My Strict Daddy

"Got her," Pete exclaimed, shaking Michael from his panicked state. They all huddled around the laptop and watched as another security camera picked up Madison, the old man and the dog walking to the end of the block. A few clicks of the keyboard and Pete had some more footage, Madison and the old man standing by a beat up work van.

Michael held his breath as she turned to step into the van, his brain screamed, "Don't get in there. Goddammit, Madison, get out of there." When the old man grabbed her from behind and pressed something over her face, everyone but Michael groaned. He couldn't take his hand from his mouth for fear that he'd be sick right where he stood. Once Madison was limp in his arms, he propped her on the bumper like a package. The old man jumped without hesitation into the back of the van and took Madison inside. Out of view from the camera now, Michael could only assume that he'd tied her, secured her to something. God, was that when he tore her dress and had his filthy hands all over her? He had to hold back the tears.

The old man wasn't an old man at all. The beard came off once he came out to lock the van doors. The dog wasn't even his, he shouted at it and left it in the middle of the street once he had his prize. "Motherfucker!" Michael shouted as the van drove away. "Tell me you got something? Anything?" Right now all they had was an anonymous van on a side street and a burner phone. The seconds ticked away and Madison's life hung in the balance.

What if he were just a crazy fucking psycho and this wasn't a kidnapping? What if it were someone from Charlotte's past, some junkie? If he didn't want money then Michael was fucked because what else could he do?

Pete had scrolled back on the footage, "I think we have most of a license plate."

Michael didn't want to hope but that was all he had at the moment. "Part of one?" he asked the whiz kid.

"It's an Illinois plate, CHA 81 and the last two numbers are maybe a three or an eight. The other one could be a 1," Pete tried to sound upbeat. He was right, it was something. There were probably hundreds of possible combinations but it was a start.

Paulie snorted, "Yeah, like this guy isn't going to steal someone's plates, come on." He shrugged, "I mean, that's what I'd do."

Michael agreed. That's what he'd do as well and chop the van after just to make sure. He couldn't sit around and do nothing and wait for the next picture though. "Go through the list with Pete. I'm assuming you can break into the DMV too?" he hoped the kid could.

Pete made a face that suggested that it was child's play. "Already done."

Michael drew back his shoulders and combed his fingers through his hair. He had to think. He had to take charge and he had to get his little girl back. Now, looking at the time once more, if not sooner. "Give Paulie a list of cars and addresses and Paulie, send however many guys you need to rustle these people up. But you stay here," he pointed as his employee, "I might need you when the shit goes down."

"Anything boss, we'll get this fucking guy," Paulie assured him with a pat on the arm, "and when we do, it will be my fucking honor to take his balls for you."

Yes, they'd torture the fuck, that was a sure bet Michael made with himself. If he were so lucky, if they got Madison in time and if the cocksucker didn't pussy out and eat his own gun, then he'd be glad to let Paulie do his handiwork. That was a lot of if's though and Michael hated gambling.

He made coffee and dressed. He went through the motions as if he weren't dying inside. He paced the halls, he stared outside and watching the sun rise and glisten on the snowy ground. It was getting late, if this was a kidnapping, they should have made contact by now.

It reminded him of the first time Rosemary was taken. God, she was just a little girl then, four, maybe about to turn five and she'd been so brave. He closed his eyes and whispered, "Hang on, little girl," and hoped that somehow she could hear that.

It was almost 9:00 am when the call came in. The house buzzed with activity. There must have been twenty people between the office and the kitchen and the security room. Suddenly, there wasn't a peep; it was as if everyone held their breath in unison.

Michael asked Pete, "What do I do? Can you trace the call?"

Pete shrugged, "Answer it. I won't know unless you do."

Michael's voice was hoarse when he answered, "Hello?"

***

Tying her to the wall had just been good optics and of course, quite tasty with the black, satin bra and panties on display. Once he'd sent the photo to Daddy dearest, he unhooked her and led her back to the mattress. Madison was groggy and her head lolled to one side as if she might pass out.

"Hey, little princess," he shook her shoulders, "you need some water. Come on, you little fucking brat," he growled at her. He had no patience with children or animals, or women for that matter.

Madison tried to keep her eyes open and asked in voice that sounded like her mouth full of cotton, "Where's Mr. Pibb?"

Of course, the fucking dog, that would be what she would worry about, wouldn't it? "I have no fucking idea," he confessed. He'd driven off and left the mutt behind in the cold and who really gave a damn? "Drink your water," he prompted and put the plastic cup to her red, full lips. He was going to enjoy her mouth later, all of it, but in the meantime, it did him no good if she got sick and dehydrated.

Madison was a good girl and slurped up a mouthful and gulped the water down. Then she sat up and spat it all right in his face. "Let me go, you asshole! Get me out of here!" she screamed.

He nodded and felt the lukewarm water dribble down his face. He took his glasses off and dried them on his shirttail. Calm, he reminded himself, no point in damaging the merchandise. Romano would need to think that this was still salvageable. "You're a little cunt, aren't you?" It was a rhetorical question and came with a slap on the face that startled her.

Madison was more polite after that and pleaded in a whisper, "Please, let me go. I won't say anything."

He patted her head like he had Mr. Pibb's, "I know you won't," he chuckled. "Oh yes, you've got all of your mother's best qualities, don't you? You remind me so much of her." He reached for the kit on the table next to the grimy mattress.

She sniffed and asked, "How did you know my mother?"

He jabbed the needle into the bottle of clear liquid. "Oh, me and your mother go way back," he sounded nostalgic. "I'm the one who put her in the Witness Protection program. We were a, what would I call it?" he hummed and looked for the word as he flicked the syringe with his thumb and middle finger. "An item, I guess," he laughed.

"You were in love?" Madison asked in a sleepy, girlish voice that made it sound like a bedtime story.

"Love?" he coughed instead of laughed. "No, you simpering idiot," he grabbed her forearm roughly. "Your mother was a junkie whore with a temper who would say anything to get her way. Sound familiar, Madison? No, I was not in love with her but that didn't keep me from fucking her." He tapped her chin with the other hand to get Madison's attention. "Just like I'll fuck you later."

Madison whimpered and tried to pull away but was unable to slip from his grasp. "Come on, please, whatever you are upset about, I'm sure my mother didn't mean to hurt you."

He scowled, "Actually my dear, this is about your father. Now let's see if you share your mother's affection for narcotics," he slapped her flesh and studied her milky, white skin, looking for a vein. "Very good, I can see you don't shoot up like Charlotte. That's a good girl," he said in a saccharine sweet tone as he pushed the needle into the perfect spot. "Just a pinch and then, nirvana."

Keeping her asleep and quiet made things easier. He had a very important phone call to make and there was no sense in Michael hearing her cry in the background.

Once Madison closed her eyes and fell to the mattress, a spill of inky curls all around her, he smiled. It was almost a pity that she was who she was because she was absolutely adorable. He took the phone to his makeshift desk and checked the computer before he placed the call. It had been a little over twenty-four hours. Wouldn't want to keep Icepick Romano waiting, would he?

The man answered on the third ring, probably checking to see if they could trace the call. Too bad, you fucking goon, he thought to himself, you'll never find me until I want you to. "Hello?" Michael sounded as if he were speaking with a ghost.

And he was, in a roundabout way.

"Hello Michael, long time, no talk," he waited. Come on, he'll get it. It was a long time ago but he was sure that it was forever burned into Michael's memory. He'd hidden in the shadows for so long, it was time to be seen.

He could tell by the way that Romano gasped that he knew. "Mueller? You fucking animal! You've got my daughter?" Michael raged.

He clicked his tongue to chide Michael like a child, "No, no, you might want to start things off a little nicer Romano. And keep in mind that yes," his volume went up and his chest puffed out, "I have your fucking daughter."

"Why Mueller? Didn't you do enough to my family?" Michael pleaded, "what did I ever do to you? You're fucking FBI, it's a goddamn job, that's all."

He chuckled, "Not for me, my friend. It was never a job for me. And by the way, my name isn't Mueller either. It was always personal for me."

He could tell that Michael was struggling with the be nice part. "Then tell me, if it's personal, why me? And what do you want, Mueller?"

"What are you offering?" he asked and turned to look over Madison slowly, up and down. She was quite the prize. Even if Michael wasn't fucking her, she'd still be Daddy's little girl in every other way. Romano would move heaven and earth for her.

Michael was thinking, "Anything, Mueller. You name it. You know I'm rich. I'll meet you, we'll make the trade and then you just fuck off and stay out of our lives."

He laughed a deep belly laugh. "Money? I'm disappointed that's what you think of me, Michael. No, if I wanted your money then I would have wrapped this up fifteen years ago."

Michael was getting desperate. "Then what?" He barely whispered.

"A trade, straight up. A life for a life." It finally came down to this. Nothing else would do.

Romano must have finally figured out what it meant. Would he make the ultimate sacrifice? He was betting Michael would. "I want proof of life, Mueller," he demanded.

It was the least he could do for a man who just agreed to commit suicide. "How about a nice, juicy picture? One last look at your little girl's snatch? I'll be happy to oblige," he cackled.

"No, no, don't touch her," Michael begged. "Just a picture of her face is fine. Or you could let me talk to her." Romano really wanted that, he could hear the hope in his voice.

He bent over the mattress and took a picture of the black haired princess. Stunning, he thought and smiled to himself as he clicked the arrow to send it to Michael. "Check your phone, Daddy," he taunted him.

"When can we meet?" Michael asked.

"I'm going to need a little more time with your baby girl," he sneered. "Let her warm up to me a bit."

Michael snapped, "Lay one fucking finger on her and I'll rip your heart out and feed it to you."

"Ouch! That's the Icepick Romano I remember. I'll meet you at 10:00 tonight; just you Michael. Just me and you or I'll kill her. I know you won't involve the police, given how they feel about you but I better not see one of your idiot pals either or I'll slit her throat where she stands."

Michael was quick to concede, "Yes, you got it. Just the two of us. Where?"

This was the best part. "I thought we'd take a trip down memory lane. Remember where she was when the Columbians took her? Now don't be late."

He pressed the red button to end the call and slipped the burner phone in his pocket. He needed a little me time with a sleeping princess.

***

It was dark outside before 5:00 and the chill outside seemed to have settled in his bones. Michael had paced until he was exhausted. He was wired and despondent and too heartsick to rest. He had gone to her room, the place which most smelled of his darling girl.

After he laid on her bed and held her pillow for at least an hour, he felt that he'd made peace with the circumstances.

Yes, he'd die for her. There was never a question of whether he would. How could he guarantee that Mueller wouldn't kill her afterward though? He was tortured by that question. He was taking an awful risk, literally a life and death chance. Michael wasn't a gambler and he'd decided that he had to have an ace or two up his sleeve.

Wrapped up in her scent, Michael realized the ache inside was there ever since she left the first time. Madison hadn't been here that long and yet she penetrated every inch of the room. If tonight went badly, she'd haunt this place forever. Michael buried his face in her pillow and inhaled deeply. In no time, his imagination took over. His arms were wrapped around her, her small, sweet body crushed to his and he took in every bit of her.

It was a kaleidoscope of images, as if he knew deep down that they were saying goodbye. Madison in braids. Madison in his lap at the club. Madison climbing onto his bed, jutting her lovely bottom out provocatively; his heart palpitating faster with each picture of her. Fuck, he'd just gotten his heart back, after all this time. Michael thought, with a lump in his throat, before Madison knocked on his door he wouldn't have minded this decision.

It was almost as if Mueller had planned it this way.

What the hell did the man want from him? Michael had wracked his brain and still, nothing. Mueller had fucked his wife and wrecked his family and even that wasn't enough. How could he be so obsessed with the Romanos?

Michael felt the goosebumps run down his spine as he thought that he would discover the truth shortly. It might be the last thing he did.

Before he went from the frying pan into the fire though, he needed to make sure that he kept a promise; at least one promise, to the sweetest, little fairy princess he'd ever known. She had deserved so much better. Irv answered instead of the service, which meant the old man was on high alert.

"Michael, my boy, any answers yet?" Irv was probably pacing too. Pacing with a lit cigar somewhere that he rarely smoked but today, the old man was sure to be puffing away.

Michael was going to play this hand close to the vest. "Some. They've made contact," he said quietly.

Irv sounded as if his mind were racing, "Well, that's something. Okay, and she's still alive, so there's hope. How much do you need, Michael?"

Michael wasn't going to need a dime. "I've got it covered, Irv," he assured the lawyer.

"You've got that much cash around the house, Michael?" He quizzed him. "How many times have I told you not to leave that much money around? What if they get another bullshit search warrant, my boy? Think about it. Undeclared income, that's how they got Al Capone."

Michael would have laughed under different circumstances. Irv had been a substitute father to him since his dad died and Michael had grown accustomed to his stern warnings. "It's fine, Irv. Really." He only really cared about one thing. "In my will, have I set anything up for Madison, I mean, Rosemary?" Irv knew her as her little girl name, which Michael had to admit was still his favorite.

Irv was searching his memory. "No, no we hadn't Michael. We changed your will five years ago and since you weren't looking for her anymore, I removed Rosemary from the will."

Michael reached for the gray sweater that Madison had left on the back of the chair. It was soft, almost as soft as her skin and it was a comfort to hold it tight. He needed to feel his arms around her, he needed it like air. "I need you to put her back in, Irv. Or whatever needs to happen. If something happens to me, I don't want her to want for anything."

Irv was quick to ask, "What's going to happen to you Michael? What's really going on?"

Michael knew that out of all of them, Irv was the one that he could depend on. Even with Madison, whose beauty made her quite the temptation, even her own father couldn't help himself. "Just want to think about the future, Irv," he lied.

Suddenly, his future seemed to have a very definite expiration date.

They said their goodbyes and Michael lied again and consoled Irv that everything would work itself out. He doubted it. All the times that Michael had rushed into danger because of work, he'd never given himself the fifty fifty odds that he felt in his gut tonight.

Mueller had waited an awfully long time for this, Michael reminded himself as he began to prepare for the evening. He took a long hot shower to warm up. He dressed in layers, nothing flashy, no tie, nothing to attract attention. Tonight he'd wear a track suit and running shoes. He zipped up another hooded sweatshirt and tucked the .380 in the inside pocket. He assumed Mueller would find that one and most likely the smaller pistol strapped to his ankle as well. Michael would have to hope that he'd catch him off guard. He pulled the black ski cap down over his ears before looking in the mirror. It would be impossible to pick him out of a lineup in this getup, which made it perfect. Absolutely no one would see Icepick Romano roam the south side of Chicago tonight.

His wallet and keys were on top of the dresser. He'd bring the cell phone, that was a necessity. There was one more integral piece to the plan, if he could call it that. Besides, Mueller might call with some bullshit last minute change of plans, just to trip him up. Perhaps Madison would need it after the fact. If he came back tonight, little girl in tow, he'd already promised himself that he'd never need the wallet again. He'd need a new identity.

Either way, Michael Romano was going to die tonight.

He ran into Paulie on his way to the front door. "Boss, you sure you should go out right now?" His employee sounded suspicious.

Michael nodded, as if admitting that he shouldn't, "I got to get some air. Get the fuck out of here," he looked around the foyer. "I'll be back, I promise," he knew that he should feel guilty since he never intended to keep that promise but he had too many other things to feel guilty for.

Once he was outside, the chill slapped his face and took his breath away. Michael shoved his hands in his pockets and decided that he'd never bitch about the heat if he got the chance to leave. He made a left on Elm and headed to Clark where he could easily get a taxi. He hailed the first Yellow cab on the right and the man pulled over.

"Where ya going?" The man vaped furiously and the cab was a cloud of mist.

"You can drop me off at Archer and Austin." He was headed for the old neighborhood, one he hadn't spent much time in since the last night that he'd gone to get his daughter.

"South side, ouch," the cab driver nodded and pressed the button that started the fare.

The stars were out tonight. Even in the city where you had to assume the lights in the sky were actually planes lined up to land at O'hare, the stars seemed to hang low. It felt like a night long ago when he'd rescued Rosemary once before. He should have known then. He should have given it up that night, the price was too great. Michael had been too proud, too determined to carry on the Romano family name and look what it had gotten him. Fucked, that's what he was.

The fifty-eight dollar ride was over with more quickly than Michael had anticipated and the cab driver eased up to the curb. Michael had brought a hundred dollar bill and told the man, "keep the change," before he shut the door behind him.