Andy awoke to the jarring ring of a telephone. A night slumped in a metal chair had done little to ease his discomfort but at last his mind had cleared. The unmistakable tones of Rondel rasped close by.
“Hurry up, you idiot!... I don’t know… tell her you’re some long-lost uncle come to take her out for the day. Just get the brat before anyone sees you“
“Christ!“ thought Andy with grim realization. He had to get out of there. He had to make sure his family was safe.
“Ah, Mr Amaratha,“ sneered Rondel, as Andy shuffled awkwardly to an upright position. “I trust you overheard? Maybe now you will be able to return what is rightfully mine? You can imagine what may happen to your daughter if you do not.“
“You’ll have your money!“ Andy snapped. “But I need time to arrange it. If you hurt her, I swear I...“
"Relax Mr. Amaratha, she will be fine. You need time? You have 48 hours," Rondel said with a wicked smile.
The fresh morning air sharpened Andy’s senses, as he staggered out from the high-rise, and flagged down a cab.
The taxi-driver eyed Andy’s bedraggled appearance suspiciously but was soon sweetened with an over-generous tip. Andy tried to chat casually in an effort to appear “normal“. He was just about to enquire after the latest sports results when the phone in his back pocket began its inane rendition of a popular film theme.
“David, is that you? Can hardly hear you, man! Speak u…” began Andy.
“Andy … Christ’s sake ... Should ... told ... sooner …“ came the spluttered reply, before total silence.
The driver rounded the final bend before Andy leaped out and raced up the path of the neat, detached property. The front door was open.