As Pierre switched off the engine, he locked the rear doors. The tourists would be trapped, at least temporarily. He wanted to get rid of them, get his money, get back to his home and his wife. He hated doing this- the whole situation made him feel ill. He got out of the car just as Thomas stepped out of the side door of the garage, holding a large pistol.<br/><br/>"Hey Pierre, I see you got 'em for me. Well done buddy." Thomas had a big grin on his face, and an obvious bulge in his jeans.<br/><br/>"Sure Mister Thomas. Now...you have my money, please? I want to go."<br/><br/>"Ya sure ya didn't tell anyone about our little deal, Pierre?"<br/><br/>"Of course not Mister Thomas...I tell no one. Please now, my money sir."<br/><br/>Thomas hoped that Pierre wasn't lying. The last thing he needed was the police being on to him. He raised his .45, pointed it at the horrified Frenchman's head, and pulled the trigger. "Here's your fucking money, Pierre." The sound of the gun going off in the confines of the garage was deafening. The bullet hit Pierre right between the eyes. A spray of blood, bone and brains burst from the back of his head; his limp body was thrown against the garage wall.<br/><br/>"Hey, Pierre, man. Don't you want your money? Huh...I guess not then." Thomas went over to the car, opened the passenger side door and pointed his gun at Claire and Dave.<br/><br/>"Hi Claire honey. Hi Dave. Glad that you guys could make it. Now...I'm gonna unlock the doors. You get out real slow and keep your hands where I can see them. We wouldn't want any mishaps, would we?"