Wednesday, August 11, 2010



He was the leader of a reconnaissance mission when it went south. The bullets had cut through his lower legs and then the firefight. The helicopter and the flight back to the operations base were still fresh in his mind.
He had been on so many missions as a Navy Seal and never been wounded. Now he was disabled and could he cope with that? He had killed many subversives in his career and now what would he do? Sit at a desk and shuffle paperwork? He thought of the many fellow soldiers who had been disabled and now he is one.
The doctor came in with his clipboard. “Good morning Jack.”
“From the knees down huh?” Jack had looked at the result under the sheets.
“Yes but the nerve endings can be attached to an assistive device later."
“You mean like some kind of leg extensions?”
“Exactly, but first you have to heal, and then you can find out about that later.”
The doctor left and Jack was falling into depression about his future. His commanding officer was going to visit him today and he dreaded the visit. The officer arrived and after good mornings and the usual chat Jack asked about his future with the Navy.
“Here’s the plan. After you’ve healed, we’ll have you put on a desk job and prepare you to be a training officer for new seals.”
“A glorified paper pusher huh?”
“You’re an asset to us, and we can utilize your experience with new recruits.”
“I don’t think so commander. I need to be active in some way. And I don’t mean sitting at a desk all day.”
“I realize this is a big change for you, but we can work something out.”
Jack made a decision after the commander left. He took his disability and left the Navy. He relocated in San Francisco and rented an apartment and would find something he could do that would not be a desk jockey.
He started his new life.

He stalked the lady for two weeks he was meticulous and methodical. She resembled his whoring mother who had shamed and emasculated him. The world would be rid of such vermin he thought. It would be the fourth victim in the cleansing.
Today would be the climax of his psychotic thoughts. She was structured and her activity was predictable. Her husband would be absent tonight. He was in a business meeting in Phoenix. The house was compromised with a bug the killer installed in their living room. The killer then gathered information to fulfill the plan. He took the time and patience to do his victim. It was dusk and he was ready.
It is a quiet estate situated on five lovely acres in San Francisco. The house was magnificently built in the colonial style with a rock facade and landscaping accentuating the peaceful tranquility. The morning was perfect as he drove up the driveway to complete his kill. His excitement was building as the distance to the house was diminishing. He was dressed as a priest because the mission was blessed. He wore a black priest outfit and the white collar beneath his chin accentuated the evil grin on his lips. He rang the door bell, and the sound played Amazing Grace.
“Yes.” The intercom spoke in a cheerful greeting.
“Is this Mrs. Robin Templer?”
“Yes, how may I help you?” The intercom seemed impatient yet friendly.
“Mrs. Clarisse Bergman sent me to visit you.”
“Oh, Clarisse sent you, certainly come in.” The door answered with a joyful buzz welcoming the killer.
The predator entered and he stood before Mrs. Templar looking saintly with his gentle smile and the crisp uniform. She was wrapped in a pink robe that covered her pajamas and her tousled hair. She hadn’t yet dressed for the day. She smiled back not realizing she had just let a monster into her home. The name Clarisse was extracted from the bug.
“Clarisse asked that I visit you.”
“For what reason?” Robin had no idea why Clarisse sent a priest and her frown revealed her perplexity.
“She wanted you to have a gift.”
“That dear girl what gift did she send?” Robin couldn’t understand a gift sent by a priest.
“Heaven or Hell!” The unholy priest evoked a startled reaction from Robin. She froze at the remark and felt a chill.
“I’ll get my husband.” Her attempt was in desperation.
“He’s in Phoenix dear.” He grinned and his eyes telegraphed pure evil.
Robin ran for the front door with her pink robe chasing her movement. She felt the cold hand's grip her neck pulling her backward. Her legs flew off the floor as she was pulled into his chest. The grip tightened cutting off the precious air. She kicked and struggled but her life started to drain away, and her strength weakened. I’m going to die, oh God help me. Then a warm glow filled her mind, and she felt love and safety. A majestic figure reached out for her. She knew who it was, and she joined his hand.
Robin entered her new life. She had a pleasant smile as the killer stared at her. He then cut off her wedding finger and using red lipstick wrote WHORING BITCH on her forehead.
The killer left the house with a feeling of satisfaction and exhilaration as he walked to his car. A man was walking toward him with a toolkit in his hand. The unholy priest asked him as he approached. “Can I help you?”
The stranger just smiled and reached into his toolkit and withdrew a Rugar automatic pointing at the killer. “You’ve performed your last rites.” Before the unholy priest could respond he went to hell. The killer looked at the unholy priest spread out on the driveway and a slight smile formed.
Detective Sampson had checked the crime scene thoroughly and was talking to the crime scene director. The serial killer’s body was lying on the driveway with the small hole in his forehead. Mrs. Templer was in the house stretched out on the floor in her pink robe. The car driven by the serial killer had been checked for evidence. The house had been dusted, and any evidence gathered and labeled.
“This is weird.” Detective Sampson said to the director.
“I agree, the serial killer being killed.”
“It looks like a vigilante killing.”
“What do you have on this serial killer?”
“This is his fourth killing. The M.O. is always the same, dressed as a priest and strangulation of a woman. He’s tagged The Unholy Priest.”
“Someone knew about him and ended his priesthood.” The CSI director answered.
“Evidently the priest’s killer knew he had already strangled the victim and caught him when he was leaving.”
There wasn’t any evidence left by the killer of the priest. Sampson ran a check on the mod is operandi of any serial killers who had been killed this way and found out that three other serial killers had been killed the same way.
The killer used a .22 caliber shot to the head. The bullet used in these killings was an ice bullet. The slug simply melted after causing the complete destruction of the brain mass. The three other killings of serial killers took place in Los Angeles, Tucson, and Lake Powell, Arizona. The vigilante killer had mobility. The vigilante killer had information that the law enforcement didn’t have. How the killer knew about these serial killers was a new twist to the murders.

Killer killing serial killers had been discovered.

He was moving smoothly as the wheels clicked over the separations in the sidewalk making a sound like a train slowly hitting the separations of the rails. Jack was a striking figure in his wheelchair. A fit specimen with a short crew cut dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt with odd stainless steel caps just below his knees adding to his look of curiosity.
His lower legs had been shot off and the caps on the end of his stumps caught the attention of passerby’s. His upper body was muscular with his arms displaying his strength. He had a square jaw and was an attractive man. His head topped with pure blonde hair. Judging from his arm length he would be six feet two and weigh two hundred and twenty pounds if he still had all of his legs. The smell of trash wafted in the air casually stinging his olfactory senses. The shadows seized the deserted street in darker contrast to the moonlit night.
The two gang members had been watching Jack for a few minutes smoking their noxious weed, their exhaled smoke drifting out into the moonlight. Jack saw the smoke as he wheeled past the dark alley across the street. The two noticed the man in the wheelchair was alone, and he would be an easy mark.
Both were dressed in ganger type outfits and had the usual tattoos denoting their gang affiliation. They wore oversized colorful pro football jackets with baggy jeans hanging low on their buttocks. Tattoos were on their hands and necks looking like they had black vines slowly growing up their bodies and their heads were next to be covered by the vines.
This was going to be easy, they thought, as they headed for Jack. They crossed the street passing a car without tires sitting on the pavement, stripped of anything that made it a car. The wheels looked naked without the tires with the rims sitting on the pavement. The site added to the danger that existed in the neighborhood.
“Hey man, you get around in dat wheelchair man.” The larger of the gangers took the lead. Jack didn’t respond but just kept pushing his wheelchair “Hey man, I’s yakin at ya.”
“Fuck off, punks,” snapped Jack. Damn junkies, I’ll probably have to deal with them.
The two gangers looked at each other and grinned. “Hey bro we need some cash.”
Jack stopped his wheelchair and wheeled it around facing the two punks, “You boys better get home before you get hurt.” His eyes revealed his look of defiance.
“Youse a smart mouth muther for a dick head in a wheelchair.”
“Try me,” Jack shot back. Jack knew that they were going to mug him.
The large one reached for his switchblade snapping the six inch blade. It sounded like someone stepping on a twig. “You’ll need more than that.” Jack laughed at the switchblade as the moonlight bounced off the cutting device catching what little light was available.
This angered the punk and he jabbed the blade forward adding a slight dip to his hand aiming for Jack’s throat.
Jack was faster than Mohammed Ali thrusting a jab as he grabbed the punk’s wrist stopping the blade six inches from his neck. He pulled the wrist and blade down to his right causing the punk to fall forward. Then Jack hit him hard with an uppercut knocking the ganger to the ground.
The other punk froze as he watched his bro being pummeled to the hard concrete. He then reached for his blade, but as he did Jack threw a three point Ninja star and stuck him in the forehead. The other one got off the ground bleeding from the mouth. The ganger pulled a gun from his hip, as his hand was swinging to get a shot, Jack thumped his elbow against his side, a wrist gun strapped to his forearm snapped into Jack`s hand. The sound echoed in the still night from Jack’s Sig Saur. The wrist gun instantly stopped the assailant’s life forces, and he dropped lifeless to the ground. The bullet was well aimed at the ganger’s forehead.
The quiet was deafening as Jack stared at the two on the ground. The blood was coloring the black pavement with a pool of life exiting each man’s life.
As the confrontation was happening a window watcher caught the action on a video camera. He was a video hobbyist who often would film the street from his apartment window. He kept an eye on the street always ready to film anything that happened. He saw the drama unfold and anxiously grabbed his camera off the window sill knocking his coffee on the floor. He steadied his aim and filmed the entire confrontation, and then he called 911 and the local TV station.
The San Francisco Police Department (SFPD) was talking to Jack and the video man. Other tenants were there being awakened by the shot and the sirens announcing the arrival of the men in blue. The TV van and the anchor woman were going to interview Jack and the watcher after the police were finished,
A policeman was talking to Jack. “We reviewed the video that the witness took, and you definitely acted in self defense.”
“Had no choice officer.”

The interview closed, Ron Papasinsky was watching the telecast from his private detective office as he was finishing a case his agency had closed. He thought that was impressive for a guy in a wheelchair; he was fast and methodical defending himself. I might have a job for him.
Ron called the police and got Jack’s phone number. Ron knew the police well as he had worked with them on several cases. Jack agreed to come by his detective agency. Angie his daughter asked when Jack was coming to the agency, she was impressed watching the video. She also thought what an attractive man and yet shy. Since she was disabled the man in the wheelchair had riveted her to the TV. She was anxious to meet this man,
she liked what she saw.

The killer of The Unholy Priest returned home, he lived in Topeka, Kansas, he checked in at work. Captain Russell Brock saw Larry arrive. Larry was hard to miss, he was six foot five, lanky build, good looking, and had silvery brown hair that gave him a look of a distinguished judge or successful business CEO. Captain Brock made a snide remark, “there’s that lazy detective whose case load is off the charts.”
“No problem, I’m gonna retire soon.”
“I remember in high school you were retired then.”
The two had known each other as kids. They both grew up in Oakland next to the Kaw River. Then it was a peaceful area, and kids did what kids did, no drugs or gangs, it was a good place to live. Captain Brock (Bud by nickname) and Larry were always bantering and still are.
Larry has worked for the Topeka Police Department for fifteen years. He started killing serial killers three years ago when the visions started again. He knew that eventually he’d be found out. He’d prepared an escape plan if he needed to go into hiding. So far, he has killed four serial killers with the last killing of the Unholy Priest in San Francisco.
He had no remorse breaking the law or killing these monsters. He figured he was saving innocent lives who would be the next victims if he didn’t kill. Larry had inherited a large sum of money from an Aunt, who enabled him to travel and locate these killers.
He would wait for his next vision. They came without warning and the visions seemed random. He had no clue why certain killers were in his vision. He knew he would have to act fast to stop these killers. He remembered one vision while he was driving in Topeka heading home from work.
He had to pull off the road when he felt the vision taking over. He knew his vision would impair his driving, and he had to react quickly. The vision didn’t take long as Larry sat on the shoulder of Interstate Seventy after leaving Wall Mart on his way home.
A cop on duty pulled in behind him after seeing the car parked on the shoulder of the busy highway. Larry was just coming out of the vision when the policeman walked up to Larry’s car.
Larry was in a daze but he was conscious that the policeman had spoken. Larry rubbed his head as he tried to reply. “Yes, I’m having a terrific migraine.”
The policeman was suspicious that he might be inebriated. Larry’s head snapped back as the vision left leaving him exhausted but almost normal. Larry focused on the blue uniform standing by his car. He reached into his pocket and grabbed his badge. “Sorry officer but these headaches are vicious that’s why I pulled over”.
The officer’s attitude changed when the gold badge catching the Sun’s rays flashed in his eyes. “You ok?”
“Yes, thanks for checking me out.”
The two exchanged to chat since they were fellow employees of the Topeka Police Department. The policeman shifted his belt and told Larry that everything was ok and left.
Larry headed home and prepared to go to Arizona and take care of the killer in his vision. He called in telling the Captain that he was going to take some vacation time and be gone for a few days. Larry only used his vacation time to hunt his deadly prey.
The vision revealed a large lake. The killer was in a patrol boat of some kind with the name Lake Powell Patrol written on the side of the craft. He was following a medium sized yacht with two males and two females on board.
Larry always had two or three visions until the last one where the killer would do his deed. So far, he received a sign or clue on each vision where the stalking occurred, which gave him time to find the killer.
He Googled Lake Powell and it had to be the lake in Arizona. Larry often flew the TPD’s helicopter, since he was a certified helicopter pilot. He rented a helicopter in Arizona after his arrival by plane. It was a Bell 412 with attached pontoons. He found a picture of the killer on the internet, since he was an employee of the Corp. of Engineers for Lake Powell as a patrolman. He also found out that three other females had disappeared on the lake in the last month.
The killer ran a scheduled route every day he was on duty. Larry would follow him waiting for the right chance to kill him. The chance came sooner than expected.
This time the killer was alone in his patrol boat. He usually had a partner with him but didn’t this time out.
Lake Powell has two thousand miles of shoreline with cliffs surrounding the lake and channels darting off the main body of water. From the air, it looked like an amoeba with tentacles extending from its body.
The killer was following the same boat in his vision. The yacht pulled into a narrow channel that had grey smooth boulders on both sides extending several hundred feet straight up.
Against the crystal clear water, the huge boulders looked like giant marbles stacked to the top with shades grey colors on each smooth boulder. The killer sped past the channel turned the patrol boat around creating an arc of white water and slowed to a crawl. He dropped anchor.
The yacht he was following traveled across a third of a mile and pulled to the side of the channel and dropped anchor. The yachters were spending the night.
It was dark now as the Sun had ducked under the horizon. Larry had his night vision goggles on as he landed in the helicopter's stealth mode. He was on the cliffs directly above the killer. It was a fifty yard drop from Larry’s vantage point.
Larry had a Remington 700 sniper rifle with a night vision scope. The killer was changing into a wet suit with scuba gear. He was determined this night to get his prey. Larry knew he had intended to sneak up on the yacht underwater. He needed to act quickly before the target was swallowed by the lake.
He set up his rifle and loaded his ice bullet from his dry ice cooler. He aimed the sniper rifle laying over the cliff's edge. He squeezed the trigger and the bullet whistled through the dark cutting through the air speedily seeking its target. It was a direct hit on the top of the killers head as he was preparing to dive. His head bobbed and the serial killer’s killing was history.
Larry was saving innocent lives.

Ron Papasinsky called Jack and invited him for an interview. He was on time at the Cisco Detective Agency owned and operated by Ron Papasinsky.
“I’m here to see Mr. Papasinsky.”
“Go right in, he’s expecting you.”
“How do you know me?”
“Saw the video, you were fantastic.”
“Thanks, I had one eye shut too.”
The receptionist laughed and Jack smiled as he entered the office. Ron stood up and shook Jack’s hand. The office was nicely organized with pictures on the wall of all the associate detectives. Ron is a fit fifty five year old man with a pleasant demeanor. His eyes had that caring look as if you were the most important human on the planet. “Glad you came.”
“No problem, what do you have in mind?”
“As you can see I run a detective agency.”
“Looks like a successful agency; you have a nice setup here.” The building was a new one story metal building with full basement sixty feet by one hundred and fifty feet.
“Been doing it for twenty years, I have three good associate detectives who helped make this business successful.”
“Is this about a job?”
“Yes, I saw your video on TV, and I was impressed.”
“I was lucky.”
“I doubt that, you must have some kind of training?”
“You’re too young to be retired, why didn’t you stay on?”
“Offered a desk job but I’m not cut out for that, so I took my disability.”
“I could use a man like you, I read from your history where you were a squad leader.”
“Yeah, I miss those guys.”
“I think you would make an excellent detective.”
“Even with my disability?”
“I think your disability would be an advantage.”
“How’s that?”
“For surveillance you would not be suspect, plus with your seal training you would be perfect for the agency.”
“Finally a man with some common sense.”
“A handicap doesn’t necessarily mean a person can’t do a job, it depends on the person.”
“I like your thinking Ron.”
“I want you to meet someone.” Ron called Angie to the office. She was a beautiful blonde, well built, and carried herself with confidence. As she walked up to meet him, he did a quick scan and liked the result.

“Lead me to the racquet ball court and I will demonstrate this altered wheelchair.”
The three went downstairs and they entered the racquet ball court. Jack wheeled to the center of the court and faced Ron and Angie. He pushed a lever and quickly four collapsible stainless steel rods extended at thirty five degree angles from the chair. They rested firmly on the floor creating a solid base to prevent the wheel chair from being toppled.
“Ron, you’re a big man, try to knock me over from all four sides.” Ron tried but the wheelchair was firmly set.
“Who designed this for you, Jack?”
“I designed and built it.”
“Where did you learn these skills?”
“Before I became a seal I had three years of mechanical engineering in college.”
“That would explain your wheelchair.”
“I love to tinker so I rigged this up.”
“What about those wheels at the end of those caps?”
Jack grinned then pushed himself off the wheel chair and hit the floor roller skating around the court like a kid. Ron and Angie were awed by his ingenuity.
“Where did you get the idea to build these?” Ron asked.
“I saw kids with small wheels on the bottom of their running shoes, and so I made my own.”
“Why don’t you just forget the wheel chair then?”
“Two reasons, one I’m a tad lazy, and two, I modified this wheel chair so that it can move as fast as kid running.” Jack floored the wheel chair and sped around the court like a demon on fire.
“Damn, you’re full of surprises.”
“You want more?”
“By all means.”
“You mentioned a firing range, lead me there.”
Ron had installed a one hundred and fifty foot firing range for his detectives to keep them sharp with their handguns. Jack placed himself at the front of the range, there was a paper target at the end of the range, seventy feet from Jack.
Jack reached to his belt on the left side and pushed one of two buttons and a slight click could be heard. He raised his right leg aligning it with the target and pushed a second button four times in rapid succession---bang, bang, bang, bang. The end of his cap released four nine millimeter bullets creating a tight pattern in the head of the target.
The cap was smoking and Jack was grinning. Ron and Angie were stunned at this display and Ron quickly yelled. “Wooweee, show us that device.”
Jack pushed the first button again on his belt. “That’s the safety button on the Sig Saur in the cap.” He wheeled around and reached down and removed the cap revealing the Sig Saur built into the cap with a rod like structure located where the hammer of the pistol normally was located, the rod had a thin wire running up his leg to the buttons embedded in his belt.
“You’re a dangerous man in that wheelchair.”
“I love to design and build.”
“When can you start?”
Jack hesitated for a moment, this guy is serious and this job might be fun, at least I can use my training. I’ll take it and see how it goes.
“I can start today,
my wheelchair needs the action.”

No comments:

Post a Comment