Biting The Bullet

Chapter 5

"What do you mean they've been kidnapped!" thundered Lord Taylorland. The unexpected news flipped his world upside-down and inside-out. Given how he went to great lengths employing bodyguards and escorts, he'd thought that a kidnapping would be impossible.

The news had to come during an important business meeting, too. Right when the other side was on the brink of agreeing to the proposal. In a couple of minutes it would be settled. He would walk away with a promising future for his business, fly back home and see his wonderful children.

Yet now, it was nothing but a vision lost in never-never land. Without his children, he felt as if a part of himself was missing — a huge part was more like it.

"We apologise, sir. It was a mass kidnapping at the café bar. Apparently this time it's the Knifias."

He shook his head in devastation. It didn't make any sense to him, considering how it was known for its top security. Even the Moby's (the other gang's) last try didn't go down well. Followed by a fierce shootout with the police, the gangsters sped away with moderate injuries while a police officer had to be sent to the hospital.

"Get my jet, Waylon."

"It's arriving in five minutes, sir, at the rooftop."

After hanging up, he slipped back into the conference room and cleared his throat. His potential business partners looked up at him, concern crossing their faces as he said, "There's a serious issue involving human safety back home, as a result, I feel the necessity to leave this instant."

One opened his palms. "Alright, sounds grave. Lives matter more than business."

"I hope to meet up with you all again. Good day." Lord Taylorland bowed and left the room, hurrying past rooms to the lift area.

He slammed his hand on the "Up" button and paced around with hands on his hips, Oxford shoes clomping against the shiny, flawlessly tiled floor. A while later the floor display screen still showed a number differing largely from the floor he was on. Perhaps the lift was afraid of some voodoo human agitation may bring.

It was stopping at every floor starting from the top one. As he pondered on the reason, two men walked by jabbering in Hebrew. The elevator occupants were probably Jews observing a Sabbath Day practice, which was no mechanical operation. The other elevator wasn't helping either. As luck would have it, it was in repair. (I know, right?)

That was it. He would take on the stairs.

During his upward dash, he dodged a group of executives ambling down, who stopped to look at him with a mystified expression. He, however, didn't stop.

After an age of turning at landings, he stumbled onto the rooftop just as a colossal form loomed from above, serving conveniently as a shade from the stark sunlight. Landing on the rooftop runway, its door slid open and he climbed into the snug compartment.

"Good day, sir," greeted Waylon, closing the door after him with gloved hands. He was a young bachelor with a small goatee and usually wore a cheerful smile, though a few awkward situations had taught him when it should be suspended. 

Acknowledging the greeting with a nod, Lord Taylorland sank into his seat which had already been adjusted to his preferred angle.

"Would some biscuits help, sir?" Waylon brought out a silver tray with an array of snacks.

Normally he would eagerly devour the assorted biscuits, but not this time. "Thank you, but I'm afraid it wouldn't."

Since there was nothing else he could do to cheer him up, Waylon put back the tray and sat down carefully on one of the seats.