Thinking of it still gave me a frisson and made me rub my legs together.Thinking of it still gave me a frisson and made me rub my legs together. "OK, John, I'll go along. But I'm going to bring some work along; I really do have to finish this for tomorrow." Now it was John's turn to pause. "We'll see. I have plans, too." I shuddered. "You will be downstairs in the parking lot within five minutes. Move!" I heard a click before I could reply. I put some clay and some pencils in a sample case, grabbed it and my gym bag, and left, telling my secretary that I was going to finish up at home. His red car was waiting outside. Slowly, I got in, and closed the door. John was ready for me. "Wrists," he said. I held out my arms, and he fastened a cable tie around each one. I don't know if you've ever seen a cable tie. Electricians use them. They're narrow strips of tough plastic. One side is ridged; it fits into a ratchet mechanism moulded into the other end. There's no way to release the ratchet; once you loop the strip around and insert it, you can't release it, only tighten it. Electricians don't care; they rarely want to release their wires. If they do, they just cut the cable tie. But these were my hands being bound that way, and I couldn't even hope to steal a key. Even if I had a sharp enough knife, I probably didn't have the leverage to cut the plastic. After braceleting my hands, John used a third tie to bind them together, and a fourth to fasten them to my seatbelt. I looked at him; he chuckled, buckled it, and said, "We don't want to get pulled over again, do we?" I blushed. A year earlier, some public-spirited citizen had notified police of an apparent kid- naping -- seeing a bound woman being pushed into a car. |