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Who are you? You don't belong around here.
He magnified the car and plate as much as he could and was able to make out the number as his heart started to pound faster. The plate could lead him to the kidnapper, could lead him to his son. He wrote down the number.
Now what? If I call Jason Strong, he'll say that they'll look into it and then I won't have any idea what's going on.
He wanted to check this out himself. He could feel the darkness inside telling him that this was what he needed. This could take away the pain. He had an idea. He picked up the phone and dialed.
“San Antonio Police.”
“Yes, can I speak to Detective Strong?”
“Please hold.”
Several minutes passed.
“Hello?” Jason Strong's familiar voice came on.
“Jason, this is Michael Barton.”
“Michael, how's it going?”
“Fine. You?”
“Good...very good.”
“And Sandy?” Michael asked about Jason's wife Sandy, a tall blonde with striking green eyes.
“She's good...listen, sorry I haven't called lately. There hasn't been anything new to report, and I've been swamped.”
“No problem...actually, I called to ask you a favor.”
“You know I’ll try to help if I can.”
“Well, I was in a little fender bender at the stadium parking lot the other day, and the owner wasn't around. Of course, I didn't have any paper or a pen.”
“Of course!” Jason agreed.
“Anyway, I took a photo of the guy’s plate with my phone, and I was wondering if you could get me his number and address. I'd like to contact him without getting insurance involved.”
“Well…I'm not supposed to...”
Michael held his breath.
“But, okay. Don't suppose it'll hurt.”
Michael gave the plate number to Jason and waited. Jason was back in five minutes with a name.
Be
“Thanks, Jason. Appreciate it.”
“No problem, you staying on the straight and narrow?”
Michael chuckled.
“Yeah, just an occasional glass of wine.”
“Glad to hear it. Take care and, of course, I'll be in touch with any news.” Jason hung up.
Michael stared at the name. A dark fire started smoldering in him. He knew this was the kidnapper. It had to be. He felt certain. And he felt anger. Anger that pushed him to act. In the past, he had fought the anger, subdued it. This time, there would be no controlling it. He could feel it taking over, and he didn't care.
****
Be
Be
When he slowly started to come around, he began taking stock of his body. He could feel liquid, which he assumed was blood, oozing down his neck and under his shirt. He could also taste it dripping from his nose, probably from when it hit the door. He had a splitting headache, and opening his eyes, in the bright sun, sent pain coursing through his brain.
Once he could get his eyes to stay open, he found he was tied to something, his arms behind him. It felt like the huge blackjack oak behind the house. His feet were also bound with a rope that went around his ankles and around the tree.
“So, you’re awake?”
Be
“Who are you? What...what do you want?”
A man Be
“Who are you?” Be
The man just stared at him.
“Who the hell are you!?”
He moved in very close and hissed into Be
“Who am I? Who am I?...I'm the father of the child you took.”
Be
“Child? What child? I don't know nothin' about no kid.”
“Oh, come now, you remember: ten Years ago, small baby.” Michael nearly spit it out with contempt. “Or do you do that kind of thing all the time?”
Be
Be
“Now, where's my son?”
“I didn't do nothin' with your kid...I don't know what you’re talking about.”
The man put his hand across Be
The man stepped back and slowly wiped his face with his sleeve. Be
Be
The stranger waited for Be
“Where's my son?”
“I can't tell you...he'll kill me...” Be
“I'll kill you if you don't. Where's my son?”
“...Can't tell....”
His attacker started to heft the hammer again, and Be
“Okay...okay...this guy paid me to get him a kid.”
“What was his name?”
“Zeb...Zeb Johnson.”
Be
“How do I find him? What did he look like?”
“I don't know...we used throw away cell phones.”
Be
“He was a big man, red hair.”
“Where was he from?”
Be
“The contact I met was from Missouri, I think.”
“Contact...what contact?”
“Some chick...I gave her the kid and she paid me.”
“What was her name? What did she look like?”
Be
“Wait...no...she was real short...red hair...had a tattoo on her tit.”
“Anything else?”
Be
“No…wait…yeah.”
Something was rolling around in the back of his head.
“She was in a van with a parking sticker…St. something…Lawrence…no ,Luke’s…that's it…St. Luke’s, and the guy said she was some sort of nurse.”
Be
“Hey…where…you…going? You can't leave me…like this!”
He turned and put a gun to Be
“You’re right.”
He pulled the trigger.
****
Michael left the ranch and headed east to his home in San Antonio. He didn't think that he had been seen, but he wasn't taking any chances. Parking in the garage, he went in and packed a bag. After loading it into the car, he sat down at the computer and searched ‘St. Luke's Missouri’.