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.

Benny Carter. His address was near Hondo, a town west of San Antonio.

“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.

****

Benny wheeled the '69 Mustang Mach One down his driveway. He'd bought it with the money from the kidnapping and had it repainted. Yellow with a black hood and black stripes. It looked fast, and it was.

Benny drove around back and parked by the kitchen door. He got out, locked the car, and went to let himself in. Putting his key in the lock, he saw a reflection in the window, but it was too late. Pain exploded from the back of his head. His knees buckled and his face crashed into the glass. He slid unconscious to the ground.

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?”

Benny's head swivelled quickly to his right, which made him wince in pain.

“Who are you? What...what do you want?”

A man Benny didn't recognize got up and moved in front of him, but ignored his question.

“Who are you?” Benny demanded.

The man just stared at him.

“Who the hell are you!?”

He moved in very close and hissed into Benny's face.

“Who am I? Who am I?...I'm the father of the child you took.”

Benny's eyes got huge, which made his head ache even worse, and he thought he would vomit.

“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?”

Benny's head was getting clearer. That's what happens when fear pumps adrenaline through you, and Benny was afraid. He started looking around wildly for some means of escape. He didn't own a gun, and if he did, it would be in the house, anyway. His knife was in his boot, but the ropes were too tight, his hands would not come free.

Benny looked into his captor’s eyes. They were wild, angry.

“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 Benny's forehead, and drove the back of Benny's head into the tree. Benny let out a groan, his eyes rolling back in his head. When he opened them again, he spit in the man's face.

The man stepped back and slowly wiped his face with his sleeve. Benny watched as he turned and walked over to a woodpile and grabbed a twenty-pound sledgehammer. He hefted it up and down a couple of times before walking back over to Benny. Benny started to panic, squirming to get free. Without saying a word, the man swung the hammer directly at Benny's right knee.

Benny's world exploded with pain. Waves of agony raced up his leg, through his body, and into his brain. He screamed, briefly lost consciousness and then came to with a series of low moans. His knee was shattered and blood soaked his jeans.

The stranger waited for Benny to stop sobbing and then asked his question again.

“Where's my son?”

“I can't tell you...he'll kill me...” Benny sobbed.

“I'll kill you if you don't. Where's my son?”

“...Can't tell....”

His attacker started to heft the hammer again, and Benny freaked.

“Okay...okay...this guy paid me to get him a kid.”

“What was his name?”

“Zeb...Zeb Johnson.”

Benny tried to stop sobbing, his voice breaking and just above a whisper. The man had to move closer, listening intently.

“How do I find him? What did he look like?”

“I don't know...we used throw away cell phones.”

Benny paused for breath.

“He was a big man, red hair.”

“Where was he from?”

Benny scrambled for details. It had been ten Years, and his brain was more    concerned with the pain.

“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?”

Benny didn't answer, the blood running down his leg and out from under his pants was making him light-headed. The man lifted the hammer and placed it against Benny's left kneecap. A surge of adrenaline shot through Benny and he started to stammer.

“Wait...no...she was real short...red hair...had a tattoo on her tit.”

“Anything else?”

Benny felt the hammer pushing against the kneecap.

“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.”

Benny was exhausted from the effort of remembering. His attacker looked at him a minute longer, put down the hammer, and turned to walk away.

“Hey…where…you…going? You can't leave me…like this!”

He turned and put a gun to Benny's head.

“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’.