Super Dad

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The Stake-Out


I got to the complex parked in the lot and staked the place out - and sure-as-shootin’, there was the shed in the courtyard. Holy hoarders, you should’ve seen the garbage all over it. Tacky backyard furniture – steel chairs with torn cushions, rusted tables, a swing set that looked like it was stolen from the Brady Bunch’s yard in the 70s, mini dumpsters tipped over and all the garbage just lying there.

My little girl had to look at this crap day in and day out? If it was her …WAIT – yeah, I think it WAS – it HAD to be. Something stuck out like a white, two-wheeled sore thumb. Her beautiful new BMX was leaning against a tree further back. I snapped a photo of it with my smart phone. I crept up slowly to get a closer shot of it, and sure-as-shootin’, it was the bike. Holy pay-dirt I hit eureka! Now if I can just break in and snatch her out of there.

I didn’t want to go all Vin Diesel, I had to take it slowly and quietly. I sneaked around to another part of the courtyard. A dog started barking. I was like ‘quick what do I do?’ I didn’t care. That dog can bite me. I crept up to the back of the shed and tried to get a peek inside. I couldn’t see much, but I did hear familiar-sounding whimpering. It was her, all right. I recognize that sobbing from the time our own dog got run over and smashed its hind legs – it had to be put to sleep. She was inconsolable. But a dead dog is nothin’ compared to being caught in the clutches of some creep. I snaked around to the front of the shed. Of course there was a chain keeping it locked. I might’ve had some tools in my trunk but there was no time to run across the street to my car, so I broke into this guy’s garage, looking for a bolt cutter, or something, and I found one. I stood in the garage doorway making sure no one was around while I crept back over to the shed. I flexed the bolt cutters three times, like that kid in the Wizard of Oz who clicked her heels together three times. My baby girl is comin’ home, too. I didn’t even bother with the lock, I figured if I just cut the chain, that should be good enough and it was.

I kept chompin’ at it until it finally gave and let out a sigh of relief. Holy Fleetwood Mac – I broke the chain.

I slowly pushed the shed door open with one hand and held the bolt cutter as a makeshift weapon in case someone was going to leap out at me.

GOSH – did it smell. She probably wasn’t allowed to use the bathroom. I called out my daughter’s name “SAMMY!” She recognized me and answered “DADDY!” I found her all tied up on some smelly cot with a rotted mattress. I was right about the bathroom ban. Buckets of waste were sitting all around her. I loosened her bonds and gave her a bear hug, not caring about how bad she smelled – okay, I really cared a lot, but I pretended not to. She felt bad enough without her dad telling her she smelled bad. She’s been through enough.

“Sweetheart, did this maniac do anything to hurt you?”

She nodded through her tears and said, “he did lots of things, but you don’t let me use that language at home”.

“Well, you’ll think of a nice way to say it, you’re a smart girl. Come on, let’s get the heck out of here.” Perfect plan, except the maniac intercepted us himself. He ordered me to get away from his daughter or else he was gonna call the cops.

I said “good luck with that. I couldn’t get the cops to do anything when you snatched MY daughter…who ISN’T yours.” I had a fist with his name on it and I rubbed it ‘cuz it was itching to break this guy’s face. I gritted my teeth, tossed my sweatshirt off and snarled at the slimeball.

“Now, what’re we gonna do about this.”

He looked around and picked up an empty beer bottle, smashed the top off and came at me with the shard of glass. I ducked, grabbed at his hand and shook the shard onto the floor and sucker-punched him in the side of his skull, knocking him over. I grabbed and pulled him back up for more, and I gave him more, all right.

“You say she’s your daughter, do ya? How’s THIS for a DNA test?” and I repeatedly punched his face out. I wasn’t going to let him fall on his own. That’s letting him off too easy – I mean easily. I grabbed him and threw him up against another wall and watched him crumble. I reached over for Sammy when I felt something sharp hit me in the arm. I thought it was a pinched nerve from all the punches I threw, but there was a dart sticking out. I pulled it out and rubbed my wound and saw the maniac had a partner with a gun aimed at me.

I sneered, “a dart? Are you kidding me?” She shot me again. This one hurt worse. I think this one had the poison in it. I felt a burning sensation and sharp tingles all over my body. My legs were getting weaker and my vision was getting blurred. I staggered and fell over. I was paralyzed. Sammy screamed in terror.

“The first was a warning shot. The second was because you didn’t take heed.”

I looked up to face my opponent who stood over me gloating. “What did you HIT me with? I c-can’t…MOVE!”, I groaned. She sneered it was a mix of heavy doses of chloroform and novocaine. That’s the last thing I remember before I passed out.


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