I found my victim through social media where he was a very active participant. Once I had convinced myself he was the right person, I made my preparations. I dyed my shaggy blonde beard dark brown, purchased a New York Yankees baseball cap and a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. I had a bottle of ether, rubber gloves and a thrice folded rag.
I watched David Paulino wave goodbye to a London bound 747 that carried away his girlfriend, Gillian. The nineteen-year-old then spent every night getting drunk at the bars and clubs in the centre of town. I watched him from a panel van hired from ‘Rent-A-Wreck’. When, on the third day, he left a place unaccompanied at three in the morning, I donned the cap, glasses and gloves, soaked the rag in ether, approached the skinny kid from behind, slapped the rag on his face and rendered him unconscious. I hoisted him, draped his left arm over my shoulder and staggered a seemingly drunken path to my wheels. He wasn’t heavy enough to be a problem bundling him into the van where I tied him to the bench-seat. I then drove to an abandoned building that had been empty for a long time and was soon to be razed.
I gave the lad time to recover. The first thing he said was, ‘What the fuck! Are you crazy, or something?’
‘I suppose that’s a possibility,’ I said. ‘You’re my son, that is, I’m your biological father.’
He snorted. ‘Yeah, you’re crazy all right.’
‘Your surname ought to be Doncaster, the same as mine,’ I told him. ‘I’m Evan Doncaster. Nineteen years ago, your mother, Christina DiMarco, and I studied law, and each other’s anatomy, at Melbourne University. In the middle of our second year, she dropped out and I was the victim of a hit-and-run as I attempted to cross Flinders Street one night.’ The lad dropped his attitude as he listened to me. ‘During my extended hospital stay, where I acquired a new lower leg, your mum visited me and tearfully told me our love had been nothing more than a case of raging hormones and it would be best if we never saw each other again. I was devastated and tried to argue my case, but she was adamant. The next day, a swarthy, menacing man paid me a visit and said once I left hospital I should leave Melbourne. He was, he said, extremely worried I would be less fortunate the next time he ran me down.’
‘Was his name Frankie Giordano?’ my son asked.
I shrugged. ‘He didn’t bother to introduce himself. Anyway, I asked him what I’d done wrong and he said, ‘You got the girl pregnant and caused her to have to marry a man who wasn’t even her parents’ second choice for a husband.’
‘I would happily marry her,’ I offered.
He patted my wrist with his thick hand and smiled. ‘That’s why you’re leaving Melbourne. Christina didn’t know it, but she was promised to Tomasso Guardino before you turned her into damaged goods. Now she’ll marry the man I work for. Be a good boy and disappear. That way, you’ll live longer and your child will be brought up in a good catholic family. He, or she, will never want for anything.’
‘I was still in physiotherapy when the Sunday tabloids reported on your mum’s marriage to Ignacio Paulino at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral.’
The lad looked at me strangely and I couldn’t decipher what was going through his mind as he learned the new details of his history.
I continued. ‘I recently returned to Melbourne but found, like Sydney, I couldn’t get a decent paying job with my disability. I looked for your mother on social media and found her. Found out she had a son.’ I paused to give David a chance to say something but he remained silent, a look of contempt on his face. ‘The compensation for the partial loss of my leg became increasingly inadequate and my constant pain made me lose the desire to work. I did, however, need to live. I decided your family could afford me some charity.’ The lad scoffed at my admission but I carried on. ‘Five million seemed like a nice figure; I could live well enough on that. Fifty thousand one-hundred-dollar notes could keep me in a style to which I yearned to become accustomed. I purchased an eight-hundred-page book that was slightly longer and wider than a hundred-dollar bill. I bought a scale and found the book weighed five hundred and fifty grams. Fifty thousand bank notes would be about as voluminous as sixty-three books and therefore weigh around thirty-five kilograms. My calculations were not exact, but I thought they were close enough to assume a desperate woman, your mother, would be able to handle the weight. I purchased a wheeled, hard-shelled suitcase. On the Qantas website, I learned the airline was particularly busy mid to late Friday afternoons.
An Indian newsagent sold me a ‘burner’ phone and a voice modifier so I could communicate anonymously with your mother. I didn’t want her to know I was the one who had kidnapped you …’
‘Oh, so you admit you’ve kidnapped me then.’
‘… as she’d know I’d never harm you. So, now I need you to give me her cell number so I can call and demand my five mill.’
‘Oh, right, you want me to assist you in my own kidnapping!’
‘Will it harm you to do so? Justice for me, maybe even a little for you.’
He snorted again. ‘Justice for me?’
‘Alright, that’s perhaps a stretch, but it’ll mean all this will be over soon and you can go home.’
He was silent as he thought about it, but after a few seconds he recited her number.
When I called, Christina answered the phone.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Say nothing further,’ I instructed her. ‘I’m the spokesman for a group that has kidnapped your son.’ I thought a group of desperados sounded more imposing than a single free-lancer.
I heard her gasp. ‘Is he all right? Don’t hurt him.’
‘He’s fine. He’ll be released after I get five million dollars in randomly numbered, one-hundred-dollar used notes. Are you writing this down?’
‘Hang on,’ she said. Then, after about five seconds, ‘Can I speak to him?’
‘No. Do you have your pen and paper?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Go on.’
‘No dye, explosive devices, surveillance, or any other underhand tricks. There will not be an exchange. Instead, we will release David once we have the money and are satisfied there is no involvement by the police or anyone whose name ends with a vowel. I will call again in two days with further instructions. You must have the money packed, or ready to be packed, in a couple of new black, Samsonite ‘three-seventy-five series’, seventy-nine-centimetre suitcases. You got all that?’
‘Yes, I, I think so. Go on.’
I fancied I could smell her fear. ‘Be prepared to depart with it immediately. You will have plenty of room in the cases, so make sure you include some light filling material. The cases have wheels, so you won’t have to carry them far. Make sure the money is ready by Thursday.’
‘But …’
‘SHUT UP RIS!’ I shouted. I calmed myself, then continued. ‘Bear in mind we have your son and he will not be released until we have the five million and are sure we’re not in danger. I suggest the only other person to know anything about this transaction be your money person. Tell him or her not to get any ideas about telling your husband, or anyone else, about your withdrawal of the money. Make sure he or she understands your son’s life depends on their silence. The fewer people know about this, the safer your son will be. If anyone asks, tell them David has used the absence of his girlfriend to visit a friend in Darwin. You can say he’ll be back Saturday or Sunday.’
‘Ris?’
Had I said that? Had I called her by the name I used when she was my everything? ‘Have you got all that?’
‘You called me Ris.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ I drew a deep breath and swallowed my memories. ‘Look, lady, we’re talking about the life of your son here. Just do as instructed and everything will be all right.’ I cancelled the call before she could say anything more.
During the next two days, I told David about how his mother and I met at university. I almost told him how he had probably been conceived on top of several open law books that were scattered on the floor of the room where we had been studying. I knew sufficient personal details about his mother to convince him I had at least had an affair with her. My name, Doncaster, rang a distant bell and the recognition of Frankie Giordano brought a distasteful smirk to his lips.
‘Who is named as your father on your birth certificate?’ I asked him.
‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen it. All such documents are lodged with the lawyers. They presumably keep them in some bomb-proof vault somewhere.’
I don’t think I fully convinced David I was his father. ‘To be honest,’ he said, ‘it really doesn’t make much difference. I don’t know you and see no reason, after being kidnapped by you, to pursue the matter.’
‘Tell me, dad,’ he used the word dad as if it were something vile, ‘did you kidnap me because I’m your son or because I’m part of a family that has illegal dealings involving cash? Lucky for you my so-called father deals with drugs and prostitution. Did you know that, or was it dumb luck?’
‘Everyone knows about your family. Getting to know something about you was my major consideration. I can at least learn a little about my son, even if he refuses to acknowledge me as his father.’
In another conversation, David said, ‘You know, the other guy who calls me son has a penchant for young boys and often abused me when I was young. I told my mum about it and she told Ignacio the shit had to stop. He beat us both with a tennis racquet. I just kept it to myself after that and he stopped when I got older. So, because you ran and because my mother married the choice of my grandparents, my life has sucked big time. And now you kidnap me and tell me you’re my real father. Forgive me if I don’t seem too excited to meet you at long last. You and my mother are a real pair. She gave in too easily to my grandparents urging that she marry the supposedly nice Italian man from a good family, and you left town – left your pregnant girlfriend behind and ran away.’
‘I didn’t know she was pregnant until I was in hospital and she married Paulino while I was still there, learning to walk again. What would you have done?’
He sighed. ‘I don’t know, but … ’
Guilt got the upper hand within me and I untied David. ‘Go. I’m sorry to have added to your troubles. I guess I’ve been a bit selfish. I didn’t know about your life and never intended any harm.’
David massaged a wrist. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stay and see how all this works out. I’m the kidnappee (is that a word?) so I have the best seat in the house.’ There might have been a measure of malice in his words, but I decided to ignore it. ‘Anyhow, seeing as how you’re about to become a multi-millionaire, can we get some pizzas and soda?’
We laughed. My laughter was for relief, but I wasn’t sure what David’s cause of cheerfulness was.
I went to get the food, worried that David might take the chance to leave, yet somehow wanting him to have his release. How much did I want the money? As long as he was safe and well, I wanted it a lot. He was still around when I returned and I felt a slight regret. Why didn’t you defy me, son?
While we feasted on pizzas I told him he might achieve some contentment by thinking of the pain I was inflicting on his adoptive father. Again he smiled, and I spent some time wondering if it was out of a sense of satisfaction or at my naiveté.
On Thursday, after I’d transformed my beard to a van-dyke and changed my glasses to a rimless model, I put on a Manchester City cap and visited a taxi company. I told them to send a cab to pick up Christina at her home at precisely three o’clock on Friday. I paid two-hundred towards the fare and gave the dispatcher an additional hundred dollars to ensure the driver arrived on time. The untraceable mobile phone I gave him was to be given to the driver who should hand it to his passenger only after they were clear of the pick-up area. I also gave the man the suitcase which now contained clothing from a charity shop.
‘Put this in the boot and have the driver give it to the passenger at the end of the journey.’
‘Where will she be going?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know yet,’ I said. ‘We’re cheaters and it’s difficult for us to get any privacy. Our plans are always made at the last minute as it’s the only way we can evade her husband and the private detective he hires.’ I gave him the ‘we’re men together’ smile and he nodded knowingly.
I called Christina at two-fifty-five. I told her a taxi would pick her up at three and repeated my instructions regarding the suitcase and money. ‘Answer my next questions ‘yes’ or ‘no’, nothing else. Is the money ready?’
‘Yes,’ she informed me in a subdued voice.
‘Is it in the house?’
‘No.’
‘Another location?’
‘Obviously.’
I was tempted to remind her of the yes/no instruction, but I let it pass.
‘How far away in minutes?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
I smiled inwardly at her courage but did not want her to become emboldened. ‘Your son’s life is in the balance,’ I reminded her.
‘Is it? Would you kill your own son, Evan?’
How could she ask such a question? Is that what she thought of me? ‘How far?’
‘You know, despite both of us being cowards and his stepfather a monster, David is a lovely boy … well, man now, I suppose. He’s been the best son a mother could wish for. That’s why I’m playing this absurd game with you. You’ll get your five million, but you have to promise to give my son back to me. Does he know who you are?’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, lady. Again. How far?’
‘Stop with the pretence, Evan. Will I get David back safe and sound?’
I felt a fool for what I was doing and another fool for not now acknowledging who I was. ‘Of course.’
‘Good. I was dreading the idea of having to tell my husband who you are. He’s not a man to cross.’
‘How far, Christina?’
‘Twenty-five to thirty minutes.’
‘Okay. You mustn’t contact anyone or take a different taxi. Instruct the driver to take you to wherever the money is. Did you buy the suitcases like I told you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. When you’ve got the money into the taxi with you, not in the boot, tell the driver to head for the West Gate Bridge. I‘ll give you further instructions in forty-five minutes, or so. You’ll be under surveillance from the minute you leave home. Just bear in mind your son’s life depends on the non-involvement of any other party.’ The words sounded foolish.
‘Yes.’
I was already at the airport when I called the mobile phone.
‘Hello,’ said Christina’s icy voice.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Do you have the money?
‘Yes.’
‘Is it in the cab beside you?’
‘I thought I was under surveillance.’
‘Is it in the cab beside you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Tell the driver to take you to Tullamarine airport. I’ll wait.’ I heard her give the instruction.
‘Okay,’ she said, ‘what now?’
‘When you get to the airport, go to Qantas domestic departures terminal. Get out of the taxi and have the driver hand you the suitcase that is already in the boot. Leave the suitcases with the money in the back of the cab. Walk into the terminal and head for the bathroom. Do not, I repeat DO NOT look back. You got all that?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Tell me you know so!’
‘Yes, all right, I’ve got it. When will I see David?’
‘He’ll be released tomorrow, providing you do exactly as I tell you. Exactly as I tell you. Make sure you take the correct suitcase and do not look back. Spend ten minutes in the bathroom and then take another taxi home. Now, put the mobile phone into one of the suitcases. Remember, you’re being watched and David’s life is subject to you doing everything you’re told to do.’
It was stressful keeping an eye on every taxi that arrived outside the terminal. I let out a sigh of relief when I saw Christina emerge from a cab and stand waiting whilst the driver retrieved the suitcase from the boot. Her face had become more beautiful with age and I had a momentary flashback of our days at university and a longing for things that might have been. She looked straight ahead as I passed her. I stooped into the vehicle, sat next to the suitcases and looked through the back window in time to see Christina wheel the throwaway suitcase into the building.
‘Sorry mate, my job isn’t finished yet,’ said the cabbie.
I turned to look at him. ‘I know. You picked up that woman per my instructions and I gave your dispatcher an extra hundred to be on time.’
He laughed down his nose. ‘Bastard only gave me fifty. So where to now?’
‘Collins Street. Everything go okay? She pay you?’
‘Yeah. Gave me a good tip, too.’
‘Don’t tell your dispatcher. I’ll give you another tip when we’re done.’
‘Thanks, appreciate it. What’s with all the suitcases?’
‘She and I are lovers,’ I told him. ‘Last time we were away together, she told me her husband has employed a private detective to get proof of her infidelity. When we got back to Melbourne, I had to get out of the taxi in the middle of Elizabeth Street because she saw a friend’s car stopped just ahead of us at a light. Unfortunately, I grabbed the wrong suitcase. Today’s little kerfuffle was so we could get our shit back to each other. That, and some stuff of mine we kept at a little cottage we rented. The detective is closing in, apparently. This was to make sure that didn’t happen again.’ I laughed. ‘The games we play.’
‘They weigh a ton,’ the man complained. ‘Whatcha got in ’em, a gym set?’
I laughed again as I opened one case and found exactly what I expected. ‘No, I don’t think so, but she did say there’s a gift for me. I’ll open that when I’m alone, if it’s all right with you.’
Three taxi rides later, it was done. My knees almost buckled as the stress drained away. Rich and free! I sang aloud with the radio as I drove to where David waited to hear the news.
‘That’s it, son. It’s all over. Do you mind if I call you son?’
‘It makes no difference to me,’ he said. ‘I’d appreciate you dropping me off at Tullamarine.’
‘Tullamarine? What about your mother? She’ll be frantic with worry. Until she sees you, she’ll think I’ve killed you.’
‘So? Gillian gets back this evening. She went to say goodbye to her dying grandmother because she and I have been planning to get away from our families, mostly mine, for some time. It was her last opportunity.’
‘But what about your mother?’
‘She’ll be fine living with the arsehole, the guy she chose over you. I’ve been blackmailing his paedophilic arse for the last five years. I wrote a diary of what he did to me and Gillian put it in her grandmother’s safety-deposit box on a previous visit. Details of the box are in a file hidden on Gillian’s computer. The file reveals itself on the first of every month unless I renew the instruction for it to remain hidden. When the file appears, it’ll automatically be published on several internet sites. One of them is Victoria Police. My father, sorry, stepfather knows the diary exists and that it will be published if I’m not around to prevent said publication, so he’ll be as uptight as my mother. He can’t use his so-called associates to help him get hold of it because if they discover he’s abused his own son, they’d cut off his nuts and toss them in the bay. I have more than enough cash stashed away to take care of both of Gillian and me forever.’
‘But you can’t disappear without telling your mother. You owe her that, surely.’
‘Ya think? Nah. Plus, if my mother figures out you’re the kidnapper, she’ll tell the arsehole and the cops. Gillian and I will get new identities and be able to lose ourselves whilst every policeman in Australia, plus the members of ‘la famiglia’ searches for my murderer. Given my stepfather’s notoriety, I imagine the search by both groups will be quite intense. Your plan was perfect, dad. Thanks.’
[Image Credit : Photo by Andrii Leonov on Unsplash]
by 
Peter Lingard
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An interesting story with quite a sting in the tale! Well done Peter.