The Target

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."

    Ramsey nearly lost it, but he wasn't stupid.

    "You called up after she was gone and got those men up there to kill me, right?"

    "Yes. I had to have her back, but you managed to escape."

    "Yeah, and I got you too, didn't I?"

    Dickerson yelled at that. He pushed forward, away from Ramsey, then veered toward a wobbly wooden ladder that looked as if it should have crumbled into the water years ago. He got himself halfway up before Ramsey was beneath him, grabbing his foot.

    "Let me go! She's mine, do you hear me? I have to have her, she's all I've got. I can't survive without her. What I am is far more important than what she could ever be. I need her!"

    Ramsey yanked as hard as he could on Dickerson's foot as Dickerson fired. Ramsey felt the heat of the bullet as it whizzed past his left ear.

    An instant later there was another shot. It felt like a heavy blow striking his shoulder. He lurched backward, nearly losing his hold on Dickerson's foot. He didn't feel any pain, just more numbing cold. This numbness was different, colder than the water. It froze through his chest and down his arm, making it useless. He couldn't move his damned arm. He heard Molly's voice, Emma's voice. He heard someone scream out, "He's bleeding! That man's been shot."

    Dickerson got his foot free. He kicked Ramsey hard in his wounded shoulder. Pain ripped through him and he fell back into the water.

    He saw, as if from a great distance, Molly's white face, saw her raise her sneakered foot, saw her smash her sneakered foot into Dickerson's face just when he reached the top of the ladder. The force of her kick knocked Dickerson back. He scrambled wildly, trying to keep hold of the ladder, but the ancient rotting wood collapsed, each step crumbling when his weight hit it. Dickerson went flailing into the water, crashing beside him, struggling frantically, choking up water, trying to find the ladder whose rungs now hung down drunkenly. This time Ramsey had him around the neck and he never intended to let go. Dickerson was waving the gun around, yelling, water filling his mouth, still yelling, only it was gurgling now, and Ramsey felt him weakening. It was just a matter of which of them lasted longer