He sat down, sipped his coffee and opened the paper. He couldn't focus, and after a feeble attempt at the crossword, he set it down. Details ran through his mind. He was planning the next “adoption” and things had to be just right to make it equally as successful as the others.

He needed to call Benny and see if he wanted in on another deal. He had tried a couple of times, but had not got an answer. Picking up the phone, he punched in the number again. It rang three times before picking up.

“This is Benny, you know what to do. Wait for…”

Stan clicked off. He didn’t leave messages; they were loose ends that could be traced back to him. He took another sip of coffee and decided to call his sister. He punched her speed dial number.

“This is Susan, sorry I can’t answer. Leave a message.”

He hung up before the beep.

“What's the deal? Is no one around?”

He heard the click of a gun hammer being pulled back.

“Sure, Stan. I'm here.”

Stan started to turn around, when he felt the end of the gun barrel press against his skull. He froze. A black leather bag dropped into his lap.

“Who are you? What is this?”

“Open it...put ‘em on.”

Stan didn't recognize the voice.

“And if I refuse?”

There was a tremendous explosion next to Stan’s ear, which was followed by shattering glass. The gun returned to the back of his head, but this time, the end was hot, and burned him. Stan’s head spun with the noise.

“Open...it...and…put...them...on.”

When Stan had gathered himself, he fumbled with the bag until the contents spilled out into his lap. Two sets of handcuffs. A chill ran down his spine and he hesitated.

“Put them on, the feet first.”

As Stan leaned forward to cuff his feet, the gun never lost contact with his body. It travelled down his neck and his back as he bent over, then retraced the path as he straightened up.

“Now the hands.”

Stan complied.

The stranger walked around in front of Stan and took a chair opposite the cuffed man. The gun remained pointed at Stan's chest.

“So, do you recognize me?”

“No, but I won’t forget your face, I promise you that.”

“Maybe if I showed you a picture of my son.” He pulled a picture of a baby out for Stan to see. “He has my eyes, don’t you think?”

Stan just stared at it. It was starting to dawn on him what this was about, and fear quickened his pulse.

“Picture doesn’t jog a memory?”

Stan didn't answer.

“Well, about ten Years ago, my son was taken

from my home.”

Stan just stared off in the distance, no longer looking at the picture.

“How about Benny Carter? Do you remember him? Lived west of San Antonio; he seemed to remember you.”

Stan pretended not to hear, but now he knew which kid this was all about. He looked around, trying to find a means of escape, some way to turn the tables in his favor. He didn’t see one.

****

Michael stared at the large man. This was the man behind it all. The one ultimately responsible for what had happened to his son. And now Michael was convinced that whoever had his son knew that he didn’t belong to them. The darkness in him swore that they would pay, too. And to do that, he needed information, and he needed it from the man in front of him.

“Stand up.”

Stan slowly got to his feet as Michael moved around behind him and put the gun in his back. He shoved him forward. Stan stumbled in the cuffs and almost fell. Regaining his balance, he swung around to face Michael.

“Whoever you are, you’re going to regret this!”

Michael bore into the large man with an icy stare. He picked up the pole to the pool skimmer and without saying a word, jabbed it into Stan’s massive chest. Stan teetered backwards, getting ever closer to the edge of the pool.

“Where's my son?”

“I’m not telling you a damn thing!”

Michael smiled.

“Oh, you will, or you’ll learn to swim with those cuffs on.”

All the blood drained out of Stan’s face and Michael thought he might pass out.

“I…I don’t remember...”

“Really? Your sister seemed to remember.”

The look on the big man's face told Michael he had struck home. Panic filled his eyes.

“When did you talk to her? Where is she? Is she okay?”

“Well, let’s see, I saw her yesterday…she’s at home…and whether she’s okay or not probably depends on your point of view.”

Michael's smile was mocking.

“You son-of-a…”

Michael jabbed Stan hard, forcing him back, almost tipping him over the edge.

“You better start talking right now, and I don’t mean calling me names.”

“Okay…okay...Duncan...the last name was Duncan.”

“More, I need more!” Michael held the pole to the man’s chest.

“Come on, man, it was ten Years ago. I can’t remember everything.”

Michael exploded.

“You’re telling ME it’s been ten Years? I’ve suffered every day of every month of every Year since that day.”

Michael increased the pressure of the pole against the big man.

“Now, you tell me more.”

“Alright...”

Stan had grabbed the end of the pole with his cuffed hands.

“He sold homes…Wade…Wade Duncan and his wife—Katie, I think.”

Michael pushed harder.

“Where did they live?”

Stan was at the edge of the pool now and in a full-blown hysteria.

“Here in town…south side, I think”

Michael relaxed slightly, his smile returning.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

 All at once, Michael lunged forward, shoving the pole hard into Stan’s chest. Stan clawed at the pole as he started to fall backwards. Everything went into slow motion. As Stan began a backwards descent into the water, his eyes grew wide with terror. Michael leered at him, continuing to push with the pole until there was no stopping the big man's momentum. Michael stepped closer to watch him fall into the water.

The sound of a huge splash was followed by thrashing, as Stan tried to turn himself over as he quickly sank. It was too deep for him to stand, so when he reached the bottom, he bent his knees and thrust himself up. His head cleared the water long enough to get a breath. Again, he sunk quickly. He repeated the process a second time, just barely getting his face far enough above water to catch a breath. He thrashed around; trying to stay at the top, but his weight was his curse. He went back to the bottom.

On the third try, the man didn't have enough strength to get to the surface, and Michael watched in morbid fascination as Stan was forced to suck in water instead of air. Within a short time, all motion on the water’s surface stopped, and Stan Turnbull lay on the bottom of the pool. Michael stared for a long time until finally he was confident that the big man was dead.

He spit on the water, turned, and walked away.

****

Sam and Jason pulled up at Susan Turnbull's home. Everything appeared quiet. Together they approached the door and rang the bell. After no answer, Sam rang it again. Finally, Jason knocked on the door. It swung open. Both detectives drew their guns. Jason pushed the door all the way open.

“”Susan Turnbull! Springfield Police!”

Sam nodded his head to indicate that he was going to search the living room. Jason headed down the hall.

Sam called out “Clear!” several times, as he checked the living room, dining room, and two bedrooms. Jason checked the kitchen and then the master bedroom.

“Clear!”

Moving to the master bath, Jason pushed open the door.

“Sam!”

Sam came around the corner and stared at the bathtub.

“I'll call it in.”

An hour later, Jason was outside, leaning on Sam's car. The house was crawling with cops and techs. Sam came out, said a few words to a uniformed officer, and walked over to Jason.