Dave was a big guy, and moving him with only one functioning arm was difficult, but Thomas was so full of adrenaline that he managed. He dragged him over to where his car was parked and somehow got him into the trunk. Then he went back into the garage and picked up some of his tools, plus a gag and handcuffs for Dave. He wasn't going to make the mistake of letting the fucker get loose again. He cuffed and gagged the boyfriend, then considered his next move.<br/><br/>He had to get the fuck out of here. Claire would go to the cops, and they'd be looking for him very soon. And French police were no fucking joke- they'd find him alright, especially with him having a broken arm and that shithead Dave in tow. His only chance was to get to the border. He had a small house in a village near Genoa, not in his name, that he'd bought as a bolthole in case things went wrong. Which they had. Badly wrong. So he needed to start driving South towards Italy asap. First of all, though, he needed to torch the garage and destroy the evidence.<br/><br/>Thomas poured gasoline all over the garage- on the floor and up the walls. As he left, he threw in a wad of burning paper. The effect was dramatic- the flames nearly singed him as he closed the garage door. He got into the car and pulled away. Driving to Italy with a broken arm wasn't going to be fun, but at least the car was an automatic, and the roads should be pretty empty at night. He switched on the radio as he turned on to the main road. The news was on and...oh fuck...they'd found Pierre already. He was doomed. But then the news continued, and Thomas began to smile. They were looking for<em>Dave</em>and<em>Claire</em>on suspicion of murder.<br/><br/>"You bitch, Claire," he said out loud, "You killed poor old Pierre." What a fucking joke.