Nick wouldn’t take kindly to him going off on his own and the thought of his lover railing him one for not following protocol, while a bit of a turn-on, was probably not a wise thing to do.

Simon sighed. He supposed he’d better stick to his promise to Peter and tell Jeffries about his visit to see Margaret. As he walked over to the man, Office Jeffries turned and walked across the road, heading toward the coffee shop. He hadn’t seen Simon, or, if he had, was taking no notice of him.

Simon swore. There was no way he was chasing the man across the street to tell him his plans. He was in a hurry. Nick, and Peter, would have to live with him going alone.

After all, it wasn’t likely anything would happen.

****

The journey to Margaret’s home took longer than Simon expected. Traffic was backed up due to an accident farther ahead. Simon tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel of his hire car.

Margaret had sounded scared and tired, and he didn’t blame her after all she’d been through.

He stared idly at the muscle car a few places behind him. Black, tinted windows, with a menacing front grill. It was a stereotypical mobster’s car and not entirely uncommon on the streets of Toronto. However, a sense of unease trickled down his spine and he wished fervently for the traffic to move. He knew he was probably being paranoid, but he couldn’t help thinking of the thugs who had threatened him, and Nick’s reaction to their appearance at Breakforce’s offices.

His wish was granted half an hour later as the traffic began to shuffle forward, painstakingly slowly, but at least he was moving. It was then he noticed the empty fuel gauge. In his haste to get to Margaret, he’d not even seen the tank needed filling.

“Shit,” he swore, annoyed with himself. “This is going from bad to worse.” He craned his neck to see if he could see a fuel station anywhere ahead. About half a mile ahead he could see the familiar Esso sign. Simon heaved a sigh of relief. That should do the trick—if he could bloody get there before he ran out.

A frustrating ten minutes later he was driving into the service station, and pulled up to the fuel pump. He watched the digital reading as the tank filled up and, impatient to move on, once he had the tank half filled, he placed the nozzle back onto the pump.

The fuel station was teeming with people and cars, which explained the reason he’d missed the black muscle car also pulling into the garage and idling only a few metres away.

As he walked over to the kiosk to pay for the fuel, there was a whish of air behind him and something was pushed into his back.

“Don’t make a scene,” the voice behind him growled. It held the tinge of an Italian heritage, something streetwise and raw. “Just walk with me to the car and you’ll be okay. If you make a move, well, I can’t promise anyone will be fine.”

Simon’s throat tightened and his stomach plummeted. His instinct told him to turn around, fight his way out of the situation he was in. In front and to the side of him, however, was a mother with a pram, a young girl hugging her boyfriend, and various rugrats clamouring for sweets and sodas as they held Dad’s hand.

Simon couldn’t risk anything happening to these innocent people.

He swallowed, trying not to panic. “Fine, I’m not going to cause any trouble,” he murmured quietly as he was pushed toward the muscle car. Now that he was closer, he saw it was a Pontiac. Simon wasn’t a car-fundi, and if something got him from A to B, he was fine.

As he was shoved toward the vehicle before him, he couldn’t help thinking whether this would be the last ride he ever took. In a final effort to change his circumstances, he tried to negotiate.

It was what he was good at after all.

“I’m not going to do anything daft. I mean, what you’re doing is fucking stupid, kidnapping someone, isn’t that a federal offence here? I mean, is this worth going to prison for when we can chat like gentlemen? That would be the civilised thing to do.”

“Shut it,” the rough voice behind him growled. “Your poncy accent is getting on my nerves. Be quiet and get into the car. Someone wants to talk to you.”

Christ, Nick, I’m sorry I got into this mess, Simon thought desperately. He was now regretting being high-handed about not having Officer Jeffries with him.

The door to the wide sedan was thrown open, and Simon was pushed inside, into the backseat. Another man sat at the far side and reached over, forcing something black, smelly, and damp over Simon’s head.