1990 – Pueblo, Colorado

LIKE EVERY EIGHT-YEAR-OLD child, Mandy McAllister had her share of fears: spiders, snakes and mean boys, to name a few. But as she sat bound and gagged on the worn couch in the small, dingy living room, terror consumed her. She could smell death.
Jake Johnson, the derelict who had snatched her in the middle of the night was slouched at the kitchen table adjacent to the living room. “Quit your sniveling! I’m not gonna hurt ya!” he snarled. Then he softened his tone. “When your dad pays us the money, you can go home. Simple as that.”
How could the child not be afraid? Jake’s looks alone were intimidating. Heavyset and slovenly, his long dark hair and five o’clock shadow made him appear as a member of a notorious motorcycle gang, right down to his dirty jeans and worn leather vest. He referred to his girlfriend as Mama, and sometimes Babe, which confused the child even more. Didn’t she have a regular name?
He took a swig of coffee and set the go-cup from the local fast food restaurant on the wood table. Puffing on a cigarette, he thought of how well the kidnapping had gone. It was summer and warm, and the window had been left open to afford the child a breeze while she slept. Like Santa Claus on a mission, Jake grabbed a long ladder by the side of the house, and at one-thirty in the morning he scurried up to Mandy’s bedroom window. With a long, sharp knife he’d taken from the sheath, he cut a large hole in the screen. Moments later, he was transporting the bound and gagged child over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
Jake had done his homework. He’d scoped out the McAllister home for several weeks, ever since doing some handyman services for them. The ladder stored under Mandy’s window was etched into his mind, along with the pretty young girl herself, who had come and gone as he painted her room. He’d also noticed that the McAllisters owned a cat, and not a barking dog, and that they rarely set the alarm for the house.
“The parents are up by now, Babe. Probably have no idea she’s even missing. Show time.” He headed out the door, got in his old jalopy, drove to the corner gas station, and went to the pay phone.
Jake would keep the conversation short. Give the parents just enough bait, fill them with panic, and then, give them hope. All he wanted was one mil’ and they could have their pride and joy back. Jake and his girlfriend weren’t killers, just ne’r-do-wells desperately in need of money. The rent for their shack had taken the better part of the cash they had left, and it wouldn’t be long before Mama would be on fire for a cocaine fix.

Dressed for work in an expensive pin-striped suit, Gavin McAllister was enjoying his morning coffee at the kitchen table, when the phone rang. He pushed the newspaper aside. “I’ll get it, honey,” he said to his wife, who was busy cooking breakfast. He grabbed the wall phone. “Hello.”
“I have your daughter, Mandy, and I’m looking for ransom.”
“What is this: some kind of joke?” Gavin said indignantly.
“No joke.”
Terror gripped his body. “Carol! Check Mandy’s room – fast!”
Carol’s eyes widened. “What’s wrong?”
“Just do it!”.
She scurried up the stairs to the girl’s room. Just as quickly, she was at the banister, panicked and screaming, “The screen’s been cut! She’s gone! My baby’s gone!” Carol ran down the stairs in record speed. “Where is she? Who’s got my baby?” she cried hysterically.
Gavin put his index finger to his mouth to quiet her. “That’s what I intend to find out. Who is this?” he spoke into the phone. “And what the hell have you done with my daughter?”
“Mandy will be returned when I get one mil’. No cops or she dies.”
One million was pocket change for Gavin, a multi-millionaire banker. He choked back tears and rage. “I won’t involve the law; you’ll get the money. Just don’t harm my daughter.” He glanced at the clock: 7:00 a.m. “The bank opens at nine. Tell me where to meet you and what time. Give me three or four hours in case the bank doesn’t have the cash on hand.” He stopped short. “Let me speak to Mandy.”
“She’s at the house, getting ready for breakfast.”
“How do I know you haven’t killed her?”
“You don’t. Well, what’s it gonna be? You comin’ up with the cash, or what?”
“I’ll get you the cash.”
“Yes, you do that. Two o’clock this afternoon at Red Rock Park. Next to the first bench coming in from Wren Street, there’s a trash container to the right. Put it in there.”
“Okay.”
“Remember, if I see so much as a cop car, you’ll never see your daughter again.”
Gavin contained his rage. “I understand. After I deliver the money, then what? Where will Mandy be?”
“I’ll call you with instructions on where to pick her up. No more questions. This could work out for both of us. Just don’t involve the cops.”
Jake hung up the phone, and headed back to the house. “Everything’s on track,” he told Mama.
The hippy-like woman sighed and began heating three breakfast sandwiches in the microwave. “I can’t wait until this friggin’ nightmare is over. We just need money. Money…money…money,” she mumbled, “the root of all evil.” She glanced at Mandy. The child’s troubled stare cut through her like a knife, and for a fleeting moment she wanted to throw in the towel. What are we doing? she thought. The girl belongs at home with her parents. She quickly corrected her thinking. No time for sentiment or second thoughts. This was a job that had to be done. It was about the money, nothing else. Still, the haunting look on Mandy’s face troubled the drug-crazed woman, but not enough for her to try and abort the mission.