Sunny Side Is Up

Crime Fiction by Ken Winters

Prologue

October 1932

Sunny Johnson sat stiffly in the witness chair, his eyes fixed on the polished oak rail separating him from the courtroom. Twelve jurors watched him expectantly. The prosecutor waited in silence.

Crowded rooms unsettled Sunny. Strangers often reduced him to silence. Yet today, in a packed Manhattan courtroom, he had become the prosecution’s most important witness.

The prosecutor stepped closer.

“Sunny, can you tell the jury what happened?”

Sunny closed his eyes. When he answered, it wasn’t in his own voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen… we’re gonna be rich.”

Heads turned.

Sunny continued in the unmistakable voice of another man, reproducing the cadence, pauses, and gentle Southern drawl with astonishing precision.

“I’ll get every penny Johnson owes me.”

Several jurors stopped writing.

Sunny wasn’t simply recalling the conversation.

He was reliving it. Every word. Every pause. Even the rhythmic smack of another man’s chewing gum.

A murmur rippled through the courtroom.

The judge rapped his gavel.

“Order.”

Silence returned. The prosecutor smiled.

“No further questions.”

The jurors had just witnessed something extraordinary.

None of them knew those remembered voices began three years earlier, when Sunny was only five years old and a desperate janitor convinced himself that kidnapping a child was the only way to reclaim the future Wall Street had stolen from him.

Chapter One

September 1929

Twenty-nine-year-old Matt Rohr pushed his janitor’s cart through the marble halls of Midtown First National Investment Bank. Each morning he polished brass railings and emptied wastebaskets in offices occupied by men who discussed fortunes over cigars while he worried about paying his widowed mother’s nursing-home bills.

Years earlier his father had followed investment advice that proved disastrous, wiping out the family’s savings. The loss destroyed his father’s confidence, then his health. Since then, Matt had blamed Wall Street for far more than lost money.

Now everything rested on him.

His mother, Harriet, lived at Pilgrim Nursing Home on Long Island. Matt visited faithfully, but every trip ended the same way.

“You don’t need to bring me presents,” Harriet would say with a warm smile. “Just bring yourself.”

Matt always nodded.

Then he left wishing he could do more.

He dreamed of buying her a fine RCA radio so she wouldn’t spend so many lonely evenings in silence, but even that modest gift lay beyond his reach.

Most employees barely noticed the quiet janitor.

Peggy, one of the office assistants, was the exception.

She greeted him by name, asked about Harriet, and occasionally shared a cup of coffee during a break. Their conversations were brief but genuine, giving Matt one of the few bright spots in his workday.

They also gave him an occasional glimpse into the world of finance.

Across the hall, investment adviser Randy Johnson had become convinced that DeFord Manufacturing was headed for trouble. While most investors remained optimistic, Randy believed the company’s stock was badly overvalued.

Meeting with his investment team, he reviewed the strategy he intended to recommend.

“I believe DeFord is going to fall,” he said, “we can profit by selling it short. We’ll borrow shares, sell them at today’s price, then buy them back later after the price drops. We return the borrowed shares and keep the difference.”

All of Randy’s team understood. “Shorting” a stock was a uncommon but legitimate strategy to make money when it’s believed that a company is overvalued.

Outside the office, Matt paused with his dust cloth.

He heard only fragments.

“…DeFord…”

“…buy…”

“…make money…”

He never heard Randy explain short selling.

Instead, Matt walked away convinced he had accidentally overheard a valuable stock tip.

It would become the most expensive misunderstanding of his life.

---

Matt had small savings, but he needed more so he sold some possessions.  His favorite watch once owned by his deceased Dad was tough to part with.  But hope won out. He was convinced that one successful investment would solve his problems. Harriet could have her radio. The bills would disappear. Maybe life would finally become fair again.

He bought DeFord stock.

Then he waited.

Instead of rising, the stock began to fall.

At first Matt ignored the losses. Markets fluctuated, he reminded himself.

But the decline continued. Every newspaper carried more troubling news from Wall Street.

Every day his investment shrank. Every day his anger grew. He couldn’t understand it.

The respected investment adviser whose conversation he had overheard couldn’t possibly have been wrong.

Someone had to be responsible. In Matt’s mind there was only one answer.

Randy Johnson.

Chapter Two

The Johnson apartment overlooked a neighborhood playground that had become four-year-old Sunny’s favorite place in the world.

Most mornings, Mary bundled him into his coat, took his hand, and walked the few blocks to the swings. Sunny rarely joined the other children. Instead, he watched them with quiet fascination, rocking gently whenever excitement or uncertainty overtook him.

Mary had long ago stopped worrying about curious stares.

Sunny experienced the world differently, but he experienced it deeply.

He noticed sounds other people ignored—the squeak of a swing chain that needed oil, the uneven rhythm of a limping horse, the distant whistle announcing a ferry’s arrival. Sometimes he repeated those sounds perfectly, delighting himself far more than anyone else.

His pediatrician had encouraged patience rather than labels.

“Help him become the best Sunny he can be,” he had told Mary. “Don’t measure him against other children.”

She had taken the advice to heart.

---

Across town, Randy Johnson enjoyed a reputation as one of Midtown First National’s rising investment advisers.

At home, however, his greatest pleasure came from watching Sunny discover the world.

Every evening he tried to set work aside and spend time with his son. Sometimes they listened to the radio together. Sometimes they built elaborate block towers only to laugh as Sunny happily knocked them over.

Before leaving each morning, Randy received the same cheerful farewell.

“Work hard and earn much!”

He grinned every time.

“Tell me something I don’t already know.”

The ritual amused them both.

Lately, though, work had begun following him home.

His secretary, Stephanie, lingered in his office more often than necessary. Randy saw nothing improper in their friendly conversations, but others occasionally noticed the familiarity.

Mary noticed it too.

She trusted her husband. Mostly.

---

At Manhattan’s Central Precinct, Detective Don Gallagher arrived balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and a sports page in the other.

His fellow detectives shook their heads.

“Checking the standings already?” one called.

“A man has to keep his priorities straight,” Don replied.

He possessed an unusual combination of traits: patient, observant, quietly confident, and almost impossible to discourage. He also carried an unfortunate reputation for making bold predictions—many of them spectacularly wrong.

The teasing had become part of station-house life.

“Well, Nostra-Don-us,” another detective asked, “who wins today’s game?”

Don folded the newspaper.

“The Brooklyn Robins.”

“They’re not even playing.”

“They’ll still find a way.”

The squad room erupted in laughter.

Don’s habit of fortune-telling has inspired an annual detective-squad tradition: a staff roast featuring the Top Ten Most Outrageous Predictions by Nostra-Don-us. Last year’s winner: “Fingerprinting is the future of crime investigations.”

In 1929, fingerprint analysis is still a novelty, dismissed by many as science fiction. Don, however, believes it could become a powerful crime-solving tool if the science proves sound. He has even begun using a crude powder-and-brush method to collect prints at crime scenes—an experiment that has earned more ridicule than results.

The timing could hardly be worse. New York City is awash in gang violence, bootlegging, and mob killings, and in Precinct 22 fewer than one in five cases ends in a conviction. To keep morale up, another precinct tradition is the tracking of success on a “Crime-Solving Standings” chalkboard, updated weekly. Don’s recent slump has left him near the bottom.

As Don jots a reminder to visit the city’s FBI office and learn more about fingerprinting, office chief, Patrick, observers.

“Another one of your famous predictions?”

“Nope. Just planning how I’m going to leapfrog all of you in the standings.”

Patrick, eyeing the chalkboard, “I’ve got a prediction too—last place! You’re not the only Nostra-Don-us around here!”

Don smiles, pockets the note, and returns to work. He will visit the FBI office before the year is out—though not for anything related to fingerprinting.

---

Agent Zach knew from his teenage years that he wanted this life. Family dinners and holiday gatherings were filled with tales of law enforcement from his father and uncles, from Uncle Ernie chasing hot dog thieves at Coney Island to his father’s favorite story: interrupting a jewelry store robbery on the Upper East Side. The version Dad never told? His gun jammed, so he threw it instead, knocking a thief unconscious long enough to make the arrest.

Now Zach has landed what should be a dream assignment: the Manhattan office of the FBI. Yet instead of chasing New York’s most dangerous gangsters alongside the elite squad, Zach spends his days rounding up low-level bootleggers. Certain he can balance playing by the rules with bending them just enough to catch criminals, he believes he belongs on the Bureau’s front lines.

A newspaper headline—FBI GANGING UP ON THE GANGSTERS—and rumors of the FBI team pursuing New York ties to the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre leave Zach watching from the sidelines once again.

To steady himself, he repeats a personal mantra: Know when to stay low. Know when to show strength. Understand the difference.

Soon, his opportunity will arrive. A case is about to surface—perfect for an ambitious agent determined to prove he belongs.

---

That evening, Matt Rohr made his weekly visit to Pilgrim Nursing Home.

Harriet greeted him with the same warm smile that had carried them both through difficult years.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that.”

She studied him for a moment before changing the subject.

“The ladies down the hall have been talking about those new RCA radios. Imagine hearing concerts right here in my room.”

Matt forced a smile.

“Maybe someday.”

She reached for his hand.

“I’d rather have you.”

He nodded, unable to tell her how deeply the words hurt.

As he drove back toward Manhattan, he replayed Randy Johnson’s conversation in his mind.

DeFord.

Buy.

Make money.

Instead…

he had lost nearly everything.

For the first time, a dangerous thought refused to leave him.

If Randy Johnson had ruined his life…

perhaps Randy Johnson should pay for it.

---

The stock market continued its uneasy slide.

Each morning brought fresh rumors.

Each afternoon brought more selling.

Employees at Midtown First National reassured anxious clients while quietly wondering whether they should be worried themselves.

Matt watched it all from behind his mop and bucket.

The wealthy still occupied their polished offices.

He still emptied their trash.

His resentment deepened.

One afternoon, while cleaning near Randy’s office, he overheard something else.

Randy was describing his son’s favorite playground to a colleague and laughing about Sunny’s fascination with swings and carousel music.

Matt scarcely noticed the personal story.

What mattered to him was something else.

For the first time…he knew where Randy’s child could be found.

He continued polishing the hallway as though nothing had happened. But the seed had been planted.

Chapter Three

October arrived with crisp mornings and growing uneasiness on Wall Street.

Inside Midtown First National, anxious clients filled the reception area long before the doors officially opened. Rumors traveled faster than facts. Brokers reassured customers they barely managed to reassure themselves.

Matt Rohr watched the daily parade from behind his janitor’s cart. Every worried investor reminded him of himself.

Only no one had warned him before his savings disappeared.

---

At home, Randy tried to leave the market behind.

Sunny greeted him at the door with a delighted imitation of the apartment building’s squeaky elevator.

Randy laughed.

“That’s perfect.”

Sunny repeated the sound, pleased by his father’s reaction.

Mary smiled.

“He’s been practicing all afternoon.”

The three settled around the dinner table, where conversation drifted from Sunny’s latest discoveries to neighborhood news. For a little while, the worries of Wall Street remained outside their apartment.

After dinner, Randy switched on the family radio.

Sunny rocked gently beside him, listening as intently to the announcer’s voice as to the program itself.

Mary watched father and son together and felt grateful.

Whatever strains work occasionally brought home, Randy loved their boy without reservation.

---

The following afternoon, Mary took Sunny to the playground.

He headed straight for his favorite swing while Mary visited with another mother seated nearby.

Sunny was content simply to listen.

Children laughed. A vendor called from the sidewalk. A delivery truck rattled past. To Sunny, every sound belonged exactly where it should.

Across the street, a black Ford Model T eased quietly to the curb. Matt remained behind the wheel. He had rehearsed this moment for days.

There would be no violence. No frightened child.

Just a simple story. A surprise for Mom.

He watched Randy’s son pumping higher on the swing. The boy looked even younger than Matt had expected.

For a moment, doubt crept in. Then he thought of Harriet. Her nursing-home bills. The lost savings. The radio she would never own.

His resolve hardened.

---

Two blocks away, Brad and Greg waited inside another car.

Brad leaned back, noisily chewing gum.

“This better work.”

“It will.”

Greg tapped one finger against the dashboard.

Slow.

Fast-fast.

Slow.

Brad frowned.

“You ever gonna stop doing that?”

Greg ignored him.

Matt had insisted they remain out of sight unless needed. Everything depended on gaining the child’s trust.

---

Late that afternoon Randy phoned home. No answer.

He assumed Mary and Sunny were still enjoying the pleasant weather.

He returned to work. It was the last ordinary moment the Johnson family would know for several days.

---

Matt crossed the playground carrying an easy smile.

Sunny noticed him immediately.

“Hello, Sunny.”

The little boy looked up.

“Your dad sent us.”

Sunny listened.

“He wants your help.”

Matt lowered his voice conspiratorially.

“He’s planning a surprise for your mother.”

Sunny’s eyes widened.

“You can help.”

“A surprise?”

Matt nodded.

“But you have to come quietly.”

“We don’t want your mom to discover it too soon.”

Sunny looked toward Mary.

She was laughing at something her friend had said.

Matt waited. Children trusted certainty. Adults often did too.

Sunny slipped off the swing. Matt gently took his hand. Together they walked toward the waiting automobile.

Brad opened the rear door.

“This’ll be fun for your mom.”

Sunny climbed inside.

The car pulled away.

Only moments later Mary turned toward the swing. It was empty.

At first she assumed Sunny had wandered toward the sandbox. Then the climbing bars. Then the carousel.

She stood. Her smile disappeared.

“Sunny?”

Parents nearby began looking around.

“Sunny!”

The name spread across the playground.

Within minutes the search spilled onto surrounding streets. Mary’s fear became panic.

---

When Randy arrived home to find neighbors, police officers, and frightened parents filling the apartment building lobby, he knew before anyone spoke.

Something terrible had happened.

Mary ran into his arms.

“I only looked away…”

Randy held her tightly.

“We’ll find him.”

He wanted desperately to believe it.

---

Detective Don Gallagher received the call just before the end of his shift.

Missing child. Possible abduction.

He was already reaching for his coat before the dispatcher finished speaking. Baseball would have to wait. A little boy needed to come home.

Chapter Four

Day One

The predicted ransom note arrives in an envelope misaddressed to a nearby widow, allowing the kidnapper to avoid the surveillance around the Johnson home. Don and Zach immediately recognize one encouraging fact: a ransom demand means Sunny is probably still alive.

The note demands $10,000, half in tens and half in twenties. Randy must deliver the money alone to a park bench beneath a large oak between 3:00 and 3:30 p.m., leave the paper bag under the bench, and exit without looking back. At 5:00 p.m. he is to wait at the neighborhood phone booth for instructions leading to Sunny.

The final warning, written in all capital letters and filled with misspellings, threatens Sunny’s life if the instructions are ignored.

Mary clings to hope. Randy’s thoughts race elsewhere—to enemies from work, unhappy clients, or someone seeking revenge. Then comes the practical problem: raising $10,000 on such short notice.

While Randy prepares a client list for investigators, Don and Zach discuss strategy. Zach wants to arrest the collector at the drop site and force him to reveal Sunny’s location. Don argues there are almost certainly multiple kidnappers and any deviation could cost Sunny his life. They agree to pay the ransom while placing a single undercover FBI agent nearby to observe the pickup.

Only one obstacle remains.

“Can you get that much cash?” Don asks.

Later Day One

Randy quietly telephones Stephanie from his study. Explaining only that his son has been kidnapped, he asks her to arrange an emergency loan against his stock holdings and quietly manipulate the paperwork.

Stephanie agrees.

Two hours later she reports that $10,000 in cash has been hidden beneath Randy’s office desk. Grateful, Randy promises her a future reward for risking her job.

Day Two

Waiting for ransom day, Brad and Greg begin arguing over how to divide the money. Brad suddenly realizes that Matt has no intention of splitting the proceeds equally.

Greg erupts when Matt admits he planned to give Brad and Greg only $2,500 each.

The shouting grows louder, abandoning the agreement to stay quiet around Sunny. Greg threatens Matt. Fearing Greg’s violent temper, Brad grabs a metal pipe and strikes him once in the head.

Greg dies instantly.

Matt is horrified—but also relieved. Only two men remain to divide the ransom.

“Now it’s just you and me,” he tells Brad. “You’ll get Greg’s share—and a little extra. Go check on Sunny.”

Sunny heard everything.

Every voice. Every word.

Day Three

Don and Zach station an FBI agent disguised as a homeless man near the designated bench. A relocated garbage can provides a believable reason for him to linger nearby.

At 2:55 p.m., Randy arrives, reads his newspaper for several minutes, slides the gym bag beneath the bench, and walks away.

Minutes later Brad approaches.

Just then a sanitation worker arrives to empty the garbage can, unintentionally blocking the undercover agent’s view. Brad snatches the money and disappears before the agent ever gets a clear look at his face.

Following Matt’s instructions, Brad takes a circuitous route to the pickup point six blocks away, well beyond the surveillance perimeter established by Zach’s team.

Matt waits anxiously in the car.

Brad finally arrives with the money.

Sunny remains alone in the hideout.

Day Three, Later

That evening Randy waits nervously at the neighborhood phone booth while Don, Zach, and another FBI agent watch from a distance.

The phone rings.

“You followed instructions,” Matt says. “Your son is outside the Catholic church north of the park on Brooklyn Avenue.”

The location surprises investigators, who had expected the return to occur elsewhere.

Matt had remembered Sunny making the sign of the cross while passing the church days earlier. Believing the familiar setting might comfort the frightened boy, he chose it as the drop site.

The Johnson’s and investigators race there.

Sunny sits alone atop the stone church steps.

Mary reaches him first, wrapping him in a desperate embrace.

Chapter Five

Day Four

The Johnson family experiences overwhelming relief mixed with lingering guilt and uncertainty. Mary blames herself for the kidnapping. Randy refuses to criticize her, unaware that his own decisions may soon haunt him.

Sunny quickly returns to his familiar routines of rocking quietly and listening to the radio. But while cleaning nearby, the maid, Mabel, notices something new.

He has begun repeating conversations. In different voices.

One voice declares, “Ah, how good it feels to get revenge. That bum Mr. Johnson at the bank is paying me back.”

Another shouts, “Get your roasted peanuts! We got hot tamales!”

Mabel realizes Sunny may be replaying conversations he heard during the kidnapping, preserving details without understanding their importance.

Though reluctant to reveal that she has long known about Sunny’s extraordinary memory, she tells Mary that Sunny’s “game” may contain vital clues.

Mary remembers Don and Zach’s instruction not to question Sunny yet. But her instincts prevail.

She gently asks about his “trip.”

Sunny responds willingly.

“The main guy talked a lot about a home.”

Then, perfectly mimicking a middle-aged Southern voice:

“When this is over, my first trip is to the Long Island Home. She’ll be so pleased with a new RCA.”

Asked why he considered that man the leader, Sunny answers:

“He was always mad about Dad.”

Again the Southern voice emerges.

“That jerk Johnson. Bet big on DeFord! He screwed me with that stock idea—just like he’s screwing his office sweetheart.”

Mary freezes. The remarks suggest Randy may somehow be connected to the kidnapping—and hint at an affair she had long suspected.

Sunny mistakes her expression for disappointment until she quickly embraces him. He continues.

“The other guy hated being bossed around.”

Now he imitates a younger New Yorker.

“We need to move faster. You’re being too careful. This’ll get us noticed.”

Asked what he meant, Sunny explains that during the drive away from the park he couldn’t hear everything because someone outside kept yelling:

“Get your roasted peanuts! We got hot tamales!”

Mary realizes these fragments may be invaluable evidence.

She telephones Don, urging him to bring Zach—and a city map—the following day. Sunny may be able to identify where he was held.

When the call ends, Mary sits quietly. The kidnapping may finally be solvable.

But another crisis has unexpectedly entered her home. Her marriage.

Day Five         

As promised, Don and Zach arrive at the Johnson home, where Mary and Randy meet them in the living room. 

“I’m not quite sure what to make of it,” Mary begins. “Sunny opened up to me—really opened up. He remembered conversations, places, and little sounds. When he repeats what people said, it’s almost as though he recorded them. I never realized he could do that. If I had, I would have told you sooner.”

The detectives exchange a glance. Their earlier assumption—that Sunny was too intellectually limited or immature to help—vanishes almost immediately.

Zach wants to question Sunny himself. Don suggests letting Mary lead, stepping in only when needed. Zach agrees, with one condition.

“It should stay chronological,” he says. “Start with the kidnapping, then the trip, then the hideout, and finally his return. The memories will be easier to follow.”

Don simply nods.

Sunny settles into his favorite sunlit corner of the living room, rocking gently as Mary begins asking questions. Don and Zach pass occasional notes suggesting follow-up questions, but Mary quietly guides the interview.

Within minutes, Zach’s skepticism disappears.

The turning point comes when Sunny flawlessly reenacts a conversation from a popular radio drama that aired on the first night after the kidnapping, reproducing both voices and their inflections with uncanny precision. Don remembers the broadcast vividly—especially the moment when one character insisted that dogs made better pets than cats. That same evening, sitting beside Buddy, his beloved dog, Don had wholeheartedly agreed.

Neither detective doubts Sunny again.

The Grab

Sunny speaks quietly.

“I saw a man. He said, ‘Your father sent us to get you. He wants you to help surprise your mother with a gift. Come quietly so your Mom won’t know about the surprise. You can help.'”

Zach leans forward.

“You said ‘us.’ Was there someone else?”

Sunny instantly shifts into another voice, complete with loud gum smacks and a thick New York accent.

“Come along. This’ll be fun for your Mom.”

The room falls silent. The kidnappers had unknowingly introduced themselves.

The Trip

Mary smiles reassuringly.

“Where did they take you?”

“I couldn’t see.”

“What do you remember?”

“The sounds.”

Sunny explains that although blindfolded, he followed the trip through sound alone. A church bell.He quietly adds that he made the sign of the cross despite having his hands tied.

Then, others: A hot-dog vendor shouting, “You wait—the Robins’ year!” Tin cups rattling in a soup line. A trolley bell.

Finally…A squeaky elevator.

Don spreads a street map across the table.

As Sunny recalls each sound, Don traces the route.

Church of the Holy Innocents. East 19th Street. Bedford Avenue near Ebbets Field, home of the Brooklyn Robins.  The trolley stop. The nearby soup kitchen.

Beyond it…The abandoned Flatbush warehouses. Several have elevators.

For the first time, the probable route to the hideout comes into focus.

Captivity

Mary gently changes direction.

“Can you tell us about the men?”

“They said I was helping surprise you.”

Mary smiles.

“I know. But our friends need to find them so they can’t take another little boy.”

Sunny nods.

“What do you remember about the man with the Southern accent?”

“He talked a lot.”

“What did he say?”

Sunny instantly becomes the man.

“My trips to Pilgrim Nursing Home… damn, it’s depressing. She needs a radio.”

As he speaks, two additional sounds accompany the words.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

And…

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Zach raises an eyebrow.

“What are those?”

“One man kept tapping his finger.”

Sunny demonstrates the rhythm again.

“Slow. Fast-fast. Slow.”

“And the other?”

“He talked while chewing gum.”

Don can’t help smiling. There must be three kidnappers. Sunny isn’t simply remembering voices. He’s remembering habits.

Mary continues.

“What else do you remember?”

“Cars.”

“People laughing.”

“A lot of noise.”

Don immediately recognizes the description.

“A speakeasy.”

The likely location narrows even further.

Then Sunny quietly changes everything.

“But it went from three men to two”

Mary looks puzzled.

“What?

Sunny carefully recreates the sounds. A heated argument. A heavy metallic crash. A body striking the floor. Silence. Finally, in the Southern drawl:

“Get that rug and wrap him in it.”

Don and Zach exchange a look. One kidnapper hadn’t left the hideout alive. The investigation had just become a murder case as well.

The detectives now have a likely route, a probable neighborhood, a reference to Pilgrim Nursing Home, nearby speakeasies, three distinctive identifying habits, with only two habits still  relevant to surviving kidnappers.

It isn’t much. But for experienced investigators… it’s enough to start.

Zach looks at Don.

“So we’ve eliminated all women… and about one percent of New York’s adult male population.”

 

Day Five — Evening

Unknown to Don and Zach, Mary continues talking quietly with Sunny that evening. Realizing how much he enjoys demonstrating his remarkable auditory memory, she lets herself be only his mother for a while—warm, patient, and curious. Without drawing attention to it, she reaches for a pen and paper.

“Sunny,” she says, “remember how some people repeat the same little phrase over and over? Like I tell Dad every morning, ‘Work hard and earn much!’ And he always says, ‘Tell me something I don’t already know!’ Did any of those men have a favorite saying?”

Sunny doesn’t answer immediately. Then, making a soft finger-tapping sound with his mouth, he repeats in Greg’s voice:

“Okay, sports fans. Okay, sports fans. Okay, sports fans.”

Mary smiles, hugs him, and rocks gently. She doesn’t ask another question.

She doesn’t have to.

A moment later Sunny speaks again.

“What’s ‘going drinking at Pigtown’? They talked about it a lot. Do people drink at a place with pigs, Mom?”

Mary doesn’t recognize the phrase, but she writes it down. It may mean nothing—or everything. Carefully she moves to another subject.

“This morning you said the boss talked about Dad and his sweetheart.”

Sunny nods.

“He called her Dad’s squeeze.”

The words sting. Mary pushes aside the emotion and keeps her voice calm.

“Why would those men know your father from work?”

Sunny searches his memory, then slips into Matt’s familiar Southern drawl.

“I got screwed with this damn shorting thing!”

Mary still doesn’t understand what it means, but by now she has learned not to dismiss anything Sunny remembers. She finishes her notes, hugs him once more, and with tears, silently thanks God that he is home.

Day Six — Morning

Mary urgently calls Don to tell him she may have more clues after talking with Sunny that prior evening.  Don and Zach make a trip to the Johnsons and add this new information to their own list. They compare Sunny’s clues against a city map, narrowing the possible route to a cluster of abandoned warehouses in Flatbush.

Their good-natured rivalry continues as they search building after building, each insisting his instincts are leading them in the right direction.

Finally they find it. A warehouse with a distinctive squeaky elevator. Inside, a foul odor leads them to a room containing a body wrapped in a blood-soaked rug.

Sunny had been right. Three kidnappers had entered the hideout. Only two had left.

While Zach examines the room, Don quietly dusts several doorknobs, light switches, and faucets for fingerprints.

Zach notices.

“Wasting your time?”

“Probably.”

“Then why bother?”

Don smiles.

“Sometimes today’s useless evidence becomes tomorrow’s breakthrough.”

Day Six — Afternoon

Mary telephones the detectives and shares the additional clues Sunny remembered the night before. Randy joins the discussion.

When Mary mentions Matt’s angry remark about “shorting,” Randy immediately understands.

He explains that short selling allows an investor to profit when a stock falls by borrowing shares, selling them, then buying them back later at a lower price before returning them.

Don listens carefully.

“So someone overheard only part of that conversation…”

“…and thought I was recommending they buy the stock,” Randy finishes.

The theory fits. If one of the kidnappers blamed Randy for losing money, the motive suddenly makes sense. Don asks Randy for complete employee and client lists from Midtown First National.

The investigation finally has a direction. The detectives divide their work. Don will pursue the mysterious “Pigtown.” Zach will investigate Pilgrim Nursing Home.

As they leave, Don chuckles.

“We don’t know what these fellows look like.”

“We know what they sound like,” Zach replies confidently.

Don drapes an arm around his partner.

“Imagine the FBI training manual.”

Zach grins.

“‘Agent Zach Peterson solved the impossible case by following the faintest clues.'”

Don nods solemnly.

“And thanks to his brilliant partnership with one humble New York detective.”

They laugh as they head in opposite directions.

CHAPTER SIX

Day Six — Evening

Pigtown

Don finds the owner, Bart, behind the counter. After asking for a private word, he describes three men:

A leader with a Southern drawl.

A loud gum-chewer with a Brooklyn accent.

A nervous finger-tapper who constantly says, “Okay, sports fans.”

Recognition flashes across Bart’s face.

“Oh, I know those three.”

“They’re regulars?”

“Unfortunately.”

Bart snorts.

“They act like they’re auditioning for a gangster picture. Loud, obnoxious, always arguing.”

He points beneath the bar.

“The gum-chewer leaves his gum under there every single visit.”

Then he imitates another customer.

He always saying, “Hey Sports Fans! Then there’s that incessant tapping of his finger. Taps for a beer. Taps for another. Taps when it’s time to leave. Never taps for the bill.”

Finally Bart describes the leader.

“Southern accent. Thinks he’s in charge. And if you catch him, maybe help him with his mother. He’s always talking about her.”

Don asks for physical descriptions and habits, then gives one final instruction.

“If they come back, say nothing.”

He nods toward the rear corner.

“I’ll be sitting over there.”

Pilgrim Nursing Home

Zach and his assistant meet privately with the director, Mr. Neale.

“We’re looking for someone connected to a resident,” Zach explains. “No resident is under suspicion. Any male with a southern accent a frequent visitor of his mother?”

Mr. Neale thinks for a moment.

“There is one.”

“Harriet Rohr.”

“Her son visits often. This outhern accent. Very devoted to her.”

Everything fits. Zach quietly notes the name.

Day Seven

Don and Zach compare notes at FBI headquarters. Both know the investigation has turned. One final question remains.

Don telephones Randy.

“Does the last name Rohr appear anywhere in your records?”

Randy checks his employee roster.

Then stops.

“It does.”

Silence.

“Matthew Rohr. He’s on the cleaning staff.”

The detectives exchange satisfied smiles. The case has finally produced a name.

They agree on their stakeouts. Zach will wait at Pilgrim Nursing Home. Don will return to Pigtown.

Day Eight – Pilgrim Nursing Home

Zach and two FBI agents took up positions in an unmarked car outside Pilgrim Nursing Home shortly before ten.

Sunny’s description of the kidnappers’ car—a noisy Ford Model T with a distinctive low-gear grumble, whining reverse, and throaty exhaust—gave them something concrete to watch for.

One agent, disguised as a groundskeeper, waited near the entrance. The stakeout might last days. Instead, luck arrived that afternoon.

A Model T rolled into the parking lot. Matt Rohr steps out carrying an RCA radio.

The groundskeeper greeted him casually.

“Good afternoon.”

Matt barely slowed.

“Fine. Just let me by.”

The Southern drawl was unmistakable. From the car, Zach received the confirming nod he needed.

When Matt returned from visiting Harriet, Zach and another agent intercepted him before he reached his Ford.

“Matthew Rohr. FBI.”

Matt offered no resistance.

As he was led away, Zach allowed himself one quiet satisfaction. He had made the first arrest.

Days Seven Through Nine – Pigtown Stakeout

Don settled into a corner table at the Pigtown tavern with two detectives, nursing the same beer for hours while watching the room.

The bartender knew what to do. If the remaining kidnapper appeared, he’d signal Don.

The first two evenings passed without incident. On the third, the bartender looked up and casually wiped the bar. Don followed his gaze.

Brad.

He ordered a beer. Chewed gum loudly. An hour later he pressed the wad beneath the bar and headed for the door.

Don waited until he stepped outside.

“Police.”

Brad froze.

Don’s detectives emerged from either side.

The arrest was over almost before it began.

The kidnapping case was finally broken.

Day Eight

Harriet Rohr sat comfortably in her room at Pilgrim Nursing Home listening to The High-Jinkers on her new RCA radio, unaware that it had been purchased with ransom money.

Across town, the FBI announced the arrests.

At the press conference, Zach surprised everyone.

“The credit belongs to Detective Don Gallagher,” he said, “to Mary Johnson…and to one remarkable little boy.”

Privately, he turned to Don.

“Next time,” he said with a smile, “you take the lead at the press conference.”

Don laughed.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

---

The evidence proved overwhelming: Sunny’s recollections. Peggy’s testimony about Matt’s investment losses. Matt’s confession implicating Brad in Greg’s death. 

Matt and Brad received lengthy prison sentences, Brad’s longer because of the murder.

Investigators recovered nearly all of the ransom. Yet no one bothered reclaiming Harriet’s radio.

---

Back at the precinct, Patrick updated the office crime-solving standings.

Don’s name moved to the top. The squad greeted him with applause.

Patrick grinned.

“So much for your prediction about making the first arrest.”

Don shrugged.

“I had to let Zach win that one.  His ego needed it more than mine.”

The room laughed.

“And besides,” Don continued, “if I’m wrong often enough, someday you’ll ignore me when I predict one of you won’t get promoted.”

Patrick shook his head.

“Nostra-Don-us strikes again.”

Epilogue

Zach

The Johnson kidnapping established Zach’s reputation in the FBI.

Soon afterward he transferred to Chicago, where he joined the team of “Untouchables” that later helped build the tax-evasion case to finally brought down Al Capone.

Success had made him more confident. The Johnson case had made him more humble.

Don

Don eventually landed a copy-editing position at the New York Times sports department.

He still made terrible baseball predictions. Buddy remained his most patient listener.

“I heard someone say football will replace baseball as America’s pastime.”

Don scratched Buddy behind the ears.

“Not a chance.”

The Johnson Family

Randy repaired more than his investment strategy.

He distanced himself from Stephanie, rebuilt Mary’s trust, and made a generous gift to New York University’s Child Center, inspired by the physician who had first understood Sunny’s unique abilities.

Mary devoted herself to helping Sunny flourish.

Gradually he did. School became a place of friendships instead of uncertainty. His remarkable ear and uncanny gift for mimicry earned admiration rather than puzzled looks. When Sunny brought home a report card filled with A’s, Mary cried.  As one would expect, Sunny did not understand why the tears.

Each morning she sent him off with words that had become their family’s motto.

“Work hard.

Learn much.”

Sunny eventually built a career solving crimes, using the extraordinary auditory memory that had once helped rescue him to help others.

In the end, he fulfilled his mother’s advice. He worked hard. He learned much.

And, eventually…he earned much, too.

---

Bio: Ken C. Winters, Ph.D., was trained as a clinical psychologist and is a former professor at the University of Minnesota. He has spent decades studying adolescent health and human behavior, and has published extensively in scholarly journals and books. In his fiction debut, he explores the hidden strengths that can emerge in people facing extraordinary challenges. Sunny Side Is Up was inspired, in part, by many conversations with his wife, Kate, whose encouragement and support have meant more than words can express. Find Ken on Facebook.

Cover photo by The Author

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