[Sign Behind the Crime 01.0] Gemini

by Ronnie Allen

The sheriff intervened. “Doc needs a translator.”

  John was perturbed and not afraid to show it. “I got the gist. Lieutenant, I’m not a cop. Use me.”

  John understood what they were thinking and they were right. But going against protocol had never intimidated him. They wanted to end this, too. Peacefully. They all understood that the repercussions of this could be deadly if John messed up. The legalities alone would destroy all of their careers. After a long minute, the sheriff signaled to Randy, and the lieutenant handed John the phone.

  “Mr. Dunn. This is Dr. Trenton. Okay if I call you that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Ain’t dey tell you nuttin’?”

  Dunn wasn’t that much different from his patients. “I want to hear it from you.”

  “It’s y’all fault.”

  “What is?”

  “Denise left ’cause a you.”

  “How about you come out and we talk about it?”

  “No way, Doc. Dey’ll blow me away out dere.”

  John put the phone on mute and addressed Mark and Randy. “That’s good. He’s not prepared to die. That’s something.”

  Mark acknowledged with a nod. He transmitted the gear up signal to the kid.

  John watched him with surprise. The kid got his gear on. The vest, helmet, fingerless gloves, mic, earwig. “That kid’s the sharpshooter?”

  “Yup. Why? What’s the problem?”

  The shooter readied his FNP90 assault rifle. He checked the wind, temperature, and humidity. It was humid, but no wind, not even over five hundred yards away at the trailer. It was all part of the job. John nodded. Definitely. The mental part took precedence over the mere pulling of the trigger. The kid sniper surveyed the area for the best vantage point and found it.

  John stared at Mark and then at the kid sniper. The sniper had found a large steady branch on an oak tree that protruded out toward the trailer, twenty feet in the air, with just enough leaves to camouflage him, but not hamper his vision or aim. He climbed up, grabbing onto branches and stepping on nodules in the tree trunk, with his rifle behind his back on a shoulder harness. He reached the branch and straddled it. His only obstacle was the bird’s nest he had to dislodge. He didn’t look as it tumbled to the ground. He had his priorities straight.

  John nodded again in approval. The kid looked ready. Appropriate gear. Appropriate stance. He did what John expected him to do, expertly. What threw John was his age. The kid didn’t look old enough to have completed even one tour of duty. The snipers John had worked with had been in Special Forces. Could he trust this kid to shoot the target and not him from over five hundred feet away? He hadn’t a clue.

  For Ricky, he would risk it.

  “Mr. Dunn. What do you want me to do to help you?”

  Vicki pulled up in her jeep and parked behind John’s. They were too preoccupied to notice her.

  “Git in here.”

  “I will. But first you have to do something for me.”

  “You’re not going in there, John. Don’t even think about it.”

  Mark received a nasty glare in return. John didn’t appreciate any interruptions to the process.

  “What’ya want?”

  “Let Ricky go. He doesn’t have to see his dad so upset.”

  “Ain’t doin’ dat, Doc.”

  “We met your demand. Now you have to meet one of ours. I came in good faith, Mr. Dunn. I came as soon as I was called.”

  “Why should ah?”

  Instead of bantering back and forth about what the police wanted, John put it on him. “Because I think you have some feelings for your son.” Some feelings? Better than saying he loved him, which was the farthest from the truth. “That’s why you’re doing this.”

  “Den you come in?”

  “Yes.” John fought the team with his eyes.

  Mark received the signature look, but retaliated with one equally intimidating. Mark was the commander. His team. His decisions. No New York outsider was going to take over, even if he might be family one day. John interpreted that message clearly. It was understandable.

  Ricky appeared on the top step, wobbling, startled, and crying, standing with his little body frozen, almost catatonic, at the trailer door, staring at all the cops pointing guns in his direction.

  Vicki ran out of cover and crouched down to coax him over. “Ricky, come here. Come to me, sweetheart.”

  Ricky looked around and, after recognizing her voice, ran down the three steps, behind the police cars, and into her arms. She looked at John and her father. John waved at her to take Ricky into the car. She complied without hesitation.

  “Can’t let you in, Doc. It’s not an option!”

  Seeing Ricky crying out of control in Vicki’s arms pushed John to the limit. “Got to. I can handle it. Just suit me up.”

  “No!”

  “Listen, Mark. He’s only five years old. Amanda’s age.”

  “He’s out safe. I couldn’t care less about the others.”

  “His grandparents are in there, too. Who’s going to take care of him? Look, I can handle this. I’ve done it before. If a cop approaches, he’ll kill the grandmother. Listen to me, Mark. I’ve been doing hostage negotiations for over eight years in worse situations. I even teach it in a master’s program. I know what I’m doing.”

  After a nod from the sheriff, Mark yielded. John dressed in a full vest like the one Randy wore with a mic and earwig.

  “Give me a pair of cuffs.” They handed him a pair of metal cuffs and he put them in the pocket of his sweats. “Mr. Dunn, I’m coming in and, I must tell you, I’m not armed.” He still hadn’t moved past the truck.

  “Y’all shitten me!”

  “No, I’m not. Keep the door open.” John signaled to the kid sniper. “If I move to the right, you’ll have a clear shot. But give me a chance first.”

  The kid with the assault rifle in the tree acknowledged John with a serious nod.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Mark said, referring to the sniper. “He’s not human. He’s a machine. One shot right below the ear or in the cheek, Dunn’s a goner.”

  John closed his eyes for a moment at the dismal thought and Mark’s metaphor, but then he pulled himself together. He walked, taking one-step at a time, pausing after a few, with his arms extended out. He made the five-hundred-yard walk take about fifteen minutes. He wanted the man inside to sweat it out. He wanted him to become so nervous he would be easier to take down. All John knew about him was that he was twenty-one and a user. He knew nothing about his size, strength, or fighting ability. It was not nearly enough.

  John would risk it all for Ricky.

  The door opened. Mr. Dunn was a scrawny, tattooed, five-foot-ten-inches tall kid, holding an assault rifle pointed at him. Every inch of skin, from his neck down, was detailed with dragons, skeletons, bats flying coming right out at the person staring at them, cemetery plots—all gory and unattractive, with red and black being the primary colors. His clothes were tattered, his tank top filthy, and the waist on his oversized trousers hung below his butt, revealing very soiled briefs. His curly straggly blond hair covered his eyes and shoulders.

  John’s strategies cajoled, not agitated, so he didn’t demand. “Come on,” he coaxed. “Put the rifle down.”

  Dunn blinked his eyes and squinted. John guessed having someone approach him in a mature way threw him. He stood his ground. “No. Ah ain’t.”

  “Put the rifle down.”

  “No! Ah ain’t. Git in here.”

  “Not till you put the rifle down.”

  “No! Ah ain’t.” Dunn’s voice became louder.

  John’s slowed speech demonstrated that he was in control. He knew the procedure of three repetitions and then action, but he extended it for a fourth attempt. “The--door--stays--open--until--you--put--the--rifle--down.”

  After Dunn realized John wasn’t budging, he began to lower the rifle, but John wasn’t taking any chances. In a s
wift Tae Kwon Do move, Naranhi Sogi, with his feet pointed forward, shoulders’ width apart, and his arms slightly bent with clenched fists just under the navel. he disarmed Dunn, kicking the rifle out of his hand, flipped him over, hand cuffed him, and yelled for the others to leave. It went down in less than two minutes. Mutual goals achieved. No shots fired.

  Denise and her parents ran for their lives out the door and down the three steps. The team rushed in and John handed Dunn over to Mark.

  As he walked over to the car, he wanted to dig it into the sheriff more. “I forgot to mention I also hold a Third Degree Black Belt.”

  “You’re--not--marrying--my daughter.”

  As John stood by the open passenger door of Vicki’s car, a white Jeep Liberty, Ricky launched himself at John and wrapped his arms around his neck, crying. Vicki, her father, and John melted. Ricky and John looked into each other’s eyes, left eye to left eye. That eye position created their connection, for life. Ricky and John became one and their energy fields intertwined. Something in John awakened. It was a feeling that filled a void. It was a feeling he thought he never had time for--the paternal one. At this moment, John wanted Ricky as his own, even knowing this wasn’t feasible.

  John hugged him and kissed him on top of his head. “It’s all right, Ricky. No one will hurt you anymore.”

  “I want to live with you and Miss Marin.”

  “Miss Marin and I don’t live together. We just met.”

  Ricky was disappointed. “I thought you were married.”

  The sheriff let out a deep breath and shook his head.

  “No. We’re not. But you have your mommy.”

  “My mommy hurts me, too.”

  John stiffened so did the sheriff. “What about Grandma and Grandpa?”

  “They’re nice to me.”

  John removed Ricky’s arms from around his neck and placed him back onto the seat. “You stay with Vicki and Sheriff Marin.”

  ***

  John sprinted to the area where Ricky’s mom and her parents gave verbal reports. He was steamed. He grabbed the mother, who was smoking a cigarette, by her arm, pulled the cigarette out of her mouth, and tossed it to the ground. “You’re under arrest for child endangerment and aggravated child abuse. And that’s for starters.”

  The cops paid attention fast.

  “What did that little bastard tell you?”

  “Take them both to the precinct and I’ll meet you there.”

  “John, you don’t have to. You did great in there.”

  “Yes, Mark I do. Where am I going?”

  “EOC, Lardo. Emergency ops center.”

  “Let Ricky’s grandparents take him inside and find out if they can keep him.”

  Ricky’s grandparents took him inside the trailer.

  Vicki cried by her car. “I feel so badly for him.”

  “I know. No child should live like this and I wanted to keep you from this. You’ve got to listen. You’re not trained for this. I am.”

  “But you’re not even armed and I am.”

  “You carry all the time?”

  “Yes, she does,” the sheriff said. “Now get in the car, I’ll direct you there, John, and you, Vicki, go home.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Present Day:

  Clancy double-parked his van across the street from Reynolds Publishing at the beginning of the rush hour. He moved back to let a truck driver creep out. After taking the spot, he removed his equipment from his knapsack. First, a Nikon digital camera he placed on the passenger seat. Next the Fujifilm Finepix. “Thank you, Barbara, for financing my new life. This is the best 5000 bucks you ever spent.”

  Professionally dressed people exited the office buildings at the sound of the 4:30 p.m. bell, eager to begin their three day, President’s Day weekend. The crowds, traffic noise, and impending winter darkness complicated things for Clancy, as he wanted clarity to accomplish the next step of their plan. Light was his main concern. He always visualized the light like a camera, not like the human eye. He adjusted the Nikon’s lens for the environmental light. The streetlights casted unwelcomed shadows and glare. He’d have to eliminate them. He struggled to make the contrast ranges perfect, as his editing software could not fix a mistake. The look he aspired to achieve demanded perfection if they were to con Morgan.

  Clancy needed Morgan without any extraneous features. Just Morgan, moving, down to his minutest facial expressions, so the real Morgan would be scared stiff by seeing himself.

  Morgan, two men Clancy didn’t recognize, Steve, and Carol whom Clancy had seen in photos with his target--all dressed to the hilt of Park Avenue fashion--exited the building. Clancy commenced filming immediately. The men, much larger than Reynolds, appeared to be bodyguards. They walked toward a limo parked in front of the building.

  A large truck and black and yellow taxi impeded the view. Clancy, unnoticed, zoomed in closer in between the vehicles. He carefully framed the scene to eliminate any parts of the driver’s side window of his van.

  “I can tell you liked my little gift. Well, there’s more where that came from. Come on, move over, just a little to the right. Your pictures in Money Magazine certainly do ya justice, ya bloke. But I need ya moving. Come on, Morgan. Don’t be so stiff. I can tell ya not a fan of the camera. And you won’t be a fan of life when I get through with ya.”

  As the driver opened the passenger door of the limo, Reynolds moved away from his guards and Clancy had a clear shot.

  “Ah, today is my jammy day.” Clancy muttered and fine-tuned the mike.

  “Stay home tonight, Mr. Reynolds. Nothing adventurous. Stay off the porn sites,” one of the guards ordered.

  Morgan shot him a glare.

  “Perfect, Morgan,” Clancy nasalized. “Perfect. An angry expression. Com’on, guard. Dig inta him more.”

  “Morgan, what’s with the look?” Steve demanded. “He’s right. Don’t need anyone tracking any questionable behavior now.”

  Morgan sighed. “I get it, Steve. Believe me, I get it.”

  “Questionable behavior?” Clancy whispered. “Morgan, you idiot. What are you into that Barbara and I can use against you?”

  “Just do what we say for once. Okay, Mr. Reynolds?” the guard asked.

  “Okay, I’ll stay home and veg in front of the TV. Want to know what time I’ll hit the sack, too?”

  “That’ll work for the record,” the second guard added.

  “It’ll be lights out around eleven. Have to be in early tomorrow for a meeting with a new writer. Some of us don’t take the three day weekend. That good enough for you?”

  “Very good,” the first guard replied.

  “Very good indeed,” Clancy agreed. “Expect an unwelcome visitor before eleven tonight Morgan. A very unwelcome visitor. A life changing visitor.” He was thrilled he’d captured what he needed.

  The guards ushered Morgan into the back seat, slammed the door, and hit the hood.

  ***

  John worked in his Sheepshead Medical Center office, organizing Barbara’s files and his additional notes into neat piles all over his desk.

  All right, forget Paul for a moment. What have I got here? Death to All Those Who Come Near Me. Stripper. Who does she know at Sheepshead? When was she a patient? Clancy, partner. That she confirmed. Unknowingly, but she confirmed it. Restrained, sexually abused as a child. Foster homes. Brain scan indicated murderer. What does she want from Reynolds? Why Reynolds, not someone else? Were there others?

  He sat for a moment staring at a blank sheet of paper.

  So it’s personal. Never found out why her father shot himself. Definite lie. Private investigator eighteen to twenty years ago. She killed the investigator. I’ll have to prove that. Makes her twenty-twenty-two. Start with Kellie Wilson as alias. Or is Barbara Montgomery the alias? Now Castor and Pollux. Castor and Pollux. Wait a minute. I know this. I definitely know this. And Max knew I knew this or he wouldn’t have said it. That’s right. Barbara is a Gemini, like me.

>   John focused his eyes on the paper.

  In Greek Mythology, Gemini is dominated by the twin brothers Castor and Pollux, two bright stars. Castor was killed in a battle and Pollux gave up his own life to join him, so their father Jupiter united them in the heavens. Castor killed, Pollux gave up his life. Father. Her father committed suicide. Maybe, maybe not. Gave up her life as a stripper to become psychologist? That’s a stretch. Could it be? So she’s a Gemini literally and figuratively. Max, far-fetched but possible, did Barbara kill her actual twin? Did she then assume her identity? Max, tell me! Now, Max!

  An affirmative bolt of energy permeated his body. His body swayed in his chair from the invisible force.

  Whoa, Thanks for the confirmation. I deducted as much. Now how in hell am I going to prove this? Damn! Paul will never believe this. Max, you’re not his favorite entity.

  All of a sudden, the ceiling lights went out in his office.

  Come on, Max. I’ll convince him. Turn the lights back on. I have work to do.

  After a few moments, the lights returned. John rubbed his forehead with his fingers.

  I’ll go to the precinct now and see what the guys found out about Reynolds. Then give Mrs. Bennett a call. She’ll see me tonight. She likes Barbara.

  ***

  In the conference room at the precinct, John, Carlson, Tony, and Sal had Reynolds’s files in triplicate between them.

  “Here’s the profile on Reynolds. Clean as a whistle. Nothing out of whack.”

  “Okay, Paul. How long has he had the company?”

  “He inherited it three months ago from his father, Jacob, who passed away.” Carlson looked through the file. Tony and Sal followed in their copy. “He’s had the publishing company since 1960,” Carlson continued. “Eighty-five when he died. The father first donated to Barbara’s clinic two years ago. This was the third.”

  “Yes. She told me she wrote a grant.”

  “Okay. Did she say what the donation was?” Tony asked.