A Father's Justice

Many thanks to those who offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories. For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper...

Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...

Ryan Caldwell sat in the rocking chair on the porch of his old, run-down, two story house in the west Texas countryside, sipping an ice-cold glass of sweet tea. It was a hot dusty day, but it seemed like they all were in this part of the country. Still, he enjoyed the solitude and the peace and quiet that came with it.

He took another sip of his tea and lit up his second cigarette of the morning. He looked around and took note of the things that needed to be done. Then he said "to hell with it" and figured it would be there tomorrow, just like it was yesterday and the day before that. And the many other days before that. So he pulled his beat-up Stetson down over his eyes and enjoyed his cigarette.

After all, it's not like anyone ever came out to visit him. Besides, he didn't buy this place to impress anyone - just the opposite. He didn't want visitors. He just wanted to be left the hell alone. That's why he bought this place three years ago, along with the 20 acres of dirt and scrub brush it sat on.

Sure, he could afford better - much better. But the house had a good foundation and good bones. The plumbing and electrical were surprisingly in good shape and it even had cable with phone and internet. The roof was in reasonably good shape and he saw no visible signs of rot. On top of that, it suited him just fine.

So he bought the place, paying the asking price. In cash. The realtor was happy, the seller was happy to be rid of it, and he was happy to have a place he could call "home," even though it was basically a piece of crap that desperately needed a coat of paint.

His attention was suddenly drawn to a noise from his left. He turned to look and focused his one good eye on the cloud of dust at the end of his long dirt driveway. Who the fuck is coming here, he asked himself. Concerned, he grabbed the loaded 12-gauge pump shotgun leaning against the wall next to him and laid it across his lap.

He watched as the black sedan stopped in front of his house. He saw the sticker on the front bumper and knew it was a rental. A cloud of dust rolled over the car and Ryan waved his hand in front of his face to keep the flying dirt out of his good eye. The driver's side door opened and a young man wearing a white polo shirt got out.

Ryan stood with his shotgun and pumped a shell in the chamber. The young man flinched as he considered the tall, lanky man. A large patch covered his left eye and partially covered the scar that ran down the left side of his face. A full dark beard covered his lower face. Nevertheless, the man knew this was Ryan Caldwell, even though the picture he had of the man was over 10 years old.

"Are you Ryan Caldwell?" he asked nervously. Obviously, this wasn't a cop, Ryan thought.

"Depends," Ryan said. "Are you some kinda salesman? If ya are, I ain't lookin' to buy anything."

"I'm not here to sell anything, sir," the man said.

"Well then, you must be a fed, in which case, there's no Ryan Caldwell here," Ryan said.

"I work for the government, but I'm not here on official business," the man said. "It's a family matter."

"I ain't got no family," Ryan said.

"It's about your daughter, Sarah, sir," the youngster said.

"I tol' ya, I ain't got no family," Ryan said. "My daughter died over ten years ago." That wasn't exactly true, and Ryan knew it. He did have a daughter, but she had been dead to him for about 12 years now, ever since she turned 16.

"It's a matter of life and death, sir," the young man said.

"You got that shit right, boy," Ryan said. Calling someone "boy" in these parts was considered an insult and often ended up starting a fist fight. "You can either get back in that rig and get the fuck outta here or I can drop ya where ya stand."

"Sir, please," the man begged, holding a hand in front of him. "Can you just give me five minutes of your time?"

"Five minutes," Ryan said. He was curious to know what this youngster wanted, and he certainly didn't carry himself like a lawman or a fed. "Not one second more." The young man nodded his head and grabbed a briefcase from his car.

"Please, can I come up there?" he asked Ryan. "It's awful hot out here."

"Welcome to west Texas," Ryan said. "C'mon, show me what ya got." The young man scurried to the porch and Ryan pointed to a wooden chair. "You got some ID?" Ryan asked. The man pulled out his wallet and showed Ryan his license. Ryan read the name out loud.

"Robert Greene," Ryan read. "That really you?" The man nodded his head.

"Yes, sir, that's me," he said. "Everyone just calls me Bob."

"So, Bob," Ryan said. "Who do you work for? FBI? CIA?"

"I work for the Commerce Department, sir," Bob said. "I do statistical analysis."

"Commerce Department?" Ryan asked. "Statistical analysis? Sounds about as exciting as watching paint dry. What's that got to do with me?"

"Nothing, sir," Bob said. "Like I said, it's your daughter. Sarah. She's my wife." He pulled out another photo and showed it to Ryan. Ryan looked at the picture and recognized his daughter in her wedding dress. Bob stood next to her, smiling. He handed the photo back.

"Congratulations," Ryan said. "But like I said, I don't have a family. Not anymore."

"So, you don't care if your daughter dies?" Bob asked, visibly hurt and unable to fathom how a man could turn his back on his only child. Ryan looked at him before answering.

"She's been dead to me for over 10 years already," he said. Bob nodded his head, wiped a tear from his eye and started to stand.

"Alright," he said, his voice filled with sadness. "I'll let her and our son know. I'm sorry to have wasted your time, sir."

"Wait," Ryan said. Bob sat back down and looked at the older man. "What's wrong with her?" Ryan asked.

"She's in the hospital," Bob said. "She's been diagnosed with a very rare blood disorder. The doctor said if she doesn't get a bone marrow transplant soon, she'll be dead in six months." Ryan thought for a moment. His father had died from a rare blood disorder years ago. As angry as he was with his daughter, he didn't like the idea of making her son - his grandson - an orphan. He knew what it was like to lose a parent.

"And you say you have a son?" Ryan asked. Bob nodded his head and pulled out another photo, handing it to Ryan.

"Yes," Bob said. "He's three. Sarah named him Ryan, after you." Ryan's head shot up in surprise. "It really pissed her mother off, but Sarah didn't care." Ryan chuckled at that. He could just see his ex-wife's reaction to that.

"What about Sarah's mother?" Ryan asked. "Couldn't she donate bone marrow?"

"The doctor tested her, but she wasn't compatible enough," Bob said. "Said at best, it might give Sarah a few months, but that's it."

"I see," Ryan said. "So how did you find me?" he asked.

"It wasn't easy," Bob said. "It took me several months, even with the resources of the federal government at my disposal. You're a hard man to find."

"That was the idea," Ryan said. "Did you tell anyone you found me?"

"Not yet," Bob said. "I wanted to make sure I had really found you before saying anything." Ryan nodded his head.

"That was a smart move," he said. "Did Sarah tell you what happened between her mother and I?"

"She told me some of it," Bob said. "Said her mother left you for another man. Said she sided with her mother against you and you didn't take it too well. She also told me she's regretted it ever since. She tried to reach out to you. Wrote several letters but they all came back unopened." He opened his briefcase and pulled out a stack of letters, handing them to Ryan. Ryan looked at the letters, tied together with a red ribbon. All of them were stamped, "No forwarding address. Return to sender."

"Is her mother still married to Jake Knight?" Ryan asked.

"Yeah," Bob said. "But things aren't very good between them. He's abusive and we think he's been cheating on her." Ryan chuckled at the irony. The cheater getting cheated on. How delicious, he thought sarcastically.

"Why does she stay with him, then?" Ryan asked.

"Money, mostly," Bob said. Of course, Ryan thought. That's the reason she left to be with him in the first place.

"You're probably biting at the bit to ask what happened between Sarah's mom and I, aren't you?" Ryan asked.

"I am a bit curious," Bob said. "Her mother seems to think you're dead and she won't talk about it at all." Ryan handed the photo back and considered Bob for a few moments.

"Would you like to hear about it?" he asked the younger man.

"Yes, sir, I would," Bob said. Ryan nodded his head.

"This could take a bit," Ryan said. "Care for some ice tea?"

"I'd like that very much, sir," Bob said. Ryan went inside and came back with a clean glass. He poured some tea from the pitcher sitting on the outdoor table and handed it to him. "Thank you, sir," Bob said.

"First things first," Ryan said. "Call me Ryan, not sir. I don't own you. Not yet, anyway," he added with a smile. "Mind if I smoke?" he asked, pulling a cigarette from the pack in his pocket.

"Not at all," Bob said. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, pulling a pack from his briefcase. "Sarah doesn't like me to smoke in the car." Ryan smiled. Maybe this young man was worth keeping around after all. He shook his head.

"Not at all," Ryan said, lighting up. He offered Bob a light, and watched as the young man took a deep drag from his cigarette. "Let me tell you what happened."

Ryan's story:

Lisa and I were high school sweethearts. I played on the varsity football team and she was a cheerleader. God, she looked so hot in that little skirt. We were inseparable in those days. Made love for the first time after our senior prom. We were both 18 and felt it was time. I only had two dreams back then - own my own garage and marry Lisa.

When we graduated from high school, she went to college to get a business degree and I joined the Army. We planned to get married at the end of that first four years.

I ended up in combat - spent a year in Iraq and another in Afghanistan. That's when I learned I had another gift. I came back and we got married just as we had planned.

Lisa got a job with Knight Petroleum and I got a job fixing cars. I'd been doing that since I was a young man, and I was damn good at it. She started at the bottom of the totem pole at Knight Petroleum. We weren't rich by any means, but we did alright.

Sarah was born 11 months after we got married. I fell in love with that little girl the moment I laid eyes on her. Lisa took three months maternity leave and went back to work, taking little Sarah with her. The company had an in-house day care and it saved us a lot of money.

We progressed in our jobs and finally had enough to put a down payment on a house. It wasn't easy, but we managed. I still dreamed of owning my own garage so I took some night courses to learn about running a business and got ASE certified. Eventually, I became a master technician.

Lisa had also moved up at Knight Petroleum, and eventually became the personal assistant to Jake Knight, the wealthy CEO of the company. That's when the out-of-town trips began. Some of them were overseas, and I spent many weekends playing "Mr. Mom" with Sarah. I didn't mind, though. I loved that little girl.

Even with all that, I thought we had a good marriage and a good life, but I began to notice a change in Lisa's attitude. Suddenly, it was as if I wasn't good enough for her.

By then, Sarah was in high school. We were still close, but she was going through that rebellious phase that all teenagers go through, I guess.

Then one day, Lisa lowered the boom. I came home from work and noticed that she still hadn't gotten home yet. That, in itself, wasn't unusual. I began making dinner, since I had been doing that more and more lately. Finally, Lisa came home. She told Sarah to go to her room for a bit then grabbed a glass of wine.

"Everything all right at work?" I asked her. "Jake giving you a hard time?" She shook her head and sat down at the kitchen table.

"We need to talk," she said.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I sat down. She pulled something out of her briefcase and handed it to me.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Divorce papers," she said. You could have knocked me over with a feather at that point.

"What?" I asked. "Divorce? Why?"

"I don't want to be married to a... mechanic," she said, with special emphasis on the word "mechanic."

"What?" I asked. "Are you saying that after these years I'm not good enough for you anymore?" Then it hit me. "Oh my God," I said. "You've fallen in love with someone else, haven't you? You've been cheating on me. Who is he?"

"Jacob Knight," she said calmly. "And yes, we've fallen in love. I didn't mean for it to happen, but it did. And yes, we've been... together."

"You mean, you've been fucking him behind my back," I said.

"No need to be crude," she said. "But yeah, we've had sex. A lot. It's nothing personal, it's just that he can give me things you never could. And you never will."

"Nothing personal? What do you mean?" I asked.

"He's filthy rich," she said. "He's a billionaire. He's not only rich, but he's powerful. One snap of his fingers and entire governments go down the drain. You? You're just a grease monkey."

"What about our future?" I asked, dumbfounded. "What about Sarah?"

"We have no future together," Lisa said coldly. "And Sarah will be just fine. Jake's already got her enrolled in a private boarding school in the northeast. She'll be going there when we get back from the south of France in a few weeks."

"Sarah knows about this?" I asked, shocked.

"Of course," Lisa said. "She's quite excited about it."

"I'd like to hear that from her," I said.

"Whatever," Lisa said before calling Sarah back down.

"Is this true?" I asked Sarah. "Did you know what your mother planned?" Sarah looked down before answering.

"Yes," she said quietly. "Papa Jake already has everything set up. He said you'd be okay with it and he promised to buy me a new car when I turn 16."

"Papa Jake?" I asked. Sarah nodded her head.

"Yeah," she said. "That's what Mom told me to call him." I looked at Lisa, my blood boiling.

"Don't worry," Lisa said. "If you look, you'll see I'm giving you unlimited visitation, but I doubt if you'll get to see Sarah much, what with her schedule and all." I looked back at Sarah.

"And you're alright with all this?" I asked her.

"Mom said it would be best, Dad," she said.

"Did you know about your mother and Jake before this came down?" I asked her. She nodded her head again.

"Yeah," she said. "Mom made me promise not to say anything, though." I looked back at Lisa.

"How long have you been plotting this behind my back?" I asked.

"About six months," she said. "Look, Ryan, I'm not asking for anything from you - no alimony or support. All I want are our clothes and a few things, then we'll be gone. Sign the papers and it's a done deal."

"What if I decide to fight this?" I asked.

"That wouldn't be wise," she said. "Like I said, Jake is very powerful. You have no idea. He can destroy you in a heartbeat." I looked between Sarah and Lisa. Neither one could look me in the eye.

"Fine," I said. I grabbed a pen and looked over the divorce papers. She didn't want anything, not even her half of the house. I signed the papers and handed them back to her.

"Thank you, Ryan," Lisa said, taking off her rings and dropping them on the table. "I'm sorry it had to end like this."

"Just get out," I said. "Now." Sarah came over to me and tried to give me a hug, but I rebuffed her advance.

"Just go," I said. "You're both dead to me. I never want to see either of you again." Sarah jumped back, tears in her eyes. Lisa looked at me, shocked.

"Ryan," she began.

"Just GET THE FUCK OUT! NOW!" I yelled. "Tell Jake if he fucks with me, so help me God, I'll kill him where he stands." They both left the house and I never saw or heard from them again. After they drove off, I went upstairs and found that all of their things were gone. Apparently, Lisa had their stuff taken out while I was at work.

I took a few days off work and removed all traces of them from the house. Pictures, clothing, everything they left behind was put into a barrel and burned. I wanted nothing behind to remind me of either one of them.

Without Lisa's income, the bills became a challenge, so I sold the house and a lot of the extra furniture. I rented a one-bedroom apartment and lived there for a few months. I remembered seeing an article about Jake and Lisa getting married after I got the final divorce decree. The picture in the paper showed Lisa and Jake, with a smiling Sarah next to them. According to the article, Jake was planning to adopt her.

That night, I sat at a bar, crying in my beer, when Bill Johnson, an old Army buddy I hadn't seen in years, sat next to me.

"Hey, Ryan," he said. "You doing okay, man?" he asked. I shook my head.

"No," I said quietly.

"Saw the report about your ex getting married," he said. "That sucks. Wasn't that your daughter with them?"

"I don't have a daughter anymore," I told him. He commiserated with me for a while and we engaged in some small talk as we drank. That's when he hit me with his idea.

"Look, Ryan," he said. "You've got nothing holding you down here. Why don't you join up with me. I'm putting together a team for a job and I could really use your help."

"Doing what?" I asked him.

"Mostly private security," he said. "Kinda like what we did in Afghanistan, but with a much better compensation package."

"I'm kinda old for that shit," I told him. He laughed and shook his head.

"C'mon, you're the same age I am," he said. "You're still in pretty good condition. It'll do you some good to get away from this shithole for a while. A few weeks with me and I'll have you back in shape, no problem." I thought about it for a while. I had dreams, but that was back when I had Lisa and Sarah. Now that they were gone, I really didn't have much of anything, not even a dog.

"What the fuck," I said. "Okay, count me in." And that began my nine-year career as a "private security consultant," or to put it simply, a mercenary. I handed in my two-week notice, put all my stuff in storage since I would be gone most of the time and started my new life as a gun for hire.

Overall, it wasn't a bad life. I got to travel, got paid good money doing what I did best, besides fixing cars. Most of the time we actually "consulted" or trained the guys who would do the actual work, but sometimes, we had to pitch in. It was either that, or end up dead.

My last job was working for a Middle East oil sheikh who needed help dealing with what he called an "outside interest" trying to take over his oil fields to put him out of business. It was a business his family had owned and operated for years. I didn't know who this outside interest was, and frankly, didn't care.

I did my job as always, but one day the balloon went up as the fields came under an intense attack by groups of black-clad men in pickups. We fought them off but not before a nearby tank exploded after it was hit with a rocket-propelled grenade shot by someone in the back of a pickup.

I woke up sometime later, obviously, in a hospital room, with half of my head covered in bandages. I saw an IV in one arm and I felt a tube in my mouth. Before long, a nurse came in and checked my vitals. A doctor came in and looked me over before ordering the tube removed from my mouth.