The Kidnapper

The Kidnapper- An Origin Story 

The boys sat together at the ice cream counter staring into parfait glasses of melted ice cream. At the beginning of summer vacation, the cool air-conditioned ice cream parlor felt like a sanctuary of unending promise and excitement.  Now, the dog days of late August had set in, and the grim specter of the school year combined with a deep sense of ennui had sapped the boys of all their young exuberance. 

“What do you want to do later?” The dark skinned boy asked, a slight Indian accent touched his words. 

The lighter skinned boy sighed, and though he tried not to think about how his butt would hurt on the hard school chairs, he could only reply by wiggling on his stool. 

Just then, a tall well-groomed man entered the ice cream parlor.  He held a dog carrier in one hand and a suitcase in the other. His hair was a brilliant white, and lay on his head in a solid heap, like a coiffure helmet.  As the man sat at the table, both boys noticed the gun on his hip. 

“Is he allowed to have that in here?”  The Indian boy asked. 

“I don’t think so.” 

The two didn’t try not to stare at the man, the new bit of distraction overwhelming their otherwise polite natures. 

“He has a butt-chin.” The Indian boy said. 

“Yeah.”  The two giggled.  The white haired man looked in their direction and the boys twirled on their stools to escape his glance. 

“Don’t worry boys.” He said.  His voice was like a radio announcer, at once booming with painful clarity, but not without some hint of joviality in it.  “Come on over if you want.” 

Neither boy was stupid, both were well-educated and the adopted sons of a very wealthy man.  They knew they weren’t to talk to strangers, but this day they couldn’t help themselves.  One look at each other and they drew strength from their camaraderie.

“Hey Mister, what kind of dog do you have?” 

“It’s a bulldog.  He’s a good boy.”  He opened the dog cage and a little black and white bulldog jumped out and nestled on his lap. 

“Is that gun real?” 

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”  He said. 

“Are you a police officer?” 

“No, Johnny I’m not.” 

The light skinned boy frowned. 

“My name isn’t Johnny.” 

The white haired man laughed, it sounded like the laugh of a victorious eastern European vampire.  

“Of course it is.” 

The boy not named Johnny was about to protest when a booming noise rattled the parfait glasses.  A second later another boom, louder, rocked them again.  The third boom shook the glasses to the floor.  Everyone flocked to the windows.  Giant depressions in the concrete appeared with each slow boom. 

“Boys!  Take these!”  The white haired threw something at them. 

The Indian boy picked it up and made a confused face. 

“Water guns?” 

“They’re filled with a special ink.  When I give the word, you shoot it.” 

“Shoot what?”

“You’ll know when you see it.” 

The dog began to bark.  The booms were getting closer.  Most people left the ice cream parlor save the boys, the white haired man and the proprietor in the white apron and matching paper hat.  Another boom and the sidewalk outside lifted in a cloud of white dust.  

“Steady…”  the white haired man said.  “Steady…”

The boys held their guns at the ready.  The white haired man opened his suitcase and took out a strange contraption that looked like a gun with an exhaust fan and vacuum tube on one end. He pressed a button and the fan began to whirl.  A strange yellow light lit up the sides and both boys could hear a rising hum. 

The front door burst apart and splinters of wood showered the room.  The force was so great all the windows shattered and the boys fell to the floor in panic, but there was only the explosion: nothing else to see. 

“I need more time!”  The man shouted.  “It’s not ready yet!”  The gun contraption went from yellow to red. 

The proprietor ran inside to see if the boys were OK, his silly paper hat clenched in his hand, his white apron stained with chocolate and sticky jimmies. 

“Are you kids….” And that was as far as he got, because the air grabbed him, lifted him up and bit off his head and shoulders, pulverizing the bone and tissue between great invisible jaws.  A bright spray of red illuminated a monstrous, beastly head. 

That gave the boy dubbed Johnny an idea. 

“Come on, shoot it!”  He yelled.  And both boys unloaded their water pistols on the invisible monster: one half of it began to turn blue, the other half turned yellow to go along with its blood red head.  The monster roared. 

“There… I’ve got it.” The white haired man’s gun had turned a bright green.  A flash of light blinded everyone in the room.  The roar of the monster seemed to grow smaller and smaller until it made a sound similar to that of a gosling. 

“Good job boys!”  The white haired man yelled.  “I’ve sucked the monster of all his energy.  It’s here in the suit case.” 

“So is the monster still alive?” 

“Sure… but he won’t be bothering any of us again.”  He pointed at a speck of blue and yellow paint on the floor.  The bulldog chased it away, barking and growling. 

“Say… would you boys like to come with me?  There’s an alien craft about twenty miles from here and I could use your help.  It looks a like giant eyeball with long spider legs. So far, it’s impervious to all known weaponry."

He walked outside. The boys followed. 

A black van was parked just down the road.  Only it wasn’t a van because it had no wheels and it hovered above the ground with no supports of any kind.  He pointed to the sky. 

Above them was a vast aircraft like a floating island amidst the blue.  It blocked the sun and made no sound. 

“What do you say?” 

The boys didn’t even need to think about it, they ran with him to his vehicle and started up toward the sky. 

“Good job today, Johnny!” 

As they rose, “Johnny” looked down and saw the bulldog was left behind and barking miserably. 

“Hey you forgot your dog.” 

“His name is Bandit, Johnny. Don't worry about him, I've got dozens more.” 

“ Bandit?” 

The craft continued its way up and didn’t stop for the dog. 

“And what’s your name?”  The Indian boy asked.

“My name is Race.  Race Bannon.” 

And then Race started to laugh a deep hearty laugh that he always used to end his adventures.  Far off, the boys could still hear Bandit barking.

end