Ruger

Part One: Deadly Deeds

Cover: A large, expensive living room with furniture all riddled with bullet-holes and splattered with blood. A young boy stands in front of a couch... two masked men dressed in all black hold automatic rifles to opposite sides of his head. A pair of female legs sticks out from behind the couch, and a man's arm is drapped over the back of the couch. Caption under image: The War on Drugs.

t five bedrooms and 3600 square feet, the house was by far the largest in the neighborhood.   It sat on a corner lot... plenty of land, which was always kept in pristine condition.    The lawn was always watered and cut.    Leaves swept up promptly.   The shrubs perfectly sculpted.   The recycle bin was out on the curb on Tuesdays and Fridays without exception... plastics and papers always separated.   No dilapidated cars or old tires marred the neighborhood's property values... the expensive, late-model vehicles were always kept in the three-car garage, with the door pulled down.

When they left the house, the family drove the speed limit.  They stopped at every light; yielded to every pedestrian.   They never honked their horn in the driveway at odd hours of the night.    They never played their music loud.   Never threw wild parties that spilled out into the streets.  And never called the cops when their less-considerate neighbors did those very things.

The family's seven-year old child never played in the street.   In fact, it was rare to see the youngster out of arm's reach of his mother.   And he was NEVER out of her sight.   Never.    Despite his appearance, the family's dog was about as friendly as an animal can be without being unsettling.   He never barked at strangers.   Never howled in the middle of the night.  Never chased cars.  Never did his business in the neighbor's yards.

They were the perfect family, in the perfect house, in the perfect neighborhood.   Occasional bouts of insomnia were the only problems they ever had... which was very unfortunate.

Insomnia can be very dangerous.

"MMMAAAAMAAAAA!"   Tomas Velazquez howled.    He was upstairs in his bedroom... the bulb in the Batman night light had blown out, plunging the room into near-total darkness.   Tomas didn't like the dark.   But that wasn't why he was screaming.

Downstairs in his  home office, Jose Velazquez leapt from his chair and ran through the living room to the stairs.  His foot was on the bottom step when the master bedroom door opened, and a very sleepy Marisa Velazquez walked into the hall.   Like her husband, she was in her late thirties.   Unlike her husband, she had been fast asleep when the child's cries began.   She wore her nightgown, through which the curves of her body were plainly visible.   She paused to look over the balcony at her husband.

"I got it,"  she said.   She spoke in Spanish, as they always did.

"No, no, no,"  said Jose.  "You get some sleep-"

"You've got work to finish,"  she said.  She waved her husband away.  "Go... go so you can come to bed before 2:00am."

Jose looked at his watch.  It was just after midnight.

"Darn, I didn't realize it was so late."

Marisa vanished around the corner.  A second later, Tomas' crying abated.   She walked back to the stairs with the child in her arms.    He was still crying, but the intensity had gone from 'ear-splitting' to just 'annoying.'   Not that Jose was annoyed.    He knew that Tomas couldn't help it.   The boy was born seven years ago, but he still had the mind of a four-year old.    His drooping eyes and slightly misshapen head bore the signs that something hadn't gone quite right in the child's prenatal development.    The doctors said that he wasn't going to get any better... they tossed around all kinds of fancy terms that Jose couldn't even pronounce, let alone define.   Their meaning was still clear, however:   Tomas wasn't going to be a rocket scientist or a brain surgeon.... or even an accountant like his father.     It didn't matter, though; he had the love of his parents and all of the things that their upper-middle class income could buy.

But then, Tomas usually only wanted one thing.

"Jose," said Marisa as she descended to the first floor.  "He's had another nightmare.   Could you-"

"Uh-huh."  said Jose.    He walked through the kitchen to the garage door.   He opened it and let the dog in.    Ruger was a large full-grown Rotweiller that looked as if some horse-DNA had somehow been added to the dog's genetic code.   He would have made a good guard dog... if he wasn't so much of a clown.    Ruger ran past Jose and slid on the kitchen's linoleum floor.   The dog's rear-end careened into a cabinet door.    Jose winced, but the dog didn't seem to notice.   Ruger ran in place for a few seconds... paws sliding on the slick floor like a cartoon character... then shot into the living room.

Marisa was sitting on the sofa, still holding Tomas.   Ruger ran around the sofa twice, then jumped up to put his two front paws on Marisa's leg.    The dog panted and snorted and nuzzled his nose underneath Marisa's free hand.   His short stump of a tail wagged back and forth like some kind of mixing machine.

"wuf!"  Ruger snorted.

"See, Tomas,"  said Marisa.  "Ruger isn't afraid... see..."

Tomas stopped sniffling.  He reached out to pet the dog on the head.   Ruger began licking the boy's hand... a site that would've driven most mothers insane with worry:   Ruger's huge jaws could have easily swallowed the boy's arm whole.

"Bad dream, mama,"  said Tomas.   His voice was slow and slurred.

"Tell mama and papa about your dream,"  said Maria.   Jose stood beside the sofa and wiped the tears from his son's face.

"There were bad people... and they came here!"

"Ohhh....Nobody's gonna come here,"  said Jose.  "And if they do, Ruger will chase them away, right Ruger?"

Naturally, the dog didn't respond.

"Ruger isn't afraid of your dream... he isn't afraid of anything,"  said Marisa.  "And you shouldn't be either."

"But mama-"

"Shhhh....  It's okay.   You sleep in the bed with us tonight, okay Tomas?"

"But-"

"Assuming your father ever COMES to bed..."   Marisa shot Jose a sarcastic look.

"Okay,  okay,"  he said with a chuckle.  "Enough work for tonig-"

KA-WHAM!

The front door didn't just burst open... it literally snapped in half from the force of the battering ram.   The men stormed into the house... they wore all black from head to foot...  black masks over their faces, black steel-toed boots on their feet.    Even their automatic weapons were the color of midnight.
Six of them came in the front door, and six more were sprinting across the yard toward the house.

The broken shards of the front door hadn't even hit the floor yet when Tomas screamed.    Nobody even head him:

"ROOOOOOOOOOROOOROOROO!!"   Ruger sprang at the intruders, instinctively protecting his masters.

"DOG!  DOG!"

Two intruders swung their weapons across the charging dog's  path an sprayed the animal with bullets.   The dog whined once, then collapsed... his momentum carried him forward a few more feet, leaving a large, bloody smear across the floor.   Jose Velazquez's hand was already in the end-table's drawer... he pulled out the legally-owned 9mm handgun just as Ruger's bullet-riddled corpse came to a rest.    The gun wasn't loaded... but that didn't really make a difference...

"GUN!"   one intruder shouted.   The others echoed the warning-

"GUN! GUN! GUN!"

The automatic rifles roared and spat out streams of hot metal.   Fifty-six bullets turned Jose's face, neck, and chest into a bloody red paste.    His wife's body hit the ground before his, however... one stray bullet had neatly pierced her skull and blown her brains out through the back of her head.    Little Tomas Velazquez screamed and screamed and continued to scream... he was too afraid to do anything else.  He jumped up and down in place as his bladder released its contents into his pajamas.

"Somebody get that kid!"  someone half-shouted.    That same someone kicked Ruger's body back away from the door like the hunk of dead meat that it was.   Then he took a deep breath and yelled:   "POLICE!  WE HAVE A WARRANT TO SEARCH THE PREMISES FOR DRUGS!"

"Save it,"  said another man.    He walked through the doorway and saw the carnage.  He pulled the black mask up away from his face, revealing thin, stern features.  "I don't think the kid gives a damn."   He started pointing out officers-  "You, you, you and you... search the upstairs.   You and you... garage.   Be sure to check the car panels and underneath the seats.   I want EVERYTHING searched!   Tear up every floorboards!   Rip out every mattress!   You people aren't new to this... get everything searched the FIRST time.  I don't wanna have to come here and do this again!"

"Yes, sir,"   a half-dozen men replied.   They scattered to various parts of the house.

Another officer entered the room, then backed away-

"Oh, God..."

"For God's sake, Hapmund...  If you're gonna throw up, throw up outside."

"No,"  said Hapmund.   "But you said there wouldn't be any-"

"Guy had a gun.  AND a goddamn attack-dog."

"But, Jesus, Sharpe..."

"What, you wimping out on me, Hap?"

"No.  No sir!"

"I didn't think so.   We got a job to do, and sometimes people don't like us doing it.   Sometimes they try and stop us... and sometimes they get hurt.   You've heard the speech before, Hap... do you really need to hear it again?"

"No, sir!"

One officer had Tomas Velazquez by the arms and was attempting to drag the boy away.  Tomas wasn't having it.   He kicked the officer in the shins and ran.   He didn't run for the stairs or for the garage... he ran for the shredded body of the large Rotweiller.  Tomas threw himself onto the dog's corpse and wrapped his arms around its neck.

"RUUUGER!"   he cried.

"Oh, for God's sake-"   Captain Sharpe grabbed the child by the shoulder, digging his fingers into a sensitive nerve bundle near the neck.   Tomas squealed in pain, but released the dog.   Sharpe picked the boy up and looked into his face.   He frowned, and handed the kid to Hapmund.  "Do something with this."

Hapmund took the child and quickly left the house.

Captain Sharpe shouted after him:

"... And somebody call the morgue!"

t that exact same time, Marilyn Dobbs was leaning back in a chair with her feet propped up on the small, rectangular table.   Two men sat opposite her.

"Could you please remove your feet from the-"

"No,"  said Marilyn.

"Okay."

There was a pause while the two men flipped through their numerous pages of notes.

"Are you finished?"  said Dobbs.

"Uhhh,"  said one of the men.   "M-Maybe you don't understand the gravity of what's going on here."   The second man interrupted him.

"Tell us what happened tonight."

"I told you already."

"Tell us again.   Tell us what you were doing at the farmhouse, WHY you were there without your partner, and HOW those dead bodies ended up all over the damn farm!"

"You'd better change your tone or you'll be speaking through a big gaping hole where your teeth used to be."

"Are you threatening me, detective?"

"Yes."

"Look-"

"No, YOU look.    I'M the detective here  . I'M one of the good guys, and the two of you are treating me like I'M a freaking terrorist!"

"This IS a formal inquiry into your behavior,"  said the first man.  "You've violated protocol... endangered citizens..."

"I've been doing my job!"

"And a fine job you're doing,"  said the second man.   "Considering that Jason Brooks is still on the loose."

"He had a gun,"  said Dobbs.  "And mine was out of ammunition.

"What about your PARTNER'S gun?   Oh, that's right... he wasn't THERE!   YOU ran off without him!"

"That was a mistake,"  said Dobbs.   "It's not like anybody in this room has never made one before."

"Brooks,"  said the first man.  "You said Brooks shot those men at the farm."

"In self defense, yes,"  said Dobbs.

"So you're saying he isn't a criminal?"

"No, I'm not saying that.   What I AM saying is that the people I saw him shoot were attempting to harm him, me,  and a civilian.    THOSE killings were in self-defense.  He saved three lives, counting his own."

"Saved you from WHAT, exactly?"  said the second man.   "You weren't quite clear on that."

Marilyn sighed.

"I was as clear as I'm gonna get,"  she said.   "There was a motorcycle gang led by a man named Braxis.   They had some kind of... animals.   I don't know what kind.  They appeared to be sacrificing a young girl in some kind of ritualistic ceremony."

"And Brooks-"

"Was there to stop them."

"He shot them.   And the animals.  All of which have since disappeared.  What kind of animals are we dealing with, Ms. Dobbs."

"It's DETECTIVE Dobbs.   And I don't KNOW what kind.   There was a lot of smoke, some of which may have contained hallucinogenic drugs."

"Why would you say that?   Are you saying you took drugs?"

"I'm saying that... that there were THINGS there that I didn't get a good look at."

"But you saw well enough to know that Jason Brooks was acting in self defense."

"Yes."

"You say he held a gun on you."

"When I pointed mine at him, yes."

"But your gun was empty-"

"What DIFFERENCE does it make!"

"Was he going to shoot you?"  said the first man.  "If your gun had NOT have been empty, would he have shot you?"

"I don't know."

"Would you have shot him."

"Y-... I don't know."

"How long have you been on the Brooks case, Detective?"

"Since Friday.   Before then, there WASN'T a Brooks case.   He was a nobody."

"You've met him... spoken with him?"

"Briefly.  He threw up on my shirt once."

"Do we have that-"

"It's in the evidence room.  Along with everything from Brook's apartment and his office."

"Murder,"  said the second cop.  "Arson, evading arrest, reckless endangerment, interfering with an investigation, fleeing the scene of a crime... what else do we have on this Brooks character?"

"We don't know if he committed murder OR blew up that building.   We just know he was there."

"Just like we know he was at the farmhouse."

"Yes."

"The farmhouse where, according to you, and entire motorcycle gang got slaughtered.   By Brooks.   In self defense."

"Yes."

"Why were YOU there?"  said the first man.

"I told you.  I got an anonymous call-"

"From who?"

"Are you not quite clear on the concept of 'anonymous'?"

"You have no idea who it was?"

"No."

"Did it SOUND like anyone you know?"

"It was male-"

"Was it Brooks?"

"No."

"Then who was it?"

"Do you own a dictionary?"   said Dobbs.

"What does that have to do with-"

"Look up the word 'anonymous' and tell me what it says."

"We're just trying to get the facts-"

"You've got the facts.   You've HAD the facts for a few hours now... now you're just asking the same questions over and over again to see if I'll slip up and change my story.   Well I won't slip up because the story is true.    This discussion is over."

The two men looked at each other.   They gathered their papers and started to leave.   Marilyn stayed seated at the table, feet still propped up.

"We'll be speaking with your captain, and your partner"  said the second man.   "Don't go anywhere."

"Take your time."  said Dobbs. "But the longer you take... the worse of an ass-kicking you're gonna get when this is over."

"Was that another threat?"

"Yes."

The men closed the door.

In the very next interrogation room, two other detectives were questioning another witness.

"Your name is Ashley Ricks,"  said the first.

"For the hundredth time, yes,"  said Ashley.   She was tired and still shaken from what had occurred just a few hours ago.   But the police showed no signs of ending their incessant stream of ridiculous questions.

"Ashley Ricks,"  said the second detective.  "Twenty years old.  Born in Fort Walton Beach, Florida... mother's name: Evelyn Ricks, father's name: Unknown."

"Thanks for constantly bringing that up,"  said Ashley.

"But you are ALSO Eve Baskerville, age: 52, Born in New Orleans, Louisiana.    Two different people.  Different driver's licenses.  Different social security numbers.   Different physical descriptions.  Care to explain that?"

"No."

"You know you're in a lot of trouble,"  said the first detective.

"So you keep saying,"  Ashley replied.

"You claim to be a psychic.   Or at least, Madam EVE claims to be a psychic.  Thats what she lists as her occupation on her tax returns.  Correct?"

"If you say so."

"You gave Detective Dobbs a tip about Jason Brook's location."

"So?"

"Your tip proved correct... but Brooks got away."

"aaaannnd.... so?"

"Did you speak with Dobbs a second time?  At her house?  On the phone?"

"Nope."

"Brooks kidnapped you, correct?"

"Nope.   I want a lawyer."

"But then you said that Brooks saved your life."

"Lawyer."

"Yes or no."

"Lawyer."

"Did you or did you NOT see Brooks shoot several men at your place of residence... and AGAIN at the farmhouse."

"L-A-W-Y-E-R."

"How did you end back at your residence?   Did Brooks take you there?"

"REYWAL!"

"Excuse me?"

"'Lawyer' spelled backwards."

"You... you aren't going to talk, are you?"

"DUH!"

The two detectives started whispering among themselves.

"Don't bother, I can read your minds,"  said Ashley.

They looked at her-

"Yes, I AM wearing a bra!  You PERVERT!"

"Hey, I wasn't-"

"Geez, I'm your DAUGHTER'S age!"

"How did you know-"

"Hellooo... Psychic!   What did you THINK it meant!?"

"So you can read minds,"  said the first detective.   Ashley looked down and shook her head.

"What else can you do?"  said the second.

Ashley looked up.

"What else?" she said.    Ashley looked the second detective squarely in the face.  "These aren't the droids we're  looking for,"  she said.  "Let them pass."

The second detective turned to the first and said:

"These aren't the droids we're-HEY!"

Ashley laughed out loud.

arilyn removed her feet from the table when Captain Gavin entered.   Her partner, James Royce, followed behind him.   Then didn't sit down, which made Marilyn nervous.

"Dobbs," the Captain sighed.   Dobbs stood up.

"Now wait a minute-"

"No, no... just listen to me and try to see things from my perspective.   We've got dead bodies.   We've got property damage.  We've got a partner that was left completely out of the loop.

"And we've got a dangerous fugitive on the loose!"

"Well, that's not your problem any more."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I'm putting you on suspension."

"WHAT!?!"

"And when you come back, you will NOT be on the Brooks case any more."

"CAPTAIN!"

"I really don't have any choice in this, Dobbs.  I'm sorry.   Especially now.    With all that's going on with Brooks, and now with the LED raid-"

"The what?  What raid?"

"You don't know,"   said Royce.  "It just went down...   State Law Enforcement Division just raided a house and orphaned some retarded kid.    It hasn't hit the news yet, but by tomorrow morning this city is gonna be a hellstorm... a true media nightmare."

"And with all that bad publicity, the people of this city don't wanna hear about some rogue cop out there doing whatever the hell she wants to do.   Until we figure out what went on with Brooks and you and all this... you're on suspension."

"Wait, wait, wait... you're putting me on suspension because of something SOME OTHER AGENCY did!?!"

"No, I'm putting you on suspension because you engaged a known dangerous suspect without backup and a bunch of people ended up dead."

"That was self defense-"

"Go home, Dobbs.   Don't come back until I call you."

"An indefinite suspension!?"

"Spend some time with that cute daughter of yours,"  said Royce.

"Keep a low profile, and don't leave town without letting me know,"  the Captain added.   "Now get outta here."

Dobbs glared at the Captain and Royce, then she pushed past them on her way to the door.   They followed her into the hall.

"It won't be long, Dobbs,"  the Captain said apologetically.  "Just until everything blows over and this Brooks guy is behind bars-"

Dobbs flashed her middle finger as she walked defiantly down the hall.

"Well,"  said Royce.  "At least she didn't body-slam you."

"Thank God,"  said the Captain.  "She'd pound me into the ground like a tent-peg."

"Captain?"   came a timid voice.   Two detectives peeked out of the adjacent interrogation room.   They stepped into the hall and closed the door.  "Uhh... that girl... could you get somebody else to interview her?"

"What's the problem?"  said Royce.

"She's...uhhh... creepy."

"...damn rookies..." Royce grumbled.   He went into the room the two detectives had just exited.   Ashley Ricks was still seated at the table.  She was smiling broadly, but when she looked up and saw Royce her smile faltered and disappeared.

They stared at each other.   The seconds grew more and more uncomfortable... for both of them.   Royce's eyes began to glow red.   Ashley's eyes... didn't.

"You're for real, then, aren't you."  said Royce.   His voice had deepened to a low rumble.   "A real psychic.   The genuine article."

"Yes."

"Then you can tell what I am."

"Yes.   You're ugly and I STILL want a lawyer."

Royce growled, then backed out of the room and closed the door.   His eyes and voice returned to normal.

"Get her out of here,"  he said.  "She doesn't know anything..."

"ighty-four...eighty-five...eighty-six..."

Marilyn Dobbs grunted out the last 15 sit-ups of her morning calisthenics.   It was 9:30, and she'd slept late for the first time in weeks.   She could have slept later, but Alexis, her six year old daughter, was already awake and raring to go.    Right now the girl was sitting on the floor next to her, pretending to do sit-ups like her mother.

"...ninety-eight.. ninety-nine... one-hundred..."

Marilyn lay back on the floor for a moment, then she rolled over and got into position for a hundred push-ups.    Before she did the first one, she caught a glimpse of the television set.   They'd been interrupting cartoons for a special news bulletins all morning, but Marilyn hadn't been listening.   She decided she'd at least listen to it while she finished her routine.    She hit the volume button on the remote and started her push-ups while the newscaster spoke:

"...press conference earlier this morning.   Captain Henry R. Sharpe gave a statement concerning the deadly raid.   'Shortly after midnight, a special team of Law Enforcement Division officers under my command entered the residence of Jose and Maria Velazquez under a court-issued warrant to search for illegal drugs and evidence of illegal drug activities.   Mr. Velazquez resisted us with a firearm and a specially-trained  attack dog.   In the resulting exchange, both he and Marisa Velazquez were killed.  Their child, Tomas Velazquez, was uninjured.    While I deeply regret any deaths that occur on my watch, the fact remains that my officers were acting in self defense.    I stand behind them and their decision to use deadly force to protect themselves.... just as the governor of this state stands behind the Law Enforcement Division and all we have done to keep drugs off of our streets.  Thank you.'    Captain Sharpe declined any questions, and did not indicate whether any contraband was found at the Velazquez residence-"

"Mommy, what's a contraband?"  said Alexis.

"Drugs, honey.   He's talking about drugs."

"Ohhh."

Just then, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!"  Alexis shouted.  She ran for the door.

"No, baby,  let mommy get the door..."

Marilyn got up and straightened her jogging pants.   She was wearing only a sports-bra, so she paused to grab her T-Shirt from the couch and slip it on before opening the door.  There were two men outside.  One of them was vaguely familiar.

"Mommy, it's the man from TV!"  said Alexis.

"Hello, little girl,"  said Captain Sharpe.    He smiled at Alexis then extended his hand toward Dobbs.   "I'm Captain-"

"Henry Sharpe,"  said Dobbs.  "Just saw you on TV."

"That was taped earlier, of course."

"Of course,"  said Dobbs.   "Who's your shadow?"

"This is my assistant, Lieutenant Gary Hapmund."

"Pleased to meet you,"  said Hapmund.   Dobbs shook his hand.

"May we come in,"  said Sharpe.   He moved to enter the house before Dobbs even answered.  Dobbs stepped into his path.

"Why?"  she said.

"We're just here to ask a few questions... about the Brooks case."

"I'm not on that case anymore,"  said Marilyn.  "AND I'm on suspension."

"We know,"  said Sharpe.  "We spoke with your captain just before that press conference."

"Why?   I'd think you'd have more important things on your mind."

"Oh, nooo... there's nothing more important than the law.   It seems that your case... your FORMER case... may have some interesting connections to mine.  I'd like your insight on a few things, if you can spare the time."

"Time, I got plenty of."  She stepped aside, and the two men entered.

"Hi!"  said Alexis.  "My name is 'Lexis!  My daddy named me that because-"

"Alexis, how about you go play in your room, okay?"

Alexis frowned and marched slowly up the stairs.   Verrrry slowwwly.     Sharpe and Hapmund sat down on the sofa, Dobbs took the reclining chair.

Sharpe produced a miniature tape recorder and placed it on the table in front of him.

"This looks serious,"  said Dobbs.

"It is,"  Sharpe replied.    "I'll get right to the point... some of your case notes mentioned the possibility of some drug activity within the Brooks case-"

"That was an early theory, yes."

"Have you discounted it completely?"

"Not yet.  I haven't discounted ANYTHYING.   But I don't think its very likely."

"Why not?"  said Hapmund.

"I've met Brooks.   He doesn't seem the type."

"Type,"  said Sharpe.  "There are many 'types' of people involved in the import and distribution of illegal substances, Detective."

"Call it instinct, then.    Brooks isn't into the drug game.  He's into something bigger... I just don't know what it is."

"We like to leave all possibilities open until they are ruled out by force of evidence,"  said Sharpe.

"Sounds sorta like 'guilty until proven innocent' to me."

"Nevertheless, we think the connection is worth investigating."

"WHAT connection?  What does Brooks have to do with your raid?"

"Velazquez was an accountant for Protech Software,"  said Hapmund.   "Sound familiar?"

"It's where Brooks used to work,"  Dobbs replied.  "Not a particularly interesting coincidence."

"Ah, but its the UNinteresting coincidences that solve cases, Detective.   We think Brooks and Velazquez may have had a connection-"

"Or not,"  said Dobbs.   "Programmers and accountants typically don't mix."

"All the better to throw off an investigation,"  said Hapmund.

Dobbs shook her head.

"You're stretching,"  she said.   "You're really reaching for a connection here.   They worked for the same company... so what?    It's circumstantial."

"Brooks is a dangerous criminal, yes?"  said Sharpe.   "No one has ever interrogated him... so who's to say WHAT his motives and connections are."

Dobbs looked at Sharpe for a few moments.

"You didn't find a damn thing in that house, did you?"  she said finally.

"Excuse me?"

"Velazquez.   He was clean, wasn't he?   That's what this is about... a mad dash to connect him with something... ANYTHING... just so you won't look like a bunch of trigger-happy goons."

"Our findings at the Velazquez house are confidential,"  said Hapmund.

"But we did seize one computer,"   Sharpe added.   "Jose Velazquez's hard drive was completely encrypted."

"So he had sensitive company financial data on his PC and was a little paranoid about it,"  said Dobbs.  "An encrypted hard drive doesn't make him a criminal."

"Who's side are you on, Detective?"  said Sharpe.

"The same side YOU'RE on, Sharpe... the side of the law.   Right?"

"Absolutely.   Now, about Brooks-"

"You know... I think I'm suddenly very tired,"  said Dobbs.   "Overdid it on the exercise, I guess.   Maybe the two of you should just leave and come back later."

"Of course,"  said Sharpe.  He stood up.  "We will come back later."

"You do that.   Call first, though."  Dobbs escorted her visitors to the door, and watched them walk out to their car.    She picked up the phone and dialed the office.

"Detective Royce, here,"

"Royce... guess who I just got a visit from."

"Who?"

"Henry Sharpe."

"No... really?"

"Yep.  I'm watching him and his lap-dog Hapmund walk out to the car now.   They came asking about the Brooks case."

"Does this mean what I think it means?"

"The state LED is trying to muscle in on our investigation,"  said Dobbs.

"Not our investigation any more,"  Royce replied.

"Still...  I figure they'll be coming to see you next."

"What do you want me to tell 'em?"

"Tell 'em whatever you want... it's not like we actually KNOW anything.   And my instincts tell me that the facts don't really matter to these guys anyway.   They're looking for a scapegoat."

"Might be best to just let 'em HAVE the Brooks case, then."

"We don't want these LED boys playing around in our yard.  You've seen the mess they make... worse than the feds.   They'll turn this city into a Quentin Tarantino movie just to catch one guy."

"Well..."

"Your call, Royce... I'm not gonna tell you what to do.    Just thought I'd give you a heads-up."

"Thanks, Dobbs."

"Welcome."

Dobbs hung up and watched Sharpe and Hapmund drive away.

"he's hiding something,"  said Hapmund as they pulled away from Marilyn's house.   "That much is obvious."

"So obvious that it isn't worth stating,"  Sharpe replied.   "She knows more than she's telling."

"Why?"

"Maybe she lied.   Maybe she DOES know what Books is into... she found him out, they cut a deal, and now she's into it too."

"Crooked cop?"

"Maybe."

"Too bad we don't have any evidence,"  said Hapmund.

"Evidence..."   Sharpe's predatory smile widened.   "There's always evidence, Hapmund.   Always..."

"ou look like a fool,"  said Donovan Wilde.

"Shut up,"  Jason replied.    Jason sat in the Corvette's driver's seat, but had hand stretched out over the passenger's seat where his .454 Casull revolver rested.     Jason's eyes were closed tightly; his fingers wiggled in the air above the gun.     "Come to meeee...."  he hummed.   "Coooommmmeee to meeeee..."

"Jason-"

"SHHHH!!!  I almost had it!"

"I rather doubt that."

Jason opened his eyes, and saw that the gun was still exactly where he'd left it.

"Why isn't it working?"

"Because you can't do it."

"But I DID do it!  On the farm... I reached out for the gun and it leapt into my hand!   You didn't SEE it!?"

"There are any number of explanations for that... none of which involve you being telekinetic."

"Give me one then.  Give me JUST ONE explanation."

"Well, it could have-"

"WRONG!   That wasn't it!  I moved the gun with my mind!"

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did!"

"There is nothing in literature or in my own experience that indicates that a Knight has ever had such an ability."

"So?  What does that have to do with ME?!"

"It means you didn't move that gun with your mind.   And that you watch too much science-fiction on TV."

"Yeah... THIS is coming from a freakin' GHOST."

"Do you know how rare telekinesis is?   Most humans that DO have it are far too weak to move anything as heavy as that gun."

"Most, but not all.   I did it... I KNOW I did it!"

"It's after dark, Jason... don't you think we should get moving?"

Jason looked at the dashboard clock.   It was 8:00pm.     After trying... and failing... to find Braxis all of the pervious night, Jason had spend the day hiding out in a parking garage.   Just before dawn, he drove the black Corvette up to an office building and entered the emergency entrance code into the keypad.   The gate opened to let him in, and he quickly found an out-of-the-way parking spot.   He placed the grey car-cover over the Corvette and got back inside the car (which took some interesting contortions with the cover on), and slept for the entire day.   Company executives often left their cars in the lot while on long trips... and more often that not, they covered them to avoid the prying eyes of employees.    Guards and employees wandered back and forth past Jason's car during the entire day... No one so much as noticed the car was there.

"Yeah, I'm getting tired of just sitting here."

"You could try to move the gun with your mind some more.  That was quite amusing."

"Oh, hush."

Jason eased out of the car, removed the cover, placed it in the trunk and got back in.   He started the car's powerful engine.

"Where to?"  said Jason.

"Well, since you're still foolishly refusing to leave the city... I suggest we just drive around the area."

"Just hoping to run into some evil to kill, eh?"

"That's the general idea, yes..."

"AMMIT!"   Randy Paige cursed when he saw the flashing blue lights in the rear-view mirror.   He'd just turned off of the main highway and onto a small road winding through an industrial park.   There was no one on the road, so he felt reasonably safe driving at two times the posted limit.

Obviously the cops felt otherwise.

The siren blared once... twice... and then a third time.   Randy pulled over beside a streetlight and waited.

The first cop got out of the car immediately and started walking towards him while the second called his license plate in to the dispatcher.

"Goin' kinda fast there, don'cha think?"  said the first officer.

"Ummm..."  Randy stalled.   He didn't want to ADMIT he was speeding, but he didn't want to get the cops angry at him, either.  "Was I?"

"Yes, you were."

The second cop joined the first.  They exchanged whispers.

"License and registration, please,"  said the first cop.   The second drew his flashlight and began shining it into Randy's Nissan Sentra.   The light illuminated the numerous piles of paper, trash, and fast-food bags that littered the back seat.   Randy made a mental note to clean out his car as soon as possible.   He retrieved his paperwork from the glove compartment and handed it to the officer who stood by his window.  "Thank you,"  said the cop... who proceeded to write Randy a ticket.

"You oughta clean this thing out," said the second cop.

"I know, sir,"  said Randy.  "Sorry, sir."

"You mind if I look in the trunk?"

"Uhhh... no, go right ahead."

Randy slowly reached over and pulled the trunk-release.   The trunk popped open.   The second officer shined his flashlight into it for a few seconds, then slammed it shut.

"Clean,"  said the officer.

-click-click-click-

"Huh?"  said the first officer.

"What?"  said the second.

Randy didn't know what the sound was, and apparently neither did the cops.     They swept their lights across the area, but saw nothing.

-click-click-

It was a soft noise... not loud or particularly threatening.   But it still sent chills down Randy's spine.

"What's that noise?"  he asked.

"I dunno..."  said the first cop.    He stepped back away from the car and continued to look around.    Between their flashlights, the car's headlights, and the streetlight, everything around them was visible.

-click-click-click-click-

EXCEPT the source of the noise.   It was close, whatever it was...

-click-click-click-

Something about the rhythm of the noise struck Randy as familiar.   He couldn't quite place it, though.    The chills intensified.

The second cop had walked around to the passenger's side door.  He looked off into the distance, frowned, and started walking back to the rear of the car...

-click-click-

The first officer shrugged and continued writing Randy's ticket.

-click...click...click...

The rhythm changed... then Randy knew exactly what it was.

It was the sound of claws on hard asphalt.

"GRAAA-"
"AIIEEEEEEEEE!!!"

The roar and the second cop's scream merged into one terrifying screech.   The officer vanished from Randy's rear-view mirror... something had dragged him to the ground-

BANG!

A single shot fired from somewhere behind the vehicle.   The first cop threw his pad of tickets to the ground and drew his weapon.  He ran toward where the other cop had fallen.

BANG!
BANG!

Two more shots from behind the car.    Randy turned around in his seat-

"OH DEAR GOD!"  the first cop screamed.  He didn't shout or yell... he SCREAMED.    Randy watched in horror as some huge shape leapt up from the ground and collided with the officer.  They both went down.  Then the gunshots began in earnest-
 

BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!

Rapid and  frantic, the shots continued until there was the disheartening *click* of a an empty cylinder being fired.

"AAAAAAEEE-"  The cop's scream died suddenly.

Then there was silence.

Total and horrifying, the silence was like a hammer to Randy's head.   His heart thundered in his chest...

"H-h-helloo?"  he said.    "P-please... anybody...."

Nothing.

Randy didn't know why he did it; He had no idea what possessed him to do such a stupid and foolish thing.   The car door was open before he even realized that, yes, he actually WAS getting out of the car.    He stood beside the open door for a long time.      Then he took a single step toward the rear of the vehicle.   Then he waited again.

He heard a noise.

Not a click or a scream or a gunshot... it was a crunch and a loud *snap.*

Randy took another step.

The sound came again... louder.   He saw something... a cop's legs sticking out from underneath the rear of the car.  He couldn't tell which cop it was, but whoever it was... wasn't moving.

He took another step.

More noises.    Randy knew what they were now... but he'd gone too far NOT to look.   He took two more steps and looked behind the car.

The cop's legs were a good three yards away from his torso, and his left arm was missing entirely.   The right arm was right there... it has just been chewed off and was now being eaten.    Randy saw the thing.   He took a good, loooong look... he had no choice, now, because terror had fixed him to the spot just as securely as if he'd sprouted roots from his feet.

It was a dog.  A Rotweiller... the BIGGEST Rotweiller that Randy had ever seen.     When the dog saw Randy, it dropped the severed arm that it had been holding in its mouth.  The dog's lips peeled back, revealing a row of fangs that looked more at home in a Jurassic Park movie than in a living, breathing animal.   The dog growled... a deep, wet, rolling rumble that grew louder and louder and louder and louder-

The dog's eyes flashed bright red... glowing like hellish embers set into its huge skull.   The dog opened its mouth...wide... TOO wide... and the grow became a soul-shattering:

"GRRRRR-ROOOROOOROOOROOOROOO!!"

"SHIIIIIIIIIIITTT!"

Randy was in the driver's seat before he even realized he could move again.   He jammed his keys into the ignition, slammed the door, started the car and left a quarter-inch of tire-tread on the road behind him as he sped away.

"You know,"  said Jason as he drove.   "Maybe there IS something to this leaving town idea.    I mean... how much longer can I hide out in parking garages?"

"I'm glad you're starting to see things my way,"  said Donovan.  "Being a wanted fugitive will certainly reduce your effectiveness.   Believe me... I speak from experience."

"Yeah, but the thing is-"

VROOOOOMMMM!M!!!

Suddenly, a car roared out into the intersection.  It tried to make the turn onto the main road, but the driver lost control.  The car spun wildly.   Jason floored the accelerator pedal, and the Corvette shot out of the insane driver's way... the two cars missed each other by inches.     The out-of-control car continued to spin... narrowly missing an telephone pole and coming to rest only when its front wheels went into a ditch on the side of the road.

Jason threw the Corvette into reverse and backed up until he reached the car.

"HEY, YOU!"  He shouted as he got out.   He tossed his hat onto his head and walked around to the now-stranded car.  "What the HELL is wrong with you!"

The driver's side door flew open.   Jason's hand instinctively went for his guns... but he didn't draw them.   He just watched as the driver jumped out and started screaming hysterically.

"DOG!  B-BIG!  BIG!  It... Oh GOD it ATE THOSE MEN!"

Jason grabbed the man by the shoulders and shook him gently.

"Calm down, dude."

"HELLLLLPPPP!!"

Jason tightened his grip and shook him again, not-so-gently.

"...Oh, God... Oh, God... Oh, God.. ourfatherwhoartinheavenhallowedbethyname..."

"Something's frightened him."

"Thanks for the clue, Sherlock."

"We'd better check this out, it could be important."

"I'm on it.  Come on, man... take me back to where you-"

"NOOOOOO!!!!!"  the man screamed.   Then he ran.    He ran fast and hard, as if the devil himself were at his heels.   He quickly vanished into the night.

"Okay then, I'll find it myself."

Jason jumped back into the Corvette and sped down the road from which the other car had emerged.

It was less than a mile from the intersection.   A police car sitting by itself on the side of the road.   The red-and-blue lights were still flashing.   Jason wouldn't have approached it at all if it weren't for the bodies.   Or body.  Jason couldn't actually tell how many bodies there were until he got out of the Corvette to get a closer look.    Two cops had been torn apart... literally.    Arms, legs, heads, entrails... it was as if the officers had been ripped to pieces and then turned inside out.   Or perhaps turned inside out and THEN ripped to pieces.   One officer's lower jaw had been separated from his skull... and neither of them were near what remained of his torso.

"Oh, God..."  Jason stifled the urge to vomit. "Donovan, what did this... is it Brite again?  Did he come back?"

"No, there's too much blood remaining.   I don't know what did this."

-click-click-

Jason had his guns out in the blink of an eye.

"Well, whatever it was," he said.  "Its about to get some holes put in it-"

"ROOOOOROOROOROO!!!"   The demonic bark came from everywhere... and nowhere.    Jason looked around frantically, but there was nothing to shoot.
"ROOROOROO"

Jason saw a luminescent shape in the darkness a few yards away.    It was cloudy, dark,  and indistinct, but it looked almost like a very large dog,    It was looking at him with glowing, red eyes-

Jason took aim and fired.

BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!

Four rounds passed right through the creature as if it weren't even there.   The thing charged... its shape became solid as it ran toward him at frightening speed.   Jason recognized the shape and markings as those of a Rotweiller... but a Rotweiller that had been twisted and mutated to demonic proportions...

"JASON!"   Donovan shouted.

BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!

The dog never flinched.  The bullets never touched it.      The demonic canine leapt at Jason-

"DONOVAAAAN!!!"

The dog's mouth opened as Jason fired his last remaining rounds into it... without effect.   The fang-filled jaws closed around Jason's throat-

-and suddenly it was gone.

Everything was quiet.

Very quiet.

There was no demonic dog charging toward him...    Just the echoes of Jason's guns fading in the night.

Jason rubbed his throat.   There was no pain.  No wound.  No blood.   The thing almost had him... it DID have him...and then it had simply vanished.

"Uhhh...Donovan,"  said Jason.   "Would you think I was a punk if I told you how scared I am right now?"

"Yes."

"Oh.  Well, never mind then."

[To Be Continued]

No Rotweillers or police officers were harmed in the making of this episode.

Next Issue:The reign of terror begins! Can Jason stop a foe that bullets cannot touch?

copyright 2005 by Dark Icon Entertainment
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