The Target

Dickerson was stumbling to his feet, rubbing his jaw, spitting blood, yelling, "Why'd you hit me? I'm a priest! Why'd you hit a holy man?"

"Hey, buddy, you shouldn't oughta done that!"

Ramsey was shoved back. Another man punched him in the shoulder.

"No, stop! He's my papa and he was saving me!"

But they didn't hear the little girl. Just kept telling him what a bum he was.

Ramsey was desperate. He didn't want to, but he saw Dickerson going for Emma again. "Leave her alone!" he yelled, but Dickerson ignored him, so intent on Emma that Ramsey wondered if he'd even heard him.

"Sorry about this." Ramsey levered himself up and kicked one man high on the thigh, sent his fist into another man's shoulder, and one final kick into a man's belly. He was free. Dickerson was close to Emma again. This time Ramsey didn't yell. He wanted to get his bare hands on Dickerson and beat the living shit out of him. He felt rage pour through him, violent, pure vengeance. Dickerson was two feet away from her. The look on his face was calm, even serene, as if he were looking at a beautiful scene, and perhaps he was, somewhere in his demented brain. A man turned sharply and bumped into Ramsey. Ramsey couldn't stop himself, he shoved the guy hard out of the way. Then Dickerson looked up. Ramsey heard him curse, saw him weighing his chances of getting caught. He must have seen the death in Ramsey's eyes. He stumbled away down the wharf, weaving in and out of people. Ramsey yelled after him to stop. He stumbled faster, then straightened when the wharf was clear, and began running, Ramsey behind him, Emma running behind them both. People cleared from their path. Dickerson looked back, saw that Ramsey was closing, then turned sharply and jumped into the water. Ramsey grabbed up Emma, turned to a large woman who was surrounded by little kids and looked tough as nails, and said, "He's a child molester. He was after my daughter. Please hold her and keep her safe." He nearly threw Emma into the woman's arms. He jumped into the icy water of Monterey Bay after Sonny Dickerson.

He thought his flesh would freeze off his body. He felt as if his lungs had seized up. He got to the surface, looking for Dickerson. He couldn't see him. He couldn't be far. He felt as though he'd jumped right on top of him.

He heard Molly yell, "He's heading for the pilings, Ramsey. Hurry! Be careful! Damn you, be careful!"

He was a strong swimmer, but the surge was vicious, yanking one way, then the other. There were rocks around them, sharp and dangerous. The water was so cold his chest was tight and his arms and legs felt rubbery. Then, finally, he saw Dickerson, slipping in between the slimy pilings.

This time he wasn't about to let that monster escape him. Not again. He believed in the laws and in the courts, to his very fiber he believed in the order of law, but he knew that no lawyer was ever going to get the chance to represent this man, not if he could help it. He surged through the wildly slapping waves, nearly on him, when Dickerson, his hair plastered to his skull, suddenly waved a gun.

"Stay away from me!" he yelled, then got a mouthful of water. He choked and spat it out. "I mean it, Hunt. I'll shoot you if I have to."

Ramsey treaded water, yelling back, his voice strong and calm, even persuasive in his rage, "Listen to me, Dickerson, you'll never get Emma. All the cops have your photo and so does the FBI. Given what you've done, all of them want to shoot you down like the pathetic bastard you are. You're not going to get Emma or any other little kid ever again. It's all over for you. Give it up." Ramsey grabbed one of the pilings, his palm slipping because it was so slimy. "Come on, Dickerson, don't be stupid. It's over."

"That's a lie. No one knows who I am. I'm an expert at makeup and disguises. All she saw was Clinton. It was good!"

"Not on the beach you didn't wear any makeup. Emma described you very well. It's not as if you'd just emerged newly hatched from under a rock. You have a record, fingerprints, photos, the whole shooting match. It's over. You're never going to get near her again. Did Rule Shaker know you were a child molester when he hired you to kidnap Emma?"

"I never met him, it was one of his men who hired me. He told me over and over that I wasn't to hurt the little girl, that she had to go back to her mother after her father cooperated with Shaker. Sure I agreed. I needed the money. But when I saw Emma, I knew that she'd been sent to me.

"I knew she belonged to me. A week was only a beginning for us. But then she fooled me and ran away. It's just a matter of time and she'll be mine again."