He's not very good at this.

"How can I help you?" the secretary replied, seemingly ignoring the barrel pointed at her forehead.

"I'm not fucking around, lady." Dominick ground his teeth, finger pressing lightly against the trigger. "Where is she?!"

The garage kid? from behind the large shipping boxes, Jack narrowed his eyes. What the hell is he doing here?

Once more, the secretary offered a prim smile. "How can I help you?"

"What the--" There was no more time. Jack yanked back on the rope wound around his arm. The shag carpet released a large cargo net, sweeping the kid into an upside-down position several feet above the door. The unexpected motion knocked the gun out of his hand.

Emerging from the box's shadows, Jack kept the rope around his hand as he stalked forward. His boot smacked against the gun, sending it well into the corner shadows as he made his way beside his catch.

"You?!" Dominick's fingers grappled the rope, searching vainly for a means of escape. "You sunuva bitch," he muttered, glaring at the hat. "What the hell did you do with my sister?!"

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