We stand and watch as he disappears down the street. Ricky looks like he might cry, “We need to call the police,” Ricky says so quietly I almost can’t hear him.
“We need to call my dad,” I respond and start walking toward the nearest pay phone, which is up the street on the corner.
Ricky follows, “why your dad?”
“The police will treat us just like the owner of the fifty-seven did, like kids.”
“They’ll want to see your father and get a full description of my father,” Ricky says, just thinking out loud.
“I’m going to ask my dad to report the car as stolen and last seen being loaded onto a racecar hauler.” Ricky looks me right in the eye and starts to say something but I add, “The police won’t do anything about a grown man missing for half an hour but they’ll get all over a stolen car – a rare, almost one of a kind, stolen car.”
“Why do you think they want my dad’s car, it’s a rusted heap.”
“I don’t think they want the car. I think they want your father.”
“Why?” Ricky can’t understand the reason behind this any more than I can.
“That’s what we need to find out. While the police and highway patrol look for the car we need to find out what your dad’s been up too!” Ricky just nods. We reach the phone and I explain the plan to my father. He’s up to speed without needing a lot of encouragement.
“I’ve got a friend in the Highway Patrol, I’ll call him first, they’ll get a helicopter into the air. That car hauler shouldn’t be that hard to spot. As soon as I’ve done everything I can here I’ll head your way,” the phone clicks and Ricky and I stand watching passing cars both of us looking into each side window just in case Ricky’s dad is tied up with rope and gagged in the back seat. We both know he’s nowhere around here but we can’t help looking.