Moving day

I dreamed there were some bad guys on our street that were kidnapping kids. They lived on the corner, in a house with a yard that started about eight feet up from the street, with a sheer concrete wall on two sides below the wall. It was one of these things where everybody knew these bad guys were doing a bad thing, but nobody did anything about it. They had a kind of lower entrance through the concrete wall that presumably led to some terrible prison hell under the house, but the entrance was always surrounded with white construction vehicles, which masked the comings and goings of the bad guys. They seemed to be preparing to move away, loading stuff onto these huge trucks.

We were about to go away on vacation, and the wife tells me my son has gone missing. It's obvious to us both that it was the kidnappers, so I ride my bike down to the end of the street, all nonchalant, recon mission (why we didn't take action earlier, when it was other people's kids, remains a question). There in the yard I see a tall, bald guy who I seem to recognize from around town, as if maybe he's a synthesis of several real people I know, and he's raking the yard. I heard voices coming from below near where the "garage" entrance is in the wall.

Nobody seemed to notice me, so I stashed my bike behind an oak tree across the way and tiptoe across the street, knife in hand. There's a green pickup right in front of the home, and I duck down beneath it. I could hear bad guys jawing on the other side of the pickup, and couldn't believe they didn't see me. I roll out from the shadow of the pickup and charge around it, into the midst of the kidnappers...