Pierre drove in silence. It would take him maybe a quarter of an hour to get to the garage from the airport at this time of day. He had a bad feeling in his stomach. What was he doing? The man Thomas had paid him 5,000 Euros already, with another 20,000 on delivery. He needed the money- without it he'd lose his house, lose the car...lose everything. But...for<em>this</em>? What did Mr Thomas plan to do with these tourists? They seemed nice kids, seemed so happy, so glad to be in Paris. He shook his head. It was too late now. No turning back. They'd obviously never been here before, didn't realize they were going in the wrong direction. He indicated and turned into a narrow side-street. The male tourist asked him about the route. "Un short-cut" he said; the man seemed satisfied. The garage was up ahead now. The door was open. He drove in.<br/><br/>.....<br/><br/>Thomas heard the car coming up the little side road. It must be<em>them</em>. He took the safety off his automatic. His breath was quick and shallow. His asshole was tight. He had a raging hard-on.<br/><br/>The games would begin soon.<br/>