In the Still of the Night--The Supernaturals II

by David L. Golemon

  “Sorry,” he said as he gathered his folded bedding and stood as a few more of the inmates took notice. It was as if the men in the cell could smell blood in the air, and they wanted to witness where that blood was about to emerge from. Before Gabriel could stand up with his sheet, pillow, and blanket, the large hand came down on his shoulder and held him in place.

  “That beard reminds me of that sweet spot between my old lady’s legs,” said the brute with the goatee and the piercings throughout his facial area. Gabriel knew he should have shaved his beard.

  “Yeah, and if you ever want to see that old lady again, I suggest you start stepping, my fat, bearded, and very artfully colored friend.”

  The large man and his cronies turned, and Gabriel caught sight of the second-largest man he had seen that day. Former Pennsylvania police detective Damian Jackson stood looking at the assembled inmates, and Gabriel held his breath. As big as Jackson was, he was still graying in the hair area, and this was not one but many larger men confronting him.

  “That right, Buckwheat?” the man said as he faced the smaller Jackson.

  Damian looked down at Kennedy, and a smirk etched his lips. “Did you hear that? I believe that was a blatant black-a-phobia-style racist statement.”

  “Black-a-what?” the large biker said as even more interested parties joined the growing circle of fandom.

  “Is this big, ugly pile of shit bothering you, Doc?”

  “Uh, no, not really, at least not yet,” Kennedy said as he studied his exit strategy. There was none.

  “You’re either awfully stupid or crazy. Can you count, Buckwheat?”

  “Can you?” Damian countered.

  The large men looked behind Jackson and saw at least five other black men and six angry-looking Mexicans. The man could count. With his three bikers in tow, they were quite outnumbered and in a bad spot for defensive purposes being in a corner. Gabriel hoped they went on the attack and didn’t go to a fallback position, which of course would be right on top of him. The large biker examined the man confronting him and decided he spoke from the position of power. The eyes went from the missing fingers on Damian’s left hand as it curled into a large fist and then to the fierceness in his brown eyes. The decision was quickly reached.

  “We’ll talk later, Buckwheat,” he said as he sidestepped Jackson and his gang and moved off with his own group.

  Damian looked back and then tossed the largest man of the black group behind him a wadded-up bill. Then he did the same with the leader of the Mexicans. Each unwadded the offering, and Gabriel saw the hundred-dollar bills Damian had just paid. He shook his head as the men moved off. Damian stood over Gabriel and then shook his head.

  “Mind if I sit on your bed?” he asked as he sat anyway. “You owe me two hundred dollars.”

  “How in the hell did you get that money in here?” Kennedy asked as he slid over on the unmade bunk.

  “You don’t want to know, Doc.”

  “Oh.”

  “Not even five minutes and you almost get yourself raped and murdered by Los Angeles citizenry. Has to be some kinda record.”

  “And I thought you made a nice group of friends, winning them over with your sparkling personality.”

  Damian looked at Kennedy and smiled. “If someone in this joint finds out I was a state police officer, no amount of money in the world would get us out of that trouble. So, here we sit, the final act in your little morality play.”

  “I had no idea you were arrested before the judge told me this morning. You’re the cop here,” he said in a low tone. “I thought you could evade justice until this thing blew over.”

  “It was a private detective with the summons that got me. I was in a bar up in San Francisco.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t smell a private detective, even in a bar.”

  “Yeah, well, you should have seen the legs on this detective.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, someone did their homework. They knows my weakness, Master Gabriel. It’s always the womenfolk that bring me down,” he said mockingly in his slave impersonation. “So, what now? It’s only a matter of time until the rest are rounded up.” Damian looked away and then back at Kennedy. “Doc, you can’t protect the group anymore. We’re grown-ups. If they think that we defrauded the networks, they won’t rest until they get us all. You throwing yourself on your sword isn’t going to stop them. Although a noble act some of us would love to see, it’s one that won’t help in the end.”

  “I never thought we would get into trouble by telling people the truth. It’s my fault for outing those production companies the way I did. It was my morals and holier-than-thou attitude that got us here.”

  “Well, we all turned down the extra money in lieu of the truth, Doc, so we’re all cursed with that particular and distasteful moral dilemma.” Damian looked around him and then at his orange jumpsuit. He took a deep breath and then glanced at Gabriel. “I’ll tell you, though, the money is looking pretty damn good right about now.”

  Kennedy sniffed, and then he got a crooked grin on his lips. “Yeah, orange isn’t exactly your color, is it?”

  Damian ignored the dig and stood and looked out over the vastness of the cell and its captured humanity. He turned and faced the professor.

  “The others?”

  “Kelly was caught in San Antonio at her cousin’s house. The others, though, are still hiding.”

  “Would it be enough if we three took the blame? Would they let the others off?” Damian asked with hope.

  “We pissed off some pretty powerful people in this city. And you know who runs this city, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s like going after Wall Street in New York—it just isn’t going to happen.”

  “Exactly,” Kennedy agreed.

  “Well, I do know they’ll have a hard time finding the rest. They’re a little better at hiding than we are. The smartest man in the world with a computer? They’ll never even get a whiff of that little gangster Sickles. He’ll know before the arresting officers that they are coming. Unless he does something stupid,” Jackson added.

  They heard the cell doors open again, and several other inmates were herded inside. Gabriel sat silently as Damian glanced over at the new prisoners. His face fell as he saw the third man in line.

  “I take that back. I guess he isn’t as smart as I thought he was.”

  Gabriel looked up and then had to stand. His face, just as Damian’s had, fell as he saw the small black man as his leg restraints were removed. They watched as he greeted several men he had known in his past life and had grown up with; they were all Crips from his old neighborhood. He saw Jackson and Kennedy staring at him, and he waved as if he were nothing but a visitor saying hi. Kennedy rolled his eyes and then sat hard onto the bunk.

  “My brothers!” Leonard said as he slapped the palm of the large ex-cop. He held up his hand to Gabriel, but Kennedy didn’t move an inch to greet him.

  “Didn’t I tell you to disappear?”

  Leonard looked hurt and taken back. He adjusted the collar of his new orange jumpsuit and then gave Gabriel a tough look.

  “I get arrested trying to get this big-ass motherfucker out of jail, and then here I am. How did I know they had tracers on their computer system?”

  “Tracers?” Damian asked as he also sat on the bunk.

  Leonard looked at the large man and then shook his head. “They set a trap for me is what they did. I never thought the LAPD and the sheriffs were that damn smart.”

  “It’s because of punks like you that they had to get smart, dumbass.”

  “Oh, is that it?” Sickles said as he rolled his eyes at the former Pennsylvania detective.

  “Wait … wait a minute.” Gabriel stood and faced Leonard. “You’re only here for contempt of court, right?”

  Leonard saw the empty space on the bunk, tossed his own bedding down and then sat. He used Kennedy’s pillow and placed it against the wall and then laid back with his tiny feet dangl
ing from the bed. “Uh, yeah, man, contempt.”

  “Leonard?” Gabriel insisted far more angrily than he wanted. He felt responsible for the twenty-seven-year-old genius and knew he had gotten the boy into serious trouble.

  Leonard sat up and then rubbed his hands over his face. “Okay, contempt and attempted break-in of a secured governmental computer system.”

  “What are the charges, Leonard?” Gabriel persisted.

  “You tried to get us out by hacking the county court system, didn’t you?” Damian asked, and not too kindly.

  “Uh, no.” Leonard stood and then faced both men. “I didn’t try to get you out of here.”

  “Thank God,” Damian said. “They’d throw away the key on that one.”

  “I hacked the judge and the law firm of the networks and the county sheriff’s office. I was going to get all charges dropped for lack of evidence.”

  “So, you hacked them and got caught. That’s not like you,” Kennedy said as he faced the small black computer genius.

  “I was stupid. I thought there was no one smarter than me and overlooked the obvious. They knew from my background that I would be coming.”

  Damian watched as Leonard hung his head and then placed one sandaled foot over the other and then shuffled again as he lay on the bed.

  “Oh, shit, what else?” the large black man asked, looking down on the diminutive prodigy.

  “Uh, I drained the bank accounts of the law firm the networks hired.” He looked up and gave them both a false smile. “I thought it would be a kick, you know?”

  “Shit, computer fraud, embezzlement, corruption of the county computer system for criminal gain, and harassment,” Kennedy said.

  “Don’t forget contempt of court, which would have just cost you a few weeks. Now you’re looking at least twenty-five years,” Jackson said, slamming his hand down on his own thigh, making Leonard jump.

  The three men were silent as they stood and sat around in the loud cell. Finally, Gabriel sat and then slapped Leonard on his leg as he sat next to him.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Gabe. I know I am a major screwup, but I thought I was helping.” Sickles’s pain was similar to Kennedy’s when he was disappointed in the prodigy he’d saved from the very gangs that had taken the life of his brother and several cousins. If it weren’t for Kennedy giving the young criminal psych evaluations when he was involved in the gangs while he was the chair of the Psych Department at USC, he would have gone down the same road and ended up like all other members of the gang—dead. He owed the man everything, and now he had disappointed him again.

  “Well, Leonard, what did you do with the money you embezzled from the law firm?” Kennedy asked.

  Sickles smiled and then sat up and leaned over to make sure they heard.

  “You mean the six-point-seven-five million dollars I discovered in the Cayman Islands? That money that was illegally sent abroad for tax evasion purposes? That money?”

  “Yes, that money,” Gabriel said in exasperation.

  “Let’s just say the seventeen boys’ clubs in the Los Angeles area and the thirty-five youth baseball leagues within the city limits won’t be seeking donations for a while. And the great thing about all of it is the fact that I confessed to stealing only ten thousand dollars, which I promised to pay back, of course.”

  “And the crooked attorneys can’t argue the amount, now can they?” Damian said with a growing smile.

  “I wouldn’t think so,” Leonard answered with his own smile.

  The three men drew looks from the ruffians in the large cell block when they all laughed as they sat on the bunk.

  You found the strangest people in jail these days.

  ATLANTIC CITY, NEW JERSEY

  All six sets of eyes watched the dark-haired man who looked as if he had lost his razor along with the rest of his toiletries. The scrub of beard was sparse in places, and his odor was none too pleasing. The bloodred whites of his eyes told the watchers that this man had not slept in quite some time. He was small in stature and had a sadness to him that made his companions somewhat apprehensive. But now they were more interested in his prowess at cards—Texas Hold ’em in particular. The man had started out losing at least ten thousand, and now as his pile of chips was examined, they could see he had earned back five times that. The men exchanged looks of suspicion. When these men suspected they were being taken, someone was in trouble.

  George Cordero looked at his two hole cards as his other senses became aware that his fellow poker players were starting to suspect they were being taken for a ride. Their thoughts came to him in jumbled waves of anger and frustration at not being able to find out how this small Mexican was taking them. He thought about turning over the seven and ten of spades and dropping out of the hand. He smiled inwardly and thought, But what would the fun in that be?

  George looked at the four cards sitting on the table in front of the house-supplied dealer. He saw the seven of hearts and the two fours, one each of diamonds and clubs. So, he had two small pairs. But the rather large Italian gentleman across the way had looked to be leaning into a third four, or did he have a pair of aces? George smiled and hesitated when the other four players dropped out one by one when the Italian man’s bet skyrocketed to $10,000.

  “Let’s see how brave you are now, my friend.”

  George smiled and looked closely at the rotund man in the nice suit. His eyes went to his own wrinkled and filthy white jacket and shirt. His eyes went to the man again, and he concentrated. He saw into his mind. He saw how his equally rotund wife spoke to the man when at home. She was a cowed and silent woman who feared her husband’s wrath. His kids, three in all, despised their father. His feeling was that this man was not very well received as a father. George was getting ready to turn over his cards and cry uncle when another vision filled his mind—the man silently slipping into the room of his daughter. As he watched the man creep into the bedroom, he saw a door close, blocking his view. He could mentally get past this roadblock, but knew what he would see. Before the door closed on him, he heard the soft voice of the man’s daughter as she whimpered and said, “No, Daddy.”

  George allowed his right hand to hover over his hole cards, and then the man across the way smirked as he saw hesitation in Cordero’s actions. He exchanged looks with his fellow players who weren’t very pleased with the smile that slowly crossed the Mexican’s lips. The Italian gentleman lost his own smile when Cordero pulled his hand away from his cards and instead went to his pile of chips.

  “How much do you have there?” he asked the fat man in the nice suit.

  “Twenty-five thousand, give or take.”

  George counted his chips. With a smile, he pushed all his chips to the center of the table. He smiled broadly and looked to the man he now knew was a pedophile of his own twelve-year-old daughter. If this didn’t meet the requirement for murder, or in his case, suicide by mobster, nothing would.

  “I’m all in.”

  The fat man lost all semblance of composure at the brazen call. He reluctantly turned over his two hole cards, and George allowed the smile to grow as he turned his own over.

  George then flipped his four cards over. “Fours and sevens.” George, just to rub it in, looked pointedly at the man’s cards. “And you have, oh, nothing.”

  “Another bluff call?” one of the men observing said loudly. “That’s just a little too much.”

  “I would say that myself.” The fat man stood so suddenly that the chair he was sitting in fell backward.

  The other men slowly stood as George slid his winnings toward him. He stopped when he saw the angry looks surrounding him. He looked up and raised his brows. He was now expecting the bullet that would end his miserable life. Just in case it wasn’t enough of a push, he decided to ask for that bullet.

  “Oh,” he said and then tossed a black $1,000 chip toward the fat man, who was busy glaring at him. “That’s for the therapy you seriously need to get.”

  All six men plus
the dealer stood and backed away from the table. They were confused as to just what in the hell that statement was supposed to mean.

  George collected his chips and then slid them over to the dealer, who made no move to cash him out of the game. He suspected Cordero was about to be cashed out, but not in the way the winner was expecting. Cordero let out a breath and then sat as he realized these men were what he had suspected all along, very sore losers that would accomplish the thing he longed for—to kill him. His power of mind deduction had finally driven George Cordero to the edge. He didn’t want to see the new day when the sun came up.

  Again, the smile as he leaned back and relaxed. His next move was to force the fat, balding mobster into action. He had been searching for something to use all night against one of the ruthless punks he had chosen for his self-destruction.

  “Yes, therapy,” George said as he looked from man to man. “Did you know that this man sneaks into his twelve-year-old daughter’s room several nights a week?”

  The other men moved their eyes from George to the man who had suddenly gone white-faced.

  “Now I know who you are!” a small, well-dressed man said as he took a step back as if George had the plague. “You’re that psychic guy from that Halloween spook show a few years ago. I thought you looked familiar.”

  The other men saw that the large man regained his color as his anger replaced the shock.

  “A known liar and cheat!” the man said overly loudly as the others were torn between their friend and Cordero, who sat with that creepy smile on his face. “Now we know how he cheated us at cards!”

  “Fake, cheat, liar—I’ve been called all of those, but I have never once been labeled a pedophile, my friend.”

  “This man is nuts,” the fat man said as his eyes finally left the psychic and went to those other now-accusing eyes staring at him. The fat man made a quick movement toward his chair, where he reached for something in the pocket of his coat, which was hanging on the chair’s back. George closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable conclusion to his story of hating who and what he was. The gun was pulled.