Death List

By Edwin F. Becker

When incurable pedophiles are released into our society, does it give you comfort knowing where they live? That isif they bother to register. It is only circumstance that allows some dying senior citizens to realize they are exempt from the penalties associated with making the sex offender registry their Death List! Targeting the worst of the worst, they decide to make the world a bit safer for the children. In their rationale, even if they are caught, they will be dead before they are sentenced. This group of flawed, unhappy Baby Boomers, made up by a cast of very different characters decides that if the law itself is broken, then breaking the law does not apply. This is a very original story that incorporates many aspects that this gray generation is faced with, as well as their personal feelings, which transition as they bond in a common cause. Make no mistake, this is a violent book. No one is spared, as this heinous disease has spread to those in the most respected positions. The solution? Personal justice dealt out in large doses. Think about it. If a tiger was loose in your city, what kind of response would it bring from those in authority? Yet an incurable pedophile can be a multiple offender and living next door to you. The characters in this book are tired of watching the heinous crimes against children on the news. They realize they are immune from punishment, which for some offers a chance at redemption. This book also offers a glimpse of the world from the perspective of those that are a lost generation. Losing their jobs to younger workers and without insurance, stuck at an age where they are too young for government benefits, and recipients of the separation syndrome that has affected so many families. These are grandparents that refuse to accept that their grandchildren could become prey to these predators. Expect the unexpected, as they proceed with assistance and divine intervention. This book should make you cheer, laugh, think and even shed a tear. The first book marketing person that read this work, called me to say it was in chapter two that he went online to find the 15 sex offenders lived with a two mile radius of his home. I have two little girls! he told me. I hope it makes some people aware and more protective of their children. I hope it causes some to write or call these judges that put these incurables back into our society. Given the proliferation of these crimes, this book may contain the only possible solution and become prophetic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477224328

Edwin F. Becker

Edwin F. Becker was born in Chicago, Illinois, a Baby Boomer. Coming from an abusive broken home, he spent a number of elementary years in Maryville, a Catholic children's institution. There, he learned Latin and became an altar boy. He went on to become a professional musician and spent his later teen years traveling the states with an R&B Show band. He worked with the Byrds, Temptations, and Chicago, to name a few groups. During his travels he met and married his wife of 45 years. Entering college, he studied the emerging field of computers and eventually progressed to a programmer, systems analyst, telecommunications specialist, operations manager and finally to a VP of MIS for a major health care corporation. He assisted the Department of Defense in automating their procurement department in Philadelphia in the early 1980's. He became president of a software company that catered to the sales and development of health care inventory management. Suffering a near fatal heart attack, he retired to the Ozarks where he opened a collectible store for a number of years. He has been writing original stories for over two decades for pure enjoyment. He has two daughters that have given him four granddaughters which he considers God's ultimate gifts. His youngest daughter is involved with fostering abused children and rescuing animals, including horses. He has a son-in-law involved in law enforcement. His life experience and interests run the gamut. During his life, he has enjoyed boating, martial arts, ballistics, comics, guitars, motorcycles, religion, and the paranormal, to name a few personal interests. Today he resides in Branson, where he enjoys the year around activity and entertainment. He is very opinionated and many of his works contain a strong social subtext. Missouri, the “Show Me” state, seems an appropriate place to reside. His personal philosophy? “Leave everything and everyone better than you found them.”

Book preview

DEATH

LIST

Edwin F.      

Becker

ah1.jpg

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2012 by Edwin F. Becker. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 07/27/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-2434-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-2433-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-2432-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012911119

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

This book is dedicated to my wife, Marsha, who always encouraged my writing. To my son-in-law, Christopher, who convinced me this story must be shared, and to my daughter Katherine, my harshest critic and an endless source of inspiration and support.

Other Books by Edwin F. Becker

DeathWalker,

A Vampire’s Vengeance

DeathWalker II,

A Vampire’s Domain

Banished

A Demon, an Exorcist and a battle of faith.

13 Chilling Tales

A Trip Back in Time

True Haunting [nonfiction]

Come visit Edwin and his family at

www.EdwinBecker.com

Contents

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

About the Author

Introduction

This is a very violent book. It deals with a subject matter that has become a plague on our society… pedophilia. This condition has been proven incurable and has become out of control and ineptly handled by our failed judicial system. Innocent children have become the target of predators that seem to rotate through a revolving door, releasing them on an unsuspecting public, time and time again. Do you know how many predators are in your city? Do you even know how many are your neighborhood? This is a story of some terminally ill, disillusioned Baby Boomers that decide to take justice into their own hands. Personal justice becomes the vehicle to address an unsolvable problem and provide redemption, if only to leave this world a slightly better place. This flawed group, brought up in a culture of day’s gone by, regardless of their prejudices and religious differences, come together in a common goal. I hope this work generates thought. If any dangerous animal were loose in your city, it would make headline news and be hunted down with the utmost urgency and unlimited resource. Search your local sex offender list and realize how many of these dangerous animals are at large. Dig a bit deeper and realize how many are multiple offenders. Now rationalize releasing predators afflicted with an incurable compulsion of preying on innocent children on an unsuspecting public knowing they will only offend again. In our little city of 300,000, we have over 500 registered sex offenders. Our Chief of police estimates this represents only the half that are registered! All I know is that if they were wild deer, they would be removed rather quickly. Think about that. If your neighbor’s dog bites you, it is euthanized. Think about that. It was a heinous act that was on the local news that moved me as a father and grandfather to tears. It was those tears that inspired this work.

Chapter One

He sat, watching and waiting patiently, as a skilled predator would do. Like a lion watching a grazing herd of zebras, he focused on a group of children not a hundred yards away, on the opposite side of the park. As the sun began to set, he knew they would begin walking home, and like the lion that would wait for a single zebra to drift away from the herd, he waited for that one child that might not follow the crowd and go off in a different direction. Somewhere, a mother and father were unaware that this predator was stalking their innocent child. He sat inconspicuously on a bench pretending to read the paper, but all the while keeping track of the children, as he waited for his opportunity to arise.

He is a registered sex offender. He is one of more than 500 that live in the Springfield, Missouri area. He is attracted to young boys and has been arrested twice, serving nearly two years on charges plea-bargained down to sexual molestations. He has a parole officer he rarely sees and medication that he rarely takes. Like any skilled predator, he waits for the right moment to pounce. As these children begin to wander home, he only needs to follow one, and his instincts and illness will take over. His van is already in place near the soccer field where the children are playing. His eyes dart about, and no one seems to notice him—although he is aware of everything in his surroundings. His excitement is building because soon it will be time to make his move.

David H. Peterson is 27 years old. Blonde with blue eyes, he has the face of innocence. He moved to Springfield from Texas only six months earlier. He works at a local dollar store and had stopped taking his medication weeks ago. He had been molesting boys since his early teens. He fondled a boy in public swimming pool and was caught at age 17. It was plea-bargained down to sexual misconduct and he was free on probation. Working as a preschool attendant, he was caught again and convicted of multiple counts of child molestations and served 2 years of a five year sentence. He quickly relocated to Missouri. In reality, he had tainted the lives of a hundred children, and found it easy to get jobs that allowed him to do so. He truly did intend to try and make a clean start in Springfield, but without medication and supervision, his illness overwhelmed him. His urge is stronger than ever, and his plan is to take a child off the street. As a two time offender, he is aware that he could not leave even a shred of evidence. This child would not survive what David has planned.

He noticed an old man walking in his direction, slowly cutting across the park. He was likely the only one to take notice, as senior citizens are considered the ‘invisible generation.’ The old man had a cane and appeared to be breathing from a small oxygen tank attached to his chest, as there was a thin hose running up to his nose. The predator watched the old man, thinking ‘Come on you old fart, can you move any slower?’ The old man kept moving in his direction, lumbering across the field in a path that would cross directly in front of him. His eyes darted about, watching as daylight faded and the children began gathering their gear in preparation to leave. If the timing was right, the old man would pass him by and he would begin moving toward the children, picking his prey. ‘No one will take notice,’ he thought.

The old man moved slowly, but was also watching the predator out the corner of his eye. This was no ordinary senior citizen, as he was out to rid the world of one despicable human mistake. His name was Jack Blaine, and he was dying from lung cancer.

He too, was actually a predator. He knew his prey, as he had seen his picture on the registered sex offender website. The closer he got, the more he focused on his target and was now gasping from his oxygen tank. When he finally crossed in front of the bench, he stopped as if resting for a moment. The predator glanced up at him, disgusted. The old man looked him in the eyes and spoke softly. Today is not your day, David.

David looked surprised. Do I know you? he asked. He did not recognize this short, frail old man gasping for air.

No, David, but I know you, the old man answered. It was the last thing that David H. Peterson expected. Leaning on his cane, the old man put his hand in his pocket, raised the pocket to David’s chest level, and quickly fired 3 shots. The gun was a .22 caliber pistol loaded with long rifle, hollow-point bullets. The barrel had four inches of pipe insulation, which silenced the noise to barely 3 muffled pops. All three shots hit the center of David’s chest. He was dead instantly and slumped forward, dropping the newspaper. In Jack’s mind, it was as if everything moved in slow motion, when in reality it was only a few seconds.

Jack looked across the field as the children went on their way, and smiled as he kept walking. He could pick up the pace a bit now, as he was soon out of the park and walking to a strip mall where he had left his car. As he entered his car, as far as he knew, no one noticed a thing. He had committed a perfect crime. The first thing he reached for was his water bottle, as his mouth was parched. He sat there feeling relieved as well as having a strong feeling of accomplishment. He slowly pulled his car out onto the street and headed for the interstate, turning south to Branson, where he would meet his accomplice.

It was about a 25 minute drive and he had plenty of time to replay the event in his mind. He had stalked his victim and knew that David would be in that park at that exact time. Jack also knew that it was only a matter of time before another child was harmed. He felt no guilt, as he was truly taking out the garbage, in his reasoning. In retrospect, he could not believe how good it felt to pull the trigger. He was now on his way to Elmer’s, an out of the way pub in the old section in the city of Branson.

This was not the type of crime one might expect in this beautiful area of the Ozark Mountains, sometimes called the buckle of the Bible belt. This corner of southwest Missouri bragged more churches per square mile than anywhere else in the country. The largest city in the area was Springfield, which contains an ever-growing economy and a population that has made it the 3rd largest in the state. However, it also shelters one of the highest rates of sex offenders, one of the highest rates of spousal abuse, and more illegal meth labs than any other city. So much so, meth is referred to as 417 across the country, since 417 is area code for the Springfield/Branson area. This land of lakes and green mountains with its conservative Christian standards and a reputation for maintaining family values and honoring veterans, had a very ugly underside.

Joe Beck was sitting in Elmer’s, slumped in a booth, watching the television. It was near eight in the evening, and was a chilly October night. He anxiously waited for Jack, and together they would watch the nine o’clock news. Jack entered and slowly walked to the booth with the help of his cane. He was smiling.

Elmer’s was not the type of place that attracted tourists in this tourist-driven town. It is located in what is the oldest corner of the city proper. With few windows and an old beer sign, one might never guess they made some of the best pizza and sandwiches in the area. This was maybe the last place left that locals considered their own.

You had to adjust your eyes when walking into Elmer’s, as it was always dark. Immediately you were facing the bar with its regulars drinking beer from their chilled mugs while watching a cable channel. Beyond the bar were a few tables and comfortable booths that lined the walls. In the farthest corner booth sat Joe.

I guess this makes it one down? Jack said as he approached. Joe just smiled ear to ear.

You did it, you old fart! he blurted.

Yeah, it was exactly as we planned. It was clean; I don’t think a single person saw what happened. I guess we will watch the news and see. The best part is that I don’t give a shit. What are they going to do, give me the death penalty? Jack laughed, but soon began coughing. They both sat knowing that Jack had less than a year to live.

You okay? Joe asked as he popped a pain pill and washed it down with beer. They shared a common denominator, because Joe Beck was also dying and had less than a year to live; likely less than 6 months before he would be bed ridden, as a result of stomach cancer. They had met at a support group run by the local hospital. The purpose of the group was to share their feelings and learn to cope with the inevitable, as each member was dying. Jack and Joe each came from very different backgrounds and had led very different lives; only impending death had brought them together. Joe was divorced and worked in manufacturing as an engineer. Jack had an accounting background, had pushed paper most of his life, and was a widower. His wife died suddenly only a year before. Both were Baby Boomers and had moved to Branson in semi-retirement.

They became friends immediately, as they always seemed to agree on the sad state of this society. Their opinions were the same, whether it was on the criminal system with its revolving doors, the lying politicians, or the young people with no respect for authority. All of this made them both angry. They had exhibited clearly to the rest of the group that they not only didn’t fear dying, but that they almost looked forward to leaving what each considered to be a very screwed up world.

Jack was the last person one might expect to do such a deed. He was short, at 5' 6, and cancer had taken its toll on his weight. He was slight of build, pale, and near bald after recently failed chemotherapy. Joe, on the other hand, was 6 3", and built like a bull. He had refused any therapy and at this point, could still eat aside from the pain in his stomach, which would only get more intense over time. Joe still looked healthy at age 59, while Jack, at age 61, appeared 10 years older.

Joe reached out to shake Jack’s hand. You did it, you ballsy old shit! You did it! Joe leaned in towards Jack over the table, excited to hear the details. Now, I guess it’s my turn. Since there were no cops chasing you, I guess we can watch the news and see what the story is. Talk to me. How did it feel? Any last minute nerves? Jack proceeded to tell the specifics of what had happened.

It was strange. I was most worried about being noticed, or having something happen that would interrupt my plan, like people standing near him or whatever. Besides my mouth getting dry and my hand shaking a bit, I felt nothing but accomplishment when I reached my car. I can still see the look of surprise in his eyes as I shot him. That bastard was stalking those kids. He won’t be bothering kids anymore, that’s for sure, Jack stated proudly.

Man, you’ve got courage, no doubt about that! Joe stated emphatically.

Courage? Courage is something that a man who has nothing to lose can easily afford, Jack said softly.

*     *     *

Meanwhile, in Springfield, the police already had the area taped off as a crime scene. Moving amongst the uniforms was a young detective dressed smartly in a suit. Wayne Higdon was the best Springfield had, but far from what one might find in a seasoned urban detective. Not that he was unskilled, but Wayne was only experienced to the level of crime normally seen in his city. Higdon is tall and dark haired, his build is athletic and his broad smile disarming. He studied everything about the scene. His partner, Sam Watson, was ‘old-school’ and perplexed at the wave of crime that had converged on Springfield in the recent years.

Springfield was becoming urban and growing by leaps and bounds. With over six colleges (one being a major university) and two Springfield/Branson airports, Springfield, dubbed the Queen City of the Ozarks, has grown to a population of nearly 300,000 in a relatively short amount of time. Along with that growth came a tidal wave of new crimes. Sam was used to simple burglaries, where he canvassed the local pawn shops and quickly found his leads. Homicides were once only the result of domestic disputes or drunken arguments escalating out of hand. Now, the street gangs had moved in and were fighting for territory. Revenge killings, drive bys, and home invasions were all new occurrences. Random robberies have become rampant, as well as hate crimes involving race and sexual preference. At age 48, Sam was already thinking of early retirement.

Sam looked the part of a southern detective. His good old boy manner and retro short hair cut gave him the appearance of a farmer dressed up for Sunday service. Although the two were quite different, Sam regarded Wayne almost as a son. He also appreciated Wayne’s talent at using all the sophisticated techniques, becoming more and more necessary in solving crimes. Sam had a wealth of experience, but Wayne was the future, and together they made a good team.

After taking it all in, he hollered Hey boy, what do you think?

Wayne walked over, deep in thought. Sam, this is a real puzzle. The shooter stood right in front of the victim, not more than a few feet away. No ejected shells, like a gang hit, and it was a small caliber bullet. The victim either knew the shooter, or was not threatened, because he just sat there and made no struggle to move or get away. He has all his money, his wallet and his jewelry, so it wasn’t a robbery. We’ll wait for the autopsy, but it appears to be a small caliber gun, three shots to the heart… pretty much screams execution? Plus, no one heard anything. I suppose it’s possible the weapon was equipped with a silencer.

Sam immediately responded. Well, we got to find out who this guy really was. What was his background? Maybe this is a pissed off husband type thing… you know, a love triangle gone badly? He sure doesn’t look like any person one might take a contract out on. Anybody see anything?

Wayne scratched his head. Nothing seems unusual. Kids playing soccer at the other end of the field, this guy sitting and reading the paper, and possibly an old man was seen walking through here.

Sam sighed. Strange that he was reading the paper, as it was getting dark or already dark depending on the estimated time of death. Maybe we can find out if he was here to meet someone? Someone in his life may know who he was here to meet. I would keep a few officers canvassing. We should take this back to the office and start searching based on what we have so far.

Wayne agreed. I have the feeling that this will either be a quick solve, or we will really have a major puzzle and no in between.

As they moved toward the car, they had to weave their way through the cameras and local reporters doing their work. They knew to keep their heads down and to not make eye contact, or they would become besieged with flash bulbs and questions.

*     *     *

In Branson, Joe and Jack shared the experience as the News came on. Apparently, with no real facts, the media gave it an attractive spin.

A MAN IN HIS LATE TWENTIES WAS SHOT IN SUNSET PARK. HIS NAME IS BEING WITHHELD UNTIL NOTIFICATION OF HIS NEXT OF KIN. LIKELY THIS WAS A GANG-RELATED SHOOTING.

Joe and Jack sat back and just smiled. Jack asked "So? When do you officially join the club?"

Joe answered without hesitation. Tomorrow. My guy is an easy one. He works in northwest Springfield, near the airport. Almost every night he leaves work, eats at a fast food place, and then drives out to an adult pornography store. He usually spends a couple hours in there and then does who-knows-what. The store is off I-44, set back off the road, and the parking area is hidden in back, so people passing by can’t see the cars of people who frequent the place. If I’m lucky it will be dark when he comes out tomorrow, and I’ll get him when he gets in his car to leave.

It all began a month ago when they had sat in this same booth, watching the news about a 12 year old girl that had been raped and killed by her stepfather. Unfortunately, her new stepfather was a convicted pedophile. They both had shed a tear, because both were grandfathers and knew the pain of what a crime like that might bring. It was that very night Joe actually made a prophetic statement that would result in their actions. I should kill that son of a bitch! What could they possibly do? I’m a dead man anyway. After that comment, they both sat in deep thought, each knowing what the other was thinking. It made perfect sense. They were invulnerable to any legal repercussions.

Why the hell not? Jack asked. You are right. We could easily take a few of these scum bags out and likely die before they even figure out who did it. Shoot, I have a gun collection that would easily do the job. It was an amazing transformation that these two men, waiting for death, now suddenly had a reason and new purpose to live.

They quickly found that they could get a list of sex offenders on the web for each city in the state, complete with pictures and a detailed list of convictions. They found it shocking. Springfield had a list of over 500! Even Branson had a list of 35. They found it was only a few days of stalking to figure out where they worked, and following them after-hours proved, initially, that most of these people engage in routine lives with little exception. They decided that they would eliminate as many as they could with what little time each had left.

Tonight their plans became reality. They had eliminated one sex offender off the list. They knew who to go after because they could see the offender’s exact record. It was only logical that the offenders that had two convictions were likely the most dangerous. The reason being that with the three strike law, any sex offender with two convictions would likely escalate their crime to murder in order to avoid having any evidence that would allow them to be convicted a third time, which would result in getting life in prison. Statistically, the most violent sex crimes are committed by repeat convicted offenders. So it would be those repeat offenders that would become their targets.

Jack and Joe would sit and relive the event until after midnight before going home. Jack was driving to his empty condominium, and Joe was walking to his house only a few blocks away in the older part of Branson. Jack normally hated going home. His condo was the same as when his wife died, only a year ago. Nothing had been touched. If a sad reminder could also provide comfort, then this was his reason for leaving things as they were. At times, he could sit and picture his wife in the kitchen or sitting next to him watching television. Up to this very night, he had welcomed death. He had a son and two grandsons in California, and the last time he saw them was at his wife’s funeral. Though they talked frequently, he realized they had their own lives, and he never wanted to be a bother. They had no idea he was dying. Tonight was different, though. He entered his condo anxious to watch the next day’s news, and to plan his next execution.

Joe went home as usual. He was used to being alone and enjoyed it. He also had a son and a granddaughter. They too, were in another state and although Illinois was fairly close, they rarely visited. He also kept his illness to himself. He lived on a retirement check and until recently, worked part time as an usher at a local theater. It was his chronic heartburn that caused him to have his stomach scoped, only to learn he had an advanced stage of cancer. His retirement plan had discontinued his insurance years ago, and rather than going bankrupt grasping to what was a slim chance at life, he chose to accept what he believed to be inevitable, and only ask for medication to counter his escalating pain. Tonight, he had no pain. His thoughts were consumed with what he was about to do the next day. He went to sleep thinking of Jack, and how that little weak man mustered the courage and strength to get the job done. He only hoped he could do as well.

*     *     *

The next day was a beautiful, warm fall day in the Ozarks. Both detectives worked the previous night’s case in routine fashion. By noon they were comparing notes. Wayne walked over and sat on edge of Sam’s desk.

Well, our victim was a registered sex offender. This very well could be a revenge killing. I put out an alert for any cars with Texas plates. That’s where he was from and had served his time. I wonder if one of his victim’s family members decided to get even, Wayne thought aloud.

Sam just sat back. Well, it would not be the first time something like that happened. I know if he messed with my grandchildren, I’d sure want to kill him. So far, the discount store he worked at says he was ‘dependable and never a problem.’ His building manager says he was ‘quiet and paid his rent on time.’ I did call his folks in Texas and they seemed like they could have cared less about his death. I guess in south Texas they don’t cotton to child molesters. His folks don’t even want the body.

Wayne shook his head. I don’t blame them. I sent a few guys to his apartment and it was loaded with child pornography. This guy was a real freak. It would have been only a matter of time before we would have been chasing him. Sam, no one is above the law, but I’m all but closing the book on this one. I will call Texas and do the follow up on the whereabouts of the abused victims’ family members, but I don’t expect they announced their intentions to travel here and kill him. I can find out rather quickly if any of them were off work this week. Assuming nothing materializes, I’ll bag and file the ballistic report in case of any similar future crime.

Wayne is newly married and his wife is three months pregnant. Of all the crimes one might investigate, this was the most distasteful, in his mind. The very thought of bringing a child into this world where monsters like this can exist, was frightening. He knew that if anyone molested his child, he might be urged to do the same thing. Three shots to the heart was really letting him off too easy. As far as he was concerned, this case was history.

Sam stood up, rubbing his pot belly. Come on boy, let’s grab some lunch. Let the media run it as a random shooting or possible gang killing. I would skip giving them the whole pedophile thing. Anyhow, we have two convenient stores robbed last night and it’s likely it was the same guy. Let’s go find him. They have him on surveillance video, so we should be able to match him up with our database pretty quick unless he’s a first timer. Ah… let’s go eat. Wayne agreed. Sam shook his head. Guess I gotta go to this gang seminar. A big city guy is going to teach us about gangs and their markings and graffiti and all that crap. Maybe I’m just getting old, but are they idiots, these gang members? I mean, if I were going to a city to commit crimes, the last thing I would do is spray paint signs that say I’m there. Not only that, but here is where to look for me? Wayne nodded his head, chuckling in agreement. Sam continued. Then, from what we’ve seen, they can’t shoot worth a shit! I mean they spray bullets by the hundred, and most times they hit only innocent bystanders. They wear distinct colors so you can ID them… how smart can they be? This seminar is three damn hours.

Wayne laughed. "Sam, you will be surprised at how much you will use the information from this meeting. You are right, these aren’t the brightest bulbs in the pack, but what you will learn is their methods of operating. Plus, their numbers will astound you. These guys move here in packs and recruit like mad. They can easily double their size in weeks. They use minors to commit capital crimes so the adults can’t be touched. They may be a step above an idiot, but they are smart enough to dodge the law. I mean, look at the crimes already! Cars broken into by the dozens. Robberies are up on the north side by 200 percent! 200! All of a sudden, six new flavors of drugs are readily available. All right here, in our ‘little’ Bible Belt city."

Wayne and Sam went about their day normally. Neither expected that the biggest and most puzzling crime spree in Springfield would soon be thrown in their laps—and it was not the gangs.

*     *     *

It was near 3 P.M., and Joe was preparing to drive to Springfield. He chose a small gun from his collection, a .25 caliber semiautomatic. It was small enough that he could hide it in his huge hand, and quiet