"Okay, so what's the address again?" Gramps asked.

     Abby pointed to a building that was storefronts on street level, apartments above.

     "That's it," she said. "We're looking for apartment seven." 

     They climbed a flight of stairs to get to the apartments.

     Gramps knocked on the door of apartment seven. 

     For a while, he knocked on the door. 

     At long last, the door opened. "Yeah?" 

     Dude. Early twenties. Growth on his chin that might, one day, become a beard. Just after eleven, yet he still wore his robe, as well as a pair of slippers that looked like they'd been chewed by dogs at one point. Pot gut.  

     "I'm looking for my daughter," Abby said. "I don't know what name she goes by now, but her real name is Alison. Alison Dawson. Here." Abby showed the guy the picture of Alison she had on her phone. "This is what she looks like." 

​     The guy didn't even bother to look at the phone. 

     "Haven't seen her. Sorry." 

     Gramps chuckled. 

     The guy looked at him. What he saw was a gentleman about seventy. Gray hair. Wrinkled skin. Shrunken body. He looked pale, and he wore eyeglasses.

     So why was he chuckling? 

     Gramps said, "Can I ask you your name please, sir?" 

     The guy responded with a blank look. 

      "Fine. I'll call you Bob, then." 

     He snatched Bob's larynx to hold firmly between his thumb and forefinger. Gramps knew how to do it in such a way that, sure, caused immediate, excruciating pain​, but also removed Bob's ability to make any sound whatsoever outside of a weak peep. Bob'd been caught completely off guard. This was a senior citizen, for Christ's sake! He went to flail around, but Gramps used his free hand to pin Bob's arms behind his back.

     A wriggling fish would probably be the best way to describe Bob's reaction to that.

     Gramps whispered into Bob's ear, "Okay, now that I've got your attention: the picture my daughter just showed you? That's a picture of her daughter, my granddaughter, Alison. We're looking for her, and we're told she might be here. If you've seen her or know anything about her, we need to know that. I'm going to let you go now. When I do, you're going to tell me everything you know about Alison, or else I'm going to hurt you in such a manner that you'll never in your life be able to quite recover completely. Are we clear, Bob?"  

     Bob nodded frantically. 

     "Okay, we're going to give this a try."

     Gramps released him.

     Bob stumbled away from Gramps like Gramps had a whip.

     "She's in the back bedroom!" he yelped.

     "Down this hall?"

     "Yes! Right at the end! You can't treat people like that! That's assault! I could have you..."

     He didn't finish the sentence because Gramps and Abby were already out of sight and down the hall, on their way to visit someone they deeply loved and hadn't seen in nearly a year.  

                                                 CONTINUE