The Lake Forest estate was mostly quiet. Set back from the main streets the sprawling mansion and expansive yards almost seemed like something from a pre-Civil War era Southern homestead. Pillared porch, patchwork drive, immaculately trimmed hedges, perfectly manicured lawns and flowers planted just so…it was a beautiful home.

The black van pulled through the main gates as a uniformed valet waved them through. The main yard was bustling with activity as vans, wagons and cars of all shapes and sizes were unloaded by people both uniformed and not. Caterers, seating, ice sculptures, cake and pastries, musicians, and now, with the arrival of the van, florists. Several men and women appeared to be trying to direct traffic under the hawkish gaze of a handsome woman of middle years wearing a stylishly conservative blue skirt suit. At her side was a small boy of maybe six years wearing shorts and a dirty polo shirt. His blond hair was suitably unkempt, as befitted a boy of his age. He was barefoot.

Two men piled out of the van’s main doors as the back opened up to disgorge a man and a woman. The four them wore black coveralls with the florist’s logo on the back and gathered quickly to begin unloading a large variety of arrangements.

The woman on the porch glanced at the smart phone in her hand and sighed. They were late. They should have had the floral arrangements in place before the caterers had begun setting up. A slight furrow appeared in her brow, the only outward sign of her displeasure, but among those of her regular staff who noticed, activity picked up.

The florists each unloaded several arrangements, then, choosing one apiece, began going to different corners of the yard. The woman watched for several long seconds before her brow furrowed even further.

“Mother?”

She turned, momentarily startled, and her features softened to see her son, a tall man in his early twenties, fit, blond…a Greek god come to life. He wore a simple pair of slacks with a white button down.

“Nicholas,” she smiled. “How was your nap?”

Nicholas smiled in return and gave his mother a one-armed hug. He could read her moods and knew he’d just interrupted something. The little boy looked up and smiled. Nicholas tousled his hair.

“Good as always, Mother.” He looked out over the busy yard. “Everything seems to be progressing. It should be a nice party.”

The furrow returned as the woman returned her gaze to the van. “Except the florists are late, and now they appear to be putting the arrangements wherever they feel like it. I’ll need to speak to them.”

Nicholas patted her shoulder. “I got it, Mother,” he said soothingly. “You have to worry about everything. Let me handle some of the details.”

The woman smiled. “Thank you, Nicholas.” She scowled at the van. “Although I may call the company anyway.”

Nicholas chuckled and headed down the steps toward the main yard. The florists had reached the corners of the area designated for the party and were each setting their floral loads just so. He made it to the bottom of the steps when he noticed something was wrong.

The one woman in the group stood first. She was directly across the yard from him and, for a moment, hidden by other hired help moving this way and that. When the view cleared she was facing him, something in her hands. Something shaped like a…

“Gun!” Nicholas yelled and turned to run back to the stairs. There was a hint of motion and he was suddenly looking up at the sky, his vision blurry, his head throbbing.

“Easy there, sport,” a rough voice said. He felt something on his chest. It took a moment for Nicholas to focus. A man was stood next to him looking down, his foot on Nicholas’ chest. He was holding a small automatic weapon.

On the stairs the woman had heard the yell and had seen the commotion, but as she struggled to make sense of it a sudden loud staccato bang sounded. Everyone flinched and screamed. Chaos reigned. People began running here and there, there were loud reports—gunfire—and all she could do was stand rooted to the spot, clutching at the boy in front of her.

A stocky man jumped out of the van, a weapon in his hands. Slowly a manner of control was exerted as people were either forced to lie down or shot. Several cried, some few groaned in pain. The four “florists” came forward, closer but not all the way, the better to watch over their hostages.

The stocky man surveyed his team’s handiwork and nodded, then slowly began climbing the steps. The woman pushed the boy around her and stood defiantly in front of him as the man reached the top.

“Mrs. Vandenberg, I presume?” His voice was surprisingly smooth considering his rough countenance. Despite the uniform and the automatic weapon held almost carelessly in his hands, the woman had the vague notion that this man before her would make an excellent cowboy.

She drew herself up straight. “I am. And it’s Miss. What is the meaning of this?”

The man chuckled. His hair was short and gray but she doubted he was much older than she herself. He looked down at the boy peeking around her legs. The woman pushed him back a touch, stepping sidewise to further shelter him. The man laughed again.

“And is this little Thomas?”

The woman—Miss Vandenberg—looked fit to be tied and about to spit nails. “Leave my grandson alone! The police shall be here soon! You should leave if you don’t plan on spending the rest of your life in jail.”

“Oh, I’ll leave soon enough,” the man said conversationally, nodding. “Just as soon as I have what I came for.”

“And what is that?”

The man smiled. A cold smile. One that didn’t reach his eyes. In that moment, for the first time since the ordeal had started, Miss Vandenberg was truly afraid.

The man brought the gun up to scratch at his temple, then gestured toward her midsection.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He laughed as if at a joke only he understood. “I’m here for the boy.”

* * * * *

MEANWHILE, SOMEWHERE IN NEARBY CHICAGO...

The man sat in the driver’s seat of his car, eyes clenched shut, whimpering.

“Dude! Seriously! Stop crying and get out of the fucking car!”

Two black men stood on either side of the car, both stocky black men roughly dressed for the streets. Both held automatic pistols pointed in the direction of the man inside the car.

“I ain’t playin’ with you!” the one closest the driver said. “I will fucking shoot you if you don’t get out of the fucking car!”

The car was the only one on that particular floor of the parking garage. It was poorly lit, and the man had worked late, as usual. He’d just managed to get into the car when the two gang-bangers had jumped him. He’d locked the doors and promptly dropped his keys, but the threat of violence had him frozen in fear and unable to find them.

“Let’s just fucking shoot him, man!” the other gang member said.

“That might not be such a great idea,” came a voice from nearby. In the darkened garage it almost echoed.

Both gang members spun in place, guns and eyes searching for a target. A couple dozen yards away a silhouette separated from a concrete pillar. There was a slight jingling, a flash of reflected light coming from something in his hands just in front of him.

Both gangers turned to face him, guns steady.

“Who the fuck are you, man?” One asked.

“You made a big fucking mistake, man!” the other exclaimed. The figure chuckled and walked forward slowly, almost leisurely. The jingling continued.

“You guys need to get on the same page.” The man spoke calmly, clearly amused. He was a big man, loosely dressed in jeans, boots, a denim shirt and a peacoat. He was holding keys in his hands, doing something with the keychain.

“Dude, I will fucking shoot you!”

The man smirked, his grizzled face clearly showing disbelief. “I doubt it or you would have done it by now.”

“I will fucking shoot you!” the other gunman exclaimed. The big man stopped, considering. He nodded once.

“You, I believe.” He sighed, done with whatever he was doing, and let his hands fall to his sides. “Okay. What is it you’re after?”

“What?” The two gunmen exchanged puzzled looks and adjusted their stances nervously. Clearly this wasn’t going as planned.

The big man sighed again. He was easily twice their age, maybe fifty, but solidly built and not showing the slightest bit of fear.

“I said, what is it you’re after?” He nodded toward the man in the car, who had unclenched his eyes and was now staring in mute wonder. “What’s he got that you want?”

Again the gunmen exchanged looks. “We’re taking his fucking car, man!” The other one nodded in agreement, then added, “If he ever gets out of it!”

The big man nodded, as well. “Fair enough. You want his car.”

“That’s right!” The driver’s side gang-banger seemed to be growing bolder. Perhaps he was fooled by the stranger’s apparent age. “This ain’t none of your business, old man! Just get the fuck out of here?”

“None of my—?” The big man seemed puzzled for a moment, then nodded in understanding. “Ah. Got it.” He reached into his pocket. The main gunmen looked nervous but the stranger held up his other hand and slowly withdrew his wallet. The gunmen smiled a little.

The stranger opened his wallet and squinted in the dim light, then squinted again at the car, trying to peer through the window.

“Hey!” he called, pointing at the car. “Hey! Roll down your window!” The driver shook his head quickly.

Again the stranger sighed, clearly exasperated. “Roll down the fucking window!” he yelled. The driver seemed confused, but after a moment’s hesitation complied. The window lowered several inches. The gunmen were thoroughly at a loss at this point.

“How much for the car?” The stranger yelled.

The driver’s mouth worked but no sound came out.

“Seriously,” he stranger said, nodding reassuringly. “How much for the car?”

Again the driver couldn’t speak. He did manage to croak out a questioning grunt.

“For the love of Pete,” the stranger said. He looked from one gunman to the other. “Do you believe this guy?” Taking a calming breath he tried again. “I want to buy your car!” he said clearly. “I’ll give you…” he checked his wallet again. “Eighty dollars.”

The driver seemed to wake up from his fog. “Eighty dollars?” he said out the window. “T-this is a twenty-twelve Lexus!”

The stranger chuckled. “Maybe you think you’re about to get a better offer?”

The driver considered this, then nodded once. The stranger smiled. “Good! I’ll give you another twenty to drive it to your house. I’ll pick it up later.” He spread his hands. “Do we have a deal?”

The driver of the car was thoroughly confused at this point but still nodded.

The stranger turned his attention back to the gunmen, his hands dropping into his pockets. His tone changed, lowered, and he suddenly seemed to stand larger. “Now, then. As you heard I just bought that car. And that man now works for me. So you see, this ugly little mess is now my business. And now we have a problem.”

"You're fucking crazy!" the passenger-side gunman laughed.

The first gang banger spit. “Who the fuck do you think you are, man?”

There was a long silence. “Ballistic,” the stranger said quietly.

The two gunmen seemed to shrink a little. "No fucking way," the first one said.

“I-I heard you was dead,” the second one offered.

The stranger gave a short shake of his head and chuckled. “Not hardly.” He smiled at the two gunmen. “So…any chance of something other than the hard way?”

On cue, the gunmen exchanged looks. Something passed between them and they turned to regard the stranger, their expressions flat. The stranger had just enough time to sigh in resignation as they both opened fire.

Except the big man was already moving. He’d dropped and leapt, doing a half-sideways somersault. One hand flicked out on the roll, a glint of metal in the air. As he came back up out of the roll his other hand flicked out, and again there was a glint of metal. As the echoes of gunfire faded the parking garage grew strangely quiet.

The gunmen stood frozen for a long moment. The turned to look at each other, meeting each other’s eyes before looking down. Both sported small projectiles in their chests. First one, then the other dropped to the ground. The main gang-banger managed to pull one of the projectiles out with a whimper. He held it up in the dim light. It was an ordinary house key. He closed his eyes.

The stranger--Ballistic--stood up and dusted off his coat and pants as he surveyed his handywork. He shook his head. “Always the hard way.”

He stepped over to the stunned driver of the car and leaned down to talk through the window. “You got a cell phone?”

The man nodded. Ballistic smelled urine. The driver had wet himself. Wrinkling his nose he stood up. “Well, call the cops or something, then. Dumbass.”

With that he turned and began walking down the ramp toward the exit several floors down.

"Hey!" the man in the car called out. "Are you really Ballistic?" The big man waved without turning around. “And you can keep the car!” he called over his shoulder. He tossed something to the side as he rounded the corner. It was an empty key ring.