“Listen Pete, I’m on to something big.” Barbara spoke into the phone receiver in quick, breathless words. “Trust me, this scoop is explosive! Yesterday, the mayor had a meeting with-”

 She got no further. The door of the phone booth was thrown open with a crash. The young reporter spun around, giving a gasp of fright as she saw a man looming over her, shadowed against the streetlamp which stood beside the booth. She shrank back but there was nowhere to go. The goon reached in with one large hand and pressed a folded cloth over Barbara’s face. She breathed in, smelling the chemical fumes it was soaked in. She swooned…

 “Mmmmm…” Barbara’s eyes fluttered as she slowly came to. “Mmmpphh!!!” She gave a sharp cry of surprise as her senses returned and she found the situation she was in. The young woman was in a small, cramped room, a store room of some kind, to judge from the rusty metal shelves filled with tins and boxes and tools. It was lit overhead by a single naked bulb.

 Barbara sat in a sturdy oaken chair. It didn’t seem to fit the rest of the room, so she guessed it had been brought here especially for the purpose. The young woman had her hands crossed behind the back of the chair, tied with rope. Coil after coil of the thick, strong cord was also wrapped around her chest, pinning her in place. Below, her feet were crossed and bound with more of the same.

 “Mmmppphhh!!!” Barbara gave another frightened grunt. The reason for her garbled speech was the thick white cloth, a rag or towel or something, tied across the lower half of her face. It was effective as muffling her sounds as well. She doubted her scream got outside the storeroom.

 It was, however, loud enough to attract the attention of the man inside it. She gave another frightened whimper as the goon who’d grabbed her before stepped around from behind one of the shelves. Beneath his fedora, she saw a stubbled, craggy face split into a wicked grin.

 “So, youse awake at last. If it were up to me, Idda whacked you while youse was out, quick and simple like.” The mook said in a low, gruff voice. “But da boss, he says he wants you conscious like...so’s youse knows what’s what.”

 He turned and busied himself with something he took from his dark trench coat and set on the nearby shelf. “The boss don’t like reporters snitchin’ on his meetings with Mr. the Mayor, not even if they’s pretty dames. It’s a real pity, but its the way its gotta be.” He stepped aside and Barbara gave a cry of fright as she saw what he’d been fiddling with: several bright red sticks taped together with an old brass alarm clock. With a chuckle, the goon turned a switch and the clock began to tick.

 “How’s this for an explosive story, miss reporter?” The man said, with a final laugh. He turned and left the room. Behind him, the young reporter squirmed and struggled as the time bomb ticked down...