Retribution

by Mike Ramon

unpleasant duty. He left her food enough for the day when he knew that he was going to be out for any length of time.

  Blue Taurus finally had a name now: Walter Fontana, father of Laurie, and husband of Grace. Grace Fontana was six months pregnant with their second child, a boy. The story in the paper had included a picture of the worried parents. They were sitting together on a couch and holding hands, staring at the camera with a look that seemed to beg for anyone who knew anything that could help them find their daughter to come forward. The only witness to the abduction was reported to have seen a red Dodge Charger speeding down the street, with the girl in the passenger seat banging on the window as if she were trying to break it. Paul didn’t drive a red Dodge Charger. He drove a silver 2008 Toyota Corolla.

  This confused him at first, until he remembered reading about cases involving supposed witnesses who turned out to have witnessed nothing at all. There were a variety of reasons why these people did what they did, the primary one being the need to feel important and listened to. He recalled the hunt for the Beltway Sniper, when many witnesses reported seeing a white van fleeing from the scenes of the attacks. People were told to be on the lookout for a white van that looked in any way suspicious. But there was no white van; the killers turned out to be driving around in a blue Chevy Caprice.

  Luck was something you rarely noticed until it worked against you. That’s why even the luckiest bastards could still whine about what rotten luck they had. But in this case, Paul had to send thanks up to whatever powers dispensed luck, both good and bad, for this little break. The cops had no description of the abductor (other than the assumption that the abductor was a man), and they were looking for a red Charger instead of a silver Corolla. He just hoped that the false witness stuck to their story.

  The paper didn’t mention what Walter Fontana’s occupation was. To Paul the man looked quite plain, even dull. He reminded Paul of a history teacher he had in high school. Maybe that’s what he was--a teacher. His neighbors probably thought he was a good man, maybe the quiet type. Paul knew what he really was.

  And now, five days after the girl had been taken, Walter Fontana--the man formerly known as Blue Taurus--was on Paul’s TV screen with tears threatening to spill from his eyes. His wife is dabbing at her own eyes with a tissue. They tell the viewers what a wonderful and sweet girl Laurie is, and how they knew that no one could possibly want to hurt such a girl. They plead with her captor to just let her go.

  “Please give us back our daughter,” Walter Fontana says, his voice breaking on the last word.

  Paul decides to let the fucker dangle for a little while longer.

  9

  Three days after the TV interview Paul decided it was time to make his big move. The girl--who now had a radio to listen to, to pass the time--had never been his real target. She was just the knife he needed to twist in her father’s heart just for a little while. What he really wanted was Blue Taurus; what he really wanted was Walter Fontana.

  Paul drove by the man’s house, which wasn’t far from the spot where he had taken Laurie. He thought there might be news vans hanging around, or maybe a police car standing watch on the block. There were no news van, however, and if there was a police car it was either unmarked or well hidden.

  Paul continued past the house. There was no place along Walter’s street at which he could park without attracting attention, so once against he parked at the gas station at the end of the block. He went inside and bought himself a bag of barbecue potato chips and a Big Freeze (cherry this time), then sat in the car munching on the chips for a while. He figured that if Walter Fontana left his house to make a trip somewhere, there was an even chance that he would come this way.

  Paul waited for an hour and a half, far longer than he would have liked to. There was always a chance than someone would get curious about the guy sitting out in the parking lot like he was waiting for something. Paul got out of the car and tossed his long-empty bag of chips and Big Freeze cup into a trash can, then left the lot.

  He drove down Walter’s street again. As he passed the house he saw that everything was as he had seen it last; the windows were obscured by curtains, there was no one moving about that he could see. He went home, deciding that he would have to start his stakeout earlier the next day. That evening he made spaghetti, which was his favorite. He took a big plate up to Laurie Fontana. Later, when he went back up to retrieve the plate, he saw that she had only eaten a few forkfuls. She was lying on the bed with her back turned to him, and she took no notice of him as he grabbed the plate and slipped out of the room.

  10

  The next day Paul woke up bright and early, just as the sun was coming up. He made sure he had all that he needed in the event that he was presented with an opportunity to grab Walter Fontana. He had his pistol and zip ties; there was no need for a mask. He left Laurie a peanut butter and jelly sandwich wrapped in cellophane and a juice box, which he placed on top of the dresser in her room before leaving the house. She was still asleep.

  Again he parked at the gas station, making sure to take the space at the furthest end of the lot, where the person working behind the register would be the least likely to notice him. He sat and waited, watching the street from which Fontana would come (if he came that way).

  After an hour Paul had to run in to take a leak, hoping that Fontana didn’t pass by while he was inside. After coming back to the car he didn’t have to wait long. Barely five more minutes had passed before he saw Fontana’s red Chevy. Paul fumbled with the keys for a moment before he was able to start the engine. He managed to start the car, and he sped out of the gas station lot to follow after the Chevy.

  Paul caught up with the other man quickly, and again did his best to tail his quarry without being noticed. There was one moment when Paul thought that he had lost the man in traffic; when he found the Chevy again he breathed a sigh of relief.

  He followed Fontana for about twenty minutes until the Chevy pulled into the parking lot of a small restaurant. Paul took a space between where the Chevy had parked and the front door of the place. There were three other cars in the lot, all empty. The windows of the restaurant itself were darkly tinted.

  Fontana got out of his car and started toward the door, which he could reach only by passing in front of Paul’s Toyota. Paul had the S&W ready on his lap. As the man started to pass, Paul called out to him:

  “Hey, Buddy, can you help me out really quick?”

  Fontana stopped and looked at Paul. Paul was curious whether there would be any recognition in the man’s eyes; all he saw, however, were a pair of red-rimmed eyes that looked haunted and hollow.

  “What’s that?” Fontana asked.

  “I was looking for Randall Road, but I think I might have passed it. I have these directions here; I was wondering if you could take a look at them and tell me where I went wrong.”

  Paul started rooting around in one pocket, feigning that he was trying to find a paper with the directions written on it. Fontana looked like he was trying to decide whether he wanted to take a minute out of his day to stop and help some guy find out how lost he was. Then he walked over to the open driver’s side window, leaning down.

  “Let me see the directions,” he said.

  Instead of a paper with directions on it Fontana had a revolver pointed at him. His eyes went wide, and he started to back away from the window.

  “If you want to see your daughter alive again, you’re gonna have to come with me,” Paul said.

  Fontana froze in place, looking at Paul with a confused look on his face.

  “I have you’re little girl, Walter,” Paul said. “Yow have two choices now. You either get in the car, and I take you to her. Or you try to run. If you run I’ll shoot you in the back, and then I’ll kill your daughter. I’ll make sure to tell her that it’s your fault she has to die.”

  Walter Fontana looked toward the restaurant, perhaps hoping that help would come from that direction.

  “What’s it gon
na be?” Paul asked. “I don’t have all day.”

  “I…I’ll come with you.”

  “Okay, then. Walk around the front of the car and get in the passenger seat. If you try anything, I will empty this gun into you.

  The man did as he had been told. When he got into the car Paul instructed him to look inside the glove compartment, where the man found a package of zip ties.

  “Tale one of them out of the package,” Paul said, the revolver pointing at the other man but held low so nobody would see it if they passed by.

  Fontana did it.

  “Now loop one end around your right wrist.”

  Again Fontana complied.

  “Okay, now turn away from me and put both hands behind your back,” Paul commanded.

  When Fontana did so Paul reached down and set the revolver on the floor, then hurriedly worked to bind the man’s wrists together by wrapping the loose end of the zip tie to Fontana’s left wrist and cinching it tight.

  “Okay, now face forward,” Paul said as he picked up the gun.

  “Why are you doing this?” Fontana asked.

  Paul looked at the man’s face, searching it.

  “You really don’t remember me, do you?” Paul asked.

  “No, I don’t.”

  Paul nodded his head.

  “You will. You will.”

  “Where’s my daughter?”

  “I’m taking you to her.”

  “If you hurt her,