ZORRO

Maria sat at the worn table facing the entry door to her house. Her hand rested in her lap and in it, she held a pistol. The kidnapper, under the guise of picking up the drugs to save himself from the wrath of his suppliers, would be to her house in minutes. In reality, he would be there to kill her.

She hoped, the pistol was loaded.

*

*

*

EARLIER

As she approached the crumbling porch of her run down, ranch style house, she saw the small drone and an attached package setting by the front door. She scooped up the package on her way into the house, ripped it open, removed the crumpled paper, and began to read.

The handwritten scrawl was ragged, barely legible.

*

dont call the polese

i have zoro

call now

720 270 3743

*

She scurried around the small, two-bedroom ranch looking for her cat, repeating in a baby voice, “here Zorro, here boy.”

There was no sign of the black and white, tuxedo cat she’d named after the dashing, vigilante protector of the common man.

She was currently enrolled in the popularized and romanticized by the media, Criminal Justice program at the university. Once involved in the program, she found she had an aptitude, and her courses were often fascinating. Career wise, this is where she’d landed, and she felt good about it.

Given her career path, she examined the note with the eye of a detective and made several quick and obvious observations. First, it was written in the scrawl and grammar of the uneducated, which she concluded could easily be faked. She deduced there would be no fingerprints on it as everybody knew about fingerprints. The package was sealed with nondescript, industry standard tape. Sold everywhere.

She opened her laptop and checked the area code of the phone number. It was Colorado which held no meaning for her at this time.

Mentally, she quickly reviewed a basic list of motives.

Regarding theft, there was nothing valuable in her home unless you liked inexpensive furniture and used, best-selling books.

She dismissed revenge as a motive, but not completely, because the perpetrator could have a perceived, though unjustified, reason for retaliation.

Clearly, mistaken identity did not apply as its creator had mentioned Zorro’s name. Yes, she was the intended recipient.

Could the note be romantically motivated? Maybe. The anonymous notes she received usually were.

She was attractive, and she knew it. Wherever she went she always received plenty of male attention, more than she wanted, and some of it bordered on the strange. I am, she thought, “a magnet for weirdos”, although, she acknowledged, most of them were harmless.

This one seemed different.

With further consideration she realized he hadn’t mentioned her name in the note or scrawled the usual “secret admirer” signature on it. No hearts, pet names or other ‘normal’ romantic indications were on the note at all.

Good, she concluded, probably not romantically motivated.

It was unsettling that he knew her cat’s name, where she lived, had broken into her house, and kidnapped her cat. She was no psyche wizard but to her, these actions were evidence of either an unbalanced, or a criminal mind. There was definitely an element of “crazy” here, and as she recognized it, she felt her stomach tighten and twist into a slow roll.

She thought, I’ll call the number first and then decide whether to call the police. After all, this could possibly be some kind of terrible joke.

She punched in the numbers and realized that other than television crime shows, and mystery books, she had no real training in dealing with this type of twisted mind.

“Yes,” said the calm voice.

“Ok jack ass, where’s my cat,” she said. Her instinct was to show no fear, to be aggressive. “I want him back.”

There was quiet, then, “hello Maria.” He sounded pleasantly surprised to hear from her.

Quiet.

“How do you know my name?” she demanded. Her tone was angry, her internal alarms buzzing

Quiet.

“Your friend James told me. He told me a lot of things.”

“I saw James a couple times and dumped him,” Maria said. “He is no friend.”

“Do you want your cat alive?” The voice was quiet, calm and he spoke slowly and clearly.

“Yes, of course,” was all she could say. She struggled for calm as this conversation had already crossed into the land of the disturbed.

“Then listen carefully,” the voice was calm, carried a thick accent. He continued in a friendly tone. “The man you know as James took something from me, and he says you have it.” He paused, said simply, “I would like it back.”

“Have you called the police?” he asked. His tone was pleasant.

“Not yet,” Maria said, “that depends.”

“Maria, I don’t think you understand.” He explained patiently, “I do not appreciate that threat. So, my next package will have your cat’s head in it, unless you cooperate. Simple.”

The speaker was quiet, waiting for her response.

Maria found her words clogging her throat. The lack of emotion in the man’s voice intermittently mixed with his friendly, conversational tones as he threatened to kill her cat was chilling. Her righteous anger drained away, replaced by a slow, mushrooming terror.

“Good,” said the voice pausing briefly before he continued in a casual tone. “All I want is the package.”

Maria spoke with more calm than she felt. “I knew he was into some nasty business.”

“Forget James,” came the soothing voice. “Focus on the package please.”

“OK,” she said, her voice softening as her confidence weakened. “What do you want, again? If I have it, I will give it to you.”

His voice was patient, trustable. “The package is small, cardboard, 12 inches by 12 inches. It contains something I need, and I need it fast.”

She was quiet a moment as if she were trying to remember. “I think he left something by mistake. I found it the day after he left and put it away somewhere.”

“Look for it now please.” The man’s voice was calm, conversational. “Regrettably, you were not home last night when I came over for a ‘friendly’ visit. We could have settled this amicably then. I could not find the package so, to expedite the exchange, I took your cat. This is very simple, you provide the package, and I give you the cat.” He paused and for the first time, she sensed a tremor of urgency in his voice. “I do not have a lot of time.”

The phone clicked off.

She remembered that James did leave a package. She left it out for a few days thinking he would return for it. Instinctively, for no real reason, after those few days of looking at it in the corner of the kitchen, she had hidden it in the basement, up in the ceiling.

She retrieved the package and set it on the worn, dining table. She opened it carefully so as not to damage its contents. Heavy plastic baggies, packed with white powder, filled the small box. She moved a couple baggies and saw a pistol just below them.

She was majoring in criminology, so, many ‘friendly’ male students from the department, had offered to take her to the firing range. Sometimes she went, and when she did, she learned a lot about guns. Though she was no expert, she was familiar with the pistol’s operation. At least, she knew enough to point and fire.

At that moment there was a punch into the front door a few feet away.

She found another drone and another attached package just outside the door. She scanned the area quickly, took that package back inside, set it on the table and ripped it open. When the brown, crumpled wrapping paper was exposed, she moved her hair back over her ears, and carefully reached into the package. She moved the brown paper and stepped back in horror. She saw a cat’s black and white paw. There was a lot of fresh blood.

“Oh god,” she said, sagging into a chair.

She leaned forward, put her head on her folded arms, gasped for air.

Her phone rang.

Horrified, she looked at it, picked it up slowly.

“Surprise,” came the voice cheerfully, “bet you were expecting Zorro’s head.”

The man paused, said, his tone still friendly, “now Maria, cat…for…package. Let’s do this quickly. I don’t want Zorro to lose too much blood.”

When she spoke into the phone, her voice sounded calm; her insides shuddered. “I found what you want.”

“Very good Maria” he said as if speaking to a child. “Where is it?”

“It is here,” she said, “you want the package, I want my cat. You bring the cat over and I will give you the drugs.”

“No deal Maria,” he snapped, “I will tell you how this will work.”

Maria ignored him, spoke as if he had said nothing. “I know you are close by. Probably at the motel around the corner. Right? The range of your baby drone is minimal, and you want this package, which is probably worth a lot of money, and you need it fast. I assume, the reason you need it fast is you are getting pressure from your suppliers, which is dangerous for you. Yes?”

“All I want,” Maria said, “is the cat.”

“Zorro is right here.” The voice of the man was still calm, matter of fact. “He seems to be healing fine. He is in pain, but I gave him something for that.”

“Simple,” Maria said, “box for cat. Park around the corner of my cul de sac so I won't know your car. Wear a mask so I can’t see your face. I don’t want you to have a reason to kill me.”

There was quiet on the other side.

“Is James alive?” she asked.

The question caught the man off guard. There was his customary silence, only this time she felt he was deciding which way to go with his answer.

“Maria darling,” he said in his quietly assured voice, “of course he is alive.”

“I am not convinced,” she said.

“I am done playing games Maria.” His voice had taken on a dangerous edge. “Cat for drugs, or your cat is dead. Then you will be. Are you listening?”

"You listen," she yelled, her voice filling with a dangerous level of rage. “I have the drugs and will give them to you. I have not called the police. We trade, drugs for cat. You will have time to escape. Your suppliers will be happy, and you will be safe.” She paused a moment, said in a commanding voice, “if you want the package get over here, now.”

“I will be there in less than an hour,” he said in a pleasant tone. “However, if I see a police car, the cat will suffer, and I will come back for you at another time. And I will come back.”

The phone clicked off.

Thoughts tumbled through her mind. She thought, he will be here fast; doesn’t want to waste any time.

This punk is small time, she figured, trying to move up the drug chain. Probably saw the movie ‘Scarface’ and envisions himself starting his own savage, little empire.

Does make him dangerous, she thought.

At first, she had expected James to return for the package. Now, he was probably dead and with that thought she realized that no matter what, this man would probably kill her also.

She sat the parcel next to the front door.

She moved to the dining room which was just to the left of the front door and sat behind the round wooden table.

She moved the curtains, nice, she thought, here he comes.

The room grew quiet. She felt the pistol in her lap, arranged it in her grip. She wished she’d checked to see if the pistol was loaded.

There was a pounding on the door.

“Come in,” Maria said with more force than she felt. Her heart was thudding in her chest.

The man stepped in. He carried a blanket bundle in his arms.

“Let me see your hands” she ordered.

Still holding the bundle with his arms, he opened both hands and smiled a big smile.

Even with his hat pulled low, and a bandana covering his face she could see his features were dark. He was short and powerfully built.

He said, “where is the package?”

She pointed next to the door.

“How nice,” he said, “I see you’ve opened the box for me.”

He flipped the lid back and moved some papers inside. She knew he was seeing the coffee bags she’d placed in the box. Why she had replaced the cocaine with coffee, at this moment, she didn’t really know.

“Where are the drugs, Maria?” he said. His voice was cold.

She didn’t answer. The words couldn’t pass through the rising anger, tightening her throat.

He said, “Maria, you can tell me the easy way, or you can be tortured like your buddy James. He was tough, but before he died, he told me everything.” The man shook his head slowly, said, "a shame, so much needless suffering."

He paused, said, “choose now.”

“You’re going to kill me,” Maria said evenly.

“I see your neighbors have left for the holiday,” the man said pleasantly as he lifted the curtain and peeked out the window.

He stepped towards her, said casually, “now, we will talk about this in the bedroom. May as well have some fun, that is, before the torture begins.”

Maria couldn’t speak, the words caught in her throat. All she could do was pull the revolver from under the table and level it at him.

The man froze. He looked as if he were pleasantly surprised, but his eyes were scanning the kitchen behind her for some type of weapon.

“Now what?” he said in his friendly, conversational tone. “I have a pistol also.”

“Your pistol is hidden,” she said. “All I have to do is pull the trigger.”

His hands were low at his waist, he opened them, palms up, said, “ok Maria, you win. We can still make the trade, and I will leave.”

She was considering that, and he must have seen the momentary lack of focus in her eyes, because he dodged to the side, caught the edge of the table and flipped it up, blocking her view of him.

Aiming where she thought he would be, she pulled the trigger and braced herself for the sharp banging sounds.

There was only silence.

Her heart flipped.

Her mind raced and she found an answer, the safety.

She flicked it with her thumb and fired, again and again, into the table which was standing on its end and moving towards her. Wood chips popped from the table’s top. She expected to hear returning gun fire.

For a moment the kitchen was quiet.

She heard a low moan and grunts of pain.

She leapt to the side of the table. He was on the floor, leaking blood from his chest and shoulder, rocking in the grip of the pain. His pistol lay nearby, and she kicked it away.

She found her phone on the floor near her. Her fingers were shaking as she punched in the numbers.

The phone rang and a voice said, “nine-one-one, what is the nature of your emergency?”

At that moment, Zorro, with a splotchy, red rag wrapped around one leg, jumped up into her arms, and snuggled against her chest.