by Joe Nobody
“No, that’s the best part,” Gabe laughed. “As far as my attorney has been able to determine, we’re not breaking a single law. Now you and I both know that doesn’t mean shit these days, but for the record, we’re legal beagles.”
“And what would I tell Amanda?” came the most important question.
“Anything but the whole truth… for her own protection. I’m sorry to lay that job requirement on you, but we can’t let anybody in on this. I would suggest you feed her the same line of crap that I gave the building’s management office.”
Gabe continued, explaining the little, white lie.
“Okay, I’m in. When do I start?”
Smiling and extending his hand, Gabe said, “As soon as possible. If you have to turn in a notice, I understand. If not, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Notice,” Chip stated, waving his hand through the air, “I don’t have to give those guys any notice. What time do we get started?”
After giving his new employee directions, Gabe asked Chip to be there around 8AM. “I’ll give you the nickel tour,” the entrepreneur mad scientist promised.
Chapter 10
Peelian Principle
Police must secure the willing cooperation of the public in voluntary observance of the law to be able to secure and maintain the respect of the public.
“We’re going to hit that drug store on the corner right before they close,” announced Tito. “It’s the day after social security checks, and all of those old people go in to get their scripts filled. Most of them pay with cash, and that old fucker running the place gets too busy to run to the bank.”
“Sounds like a plan,” answered Jackson. “I could use a cash fix about now, and it sounds like an easy mark.”
“I used to go in there for smokes before I got ratted out last time. There were always a lot of dollar bills stuffed in the drawer. We’ll just wave our heat around, and they’ll hand over the green. If anybody gets frisky, fire off a shot, and things will go our way.”
“Where we going to hole up afterwards?” came the logical question.
“Now that’s why I like working with you, Jackson. You’re a man who thinks ahead… who has some experience under his belt. We’ll exit out the back door… where there are no windows… and bust it over to Marco’s. He’s cool.”
“Does he know we’re coming?”
Laughing, Tito spun a finger around his ear. “Marco? Marco don’t know shit. He’s high as a fucking kite or crashed on that smelly-ass mattress of his. Attila the Hun could be holed up in his living room, and that crack head wouldn’t know or care.”
The two crooks remained parked on Tito’s couch, watching an old movie and smoking cigarettes. Only occasionally did they glance out the dirty window to gauge how much light was left in the day.
At 8:45 PM, Jackson pointed to the revolver stuck in his belt and announced it was time to go. “Don’t that store close at 9?”
“Let’s roll,” Tito responded, sticking a small, nickel plated automatic in his pocket.
It was only a few blocks to their mark, both men glancing all around to make sure there was no sign of any HPD cruisers rolling up on their heist. They entered the front door, only slightly annoyed by the old-fashioned bell that signaled their presence.
“May I help you?” greeted the ancient shopkeeper behind the counter.
Tito’s weapon was drawn in a flash, Jackson showing his piece a split second later. “Empty the drawer, old man, and there won’t be no trouble.”
The pharmacy’s proprietor had been robbed before, the appearance of the two pistols having little effect on his demeanor. “The kitty’s empty, boys,” he stated calmly. “I installed a new time activated safe after some punks cleaned me out last month.”
To prove his point, the man behind the counter hit a button on the cash register and pointed to the empty drawer.
Tito’s famous temper flashed, “Bullshit!” he snapped. “How were you going to make change if I wanted a pack of smokes or something? Where’s the cash, you old fool? Tell me before I blow your fucking head off.”
Instead of answering, the store’s owner pulled out a small wad of one-dollar bills from his pocket. “This is all I got on me; take it if you want. Otherwise, I’d be hightailing it out of here if I were you. The kid working the back has already hit the alarm button. The cops will be here any minute.”
Being a man who didn’t handle failure well, Tito’s anger flashed into an intense, uncontrollable rage. All humanity and reason abandoned his mind, all self-control evaporating in an instant. He pumped two shots into the old man’s chest.
A moment later, the two empty-handed crooks tore out the front door, both of them hightailing it down the sidewalk toward Marco’s dilapidated apartment. Everyone in the vicinity had heard the gunshots, everyone having a pretty good idea what had just happened. Robberies were common, assaults and muggings not unheard of.
Officer Kirkpatrick had just signed in when the call broke the radio’s silence. A robbery, two armed suspects on foot, shots fired, and an ambulance requested.
Dole knew the address and neighborhood. He could visualize old man Roberson, the pharmacy’s friendly owner who offered cops and their families a small discount whenever they stopped in. The family owned business was right in the middle of the precinct’s worst neighborhood.
He and the other patrolmen would pop in now and then, mostly to buy some chips or an occasional caffeine-laced drink to make sure they stayed alert. Areas in decline, like the one surrounding the drug store, needed small businesses in order to recover and improve. If the cops could show their support, others in the area might take notice. It was a small thing, but every little bit helped.
Gabe heard the broadcast as well. While he was unfamiliar with the address and had no awareness of the area’s deterioration, he had noted a higher than average number of calls in the general vicinity.
Chip was mobile, cruising around in the pickup, the G-2 charged and ready under the bed cover. He jumped when his cell rang.
“What’s up?” Chip answered, already looking for a spot to hide the launch after spotting Gabe’s caller ID flash on his phone.
“Are you ready? We’ve got our first one, and it’s happening less than a mile from where you are.”
“Give it to me – I’m ready,” Chip responded with confidence, eyeing a carwash less than a block away.
“I just sent the package. It should show up in your inbox any second now. You know what to do…. Good luck.”
Chip was turning into the currently unoccupied carwash when the laptop riding in the passenger seat chimed with the new message. Ignoring the computer for a few moments, he maneuvered the truck behind the empty stalls and into an area where islands of vacuum cleaners stood like robotic sentries guarding the empty lot.
Double-checking that he wasn’t visible from the main road, Chip then opened the small computer and began the sequence he had practiced a dozen times under Gabe’s watchful eye.
It took less than a minute for the course and coordinates to transfer into the G-2’s memory, another few seconds to open the electric cover, exposing the Gripen. A series of keystrokes later the electric motors began to spin the propellers with an insect-like hum.
And then the machine launched, shooting heavenward at a rapid pace.
Chip closed the truck’s bed, scanning around for any potential witnesses. It was chilly outside, the drop in temperature and the late hour making it unlikely anyone would be stopping in to wash a car.
His first instinct was to ease the pickup into the evening traffic, Gabe and he discussing the need to always keep moving if there were any chance someone had spied the launch or landing. But there was also the wisdom of staying put in a good hiding place. It was impossible to tell when or where the next workable concealment would be available.
Despite his survival instincts screaming to leave the scene of his “crime,” Chip decided to stay put and wait for the drone to return.
As soon as the G-2 was airborne, Gabe took over control from the command center. In reality, either Chip or he could pilot the drone, but the boss didn’t want to overwhelm the new employee.
The machine performed just like its older, slightly less-sophisticated sister, buzzing along at 250 feet toward the address that was now attracting a significant police response. Armed robbery was serious enough. An attempted homicide and escaping shooters meant that HPD would be pulling out all the stops.
Gabe switched to infrared immediately, the urban sprawl beneath the Gripen now displayed as glowing, fluorescent colors as the flying machine sped towards it destination. He sat back, happy for once that he wasn’t one of the men that had to respond and chase armed villains.
Officer Kirkpatrick was manning the fourth car on the scene, the ranking officer ordering him to move two blocks north and search the back side of a residential neighborhood.
It was a poorly lit area, one of those tracts of land that wasn’t wide enough to be developed, but was too small to accommodate swings, a slide and picnic tables. Parking his cruiser, Dole exited and began stomping through knee high weeds. The ground was littered with windblown trash and small piles of debris abandoned by the locals.
He made his way down a long row of privacy fences bordering one side of the unused property, hoping that the criminals hadn’t climbed the barrier and entered the backyards on the other side. If the crooks managed that neighborhood, it would be nearly impossible to root them out.
With his flashlight scanning the brush, grass, and occasional sapling, Kirkpatrick continued searching, weapon drawn and coiled for violence. “If I were trying to evade the cops, this is where I’d hide,” he whispered, pining for a K-9 unit to help him flush the crooks.
The Gripen arrived over the scene less than a minute later, pulling into a high hover directly over the just-robbed pharmacy. For the first time since JI had become operational, Gabe wasn’t sure where to focus the drone’s high-powered cameras.
There were a couple of police cars in front of the business, but no visible officers. Radio traffic confirmed that the thieves were no longer inside.
Ordering the Gripen to pivot, Gabe began studying the surrounding terrain, finding the expected mixture of homes and businesses filling the monitor’s display. He guessed the cops would be patrolling in their cars, circling the immediate area in search of the suspects. Until the radio or visual indicated they had put eyes on the wanted men, there really wasn’t much for the G-2 to record.
And then the bright, white, outline of a man with a gun came into view. A man on foot, walking along what appeared to be some sort of nature reserve. Gabe assumed it was a cop, the body language and posture giving no indication of flight. He ordered the Gripen closer for a better view.
Kenny and his brother had been playing in their backyard, waiting for their mom to come home after her shift at the grocery store. Having responsibility for his younger sibling was a big hassle for the 12-year- old boy, but a single, working mother didn’t have many after-school entertainment options for the struggling family.
When the two boys had heard the sirens, it had inspired a game of cops and robbers. Mom wouldn’t be home for a while, and Kenny knew his pesky, little brother was afraid of the woods at night. The older sibling wasted no time suggesting they move out of the yard and into the open area behind their home.
With toy guns in hand, the two boys squeezed through the loose boards that marked the boundary of their normal play space, neither giving much thought to how fuming mad their mother would be if they were caught leaving the property. In a way, sneaking off only served to raise the excitement of the clandestine endeavor.
Kenny, begrudgingly, had accepted the role of the robber. It was his turn to play the less desirable part in the childhood game, and besides, it was the only way he could convince his younger bro to exit the known confines of their yard and enter the scary world beyond the fence.
Moving off to hide and wait for his brother to flush him out and engage in the inevitable gunfight, the lad ambled his way down the privacy fence, thinking of a large bush up ahead that he was sure would disguise his location long enough to ambush and scare his little brother.
As he progressed, Kenny slowed his pace. It was dark, the trees and brush casting weird shadows from the ambient, city light surrounding the overgrown area. The boy remembered occasionally spotting homeless people wandering through the area, his mother actually calling the real police after finding one old man huddled in a makeshift tent near their back fence.
Those memories engaged automatic precautions, the pre-teen now making his footfalls with extreme caution, his ears perked for any sign of people or worse yet, animal predators that might be lurking nearby. He held out his gun, hoping the toy would spook anyone… or anything… that might jump out at him.
Gabe was having trouble getting a good angle on the roving cop, the combination of trees, buildings, and homes making a clear view of the ground difficult.
He inhaled sharply when he spotted the second image presented on the display. Another person with a gun was on a collision course with the cop. They were going to meet where the two fences formed a corner.
Switching quickly to the regular cameras, Gabe realized it had gotten very dark outside. He could see the policeman’s flashlight working the underbrush and weeds, the cop making his way slowly toward what would surely be a surprise encounter at the corner.
Gabe then ordered the G-2 back to infrared, finding the scene more clearly defined. He zoomed in on the other armed individual, his mind wondering who was going to win the inevitable shootout.
Something odd caught Gabe’s attention, the weapon held by the stalking suspect showing up a different color than the policeman’s drawn pistol.
That observation increased Gabe’s scrutiny, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he adjusted the Gripen’s sensors. Infrared still provided the most detailed view; the gun looked just plain weird.
It then occurred to him that the guy getting ready to run right into the cop was very small. Using the cedar privacy fence as a guide, Gabe took a haphazard measurement of the unknown person, and then moved the G-2 slightly in order to compare it to the height of the still advancing policeman.
The non-cop was either a midget or a child. Gabe’s logical mind immediately calculated the statistical probability of each option and assumed the person was probably very young. From there, his mind leapt to an assumption about the weapon directed at the officer. Its plastic surface would perfectly explain why this pistol appeared so different from the cop’s metal firearm in the infrared setting.
“Holy shit!” Gabe exclaimed, “That cop has no way of knowing that ‘firearm’ is a toy. It’s dark. Both figures are moving like they’re scared. That officer is going to kill that kid.”
For a brief moment, Gabe pined for some sort of speaker on his robot. If he could speak to the officer, he could warn him of the quickly approaching encounter. But the Gripen was mute by design.
Five steps separated the two outlines on his monitor.
He considered buzzing the cop, distracting him in hope of avoiding an encounter that was sure to result in another child’s death. But that maneuver, in the dark, over unknown terrain, would be difficult at best. Would the cop pay any attention?
Four steps.
Gabe sat urgently trying to figure out a solution, watching in horror as the two human images on his screen continued toward the fence lines’ intersection, each second bringing them closer and closer together at the corner.
Three steps.
When both of their outlines filled his screen, Gabe was even more convinced the smaller figure was a kid. The movements matched, the body motions more juvenile than adult. And just like Jacob,
Gabe felt powerless to do anything.
Two steps.
The Gripen’s controller stopped breathing when the two shapes were mere feet apart, still unable to anticipate each other due to the tall planks of the fence. The cop clearly heard something, his pistol moving to point directly at the corner.
Gabe had a fleeting idea. “I could kamikaze the cop,” he suggested to the lonely control room. “I could ram the Gripen into his gun. I’d lose the drone, might even give the cops some hint as to who’s been spying on their asses, but I would save the kid.”
One step.
Kirkpatrick heard a twig snap, most likely due to someone’s footfall. The undergrowth was thicker here, saplings and thorny bushes making his sweep even slower than before. And now he was sure someone was lurking around the corner.
Not wanting to make himself an illuminated target, he switched off his flashlight and halted. There was another footfall… somebody was definitely around the corner.
He clicked off his safety, ready to drop the hammer if one of the crooks came into view.
Dole spied movement, the dim outline of a shape appearing just beyond where the fence switched direction. He flicked on his flashlight, the warning, “Police officer! Freeze!” forming in his throat. In the torch’s blink, he spotted the outline of the gun and the extended hand that was wielding it.
His trigger finger began to squeeze, his brain calculating where the target’s body would be in proportion to the weapon and arm, adjusting his own aim for a center-mass shot.
The officer felt the trigger break just as something slammed into his wrist. His weapon discharged, the bright muzzle flash and roar of the .40 caliber weapon illuminating the landscape.
His training called for a follow-on shot, but harsh bolts of pain throbbing through his limb made controlling his muscles difficult. Somebody screamed; the flashlight hit the ground, and there were blurs of movement throughout his confused field of vision.
It took a few moments before his stunned, aching arm would respond, another second before he got control of the flashlight’s beam. Assuming an armed criminal was surely taking aim at his chest, Dole pointed his torch where he’d spotted the offending weapon.