text: Ron Feasel MORAL DILEMMA 
   
   
     
   MORAL DILEMMA 
                                                    By 
                                          REID JACKSON 
  PROLOGUE 
  Jack had taken a job as an associate detective with a reputable detective agency in San Francisco. After his injuries while on a secret mission for the Navy he quit and took his disability pension. He wouldn’t be content with a desk job. 
  During one of his assignments he became involved in a MORAL DILEMMA. This is that story. 
  CH. 1 THE UNHOLY PRIEST 
    He stalked the lady for two weeks. He was meticulous and methodical; and she was married without children. She resembled his whoring mother who had shamed and emasculated him. The world would be rid of such vermin. It would be the fourth victim in the cleansing. Today would be the climax of his psychotic thoughts. 
   She was structured and her activity was predictable. Her husband would be absent tonight; he was in a business meeting in Phoenix. The house was compromised with a bug he installed in their living room. The killer gathered information to fulfill the plan and his quest. He took the time and patience to do his victim. He had placed the bug in the house earlier; gathering his needed information. It was dusk and he was ready. 
  It was a quiet estate situated on five lovely acres in San Francisco; the house was magnificently built in the colonial style with rock facade and landscaping accentuating the peaceful tranquility. The evening was perfect as he drove up the driveway to fulfill his destiny. The excitement was building as the distance to the house was diminishing. He was dressed as a priest because the mission was blessed. He rang the door bell.  
  “Yes.” The intercom spoke. 
  “Is this Mrs. Templer?” 
  “Yes, how may I help you?” The intercom seemed impatient.  
  “Mrs. Clarisse Bergman sent me to visit you.” 
  “Oh, Clarisse sent you, certainly come in.”  The door answered with a joyful buzz. 
  The deceitful predator entered. He stood before Mrs. Templar looking saintly with his gentle smile and crisp uniform of a priest. She smiled back not realizing she had just let a monster into her home. The name Clarisse was extracted from the bug and expedited his entrance. “Clarisse asked that I visit you.” 
  “For what reason?” Robin had no idea why Clarisse sent a priest. 
  “She wanted you to have a gift.” 
  “That dear girl, what gift would she give me?” 
  “Heaven or hell!” 
  Robin froze at the remark and felt a deadly chill surge through her body. A sensation that felt like a dark covering enveloped her.  Something is terribly wrong here and I feel the evil. I need to do something, but what?  
  She knew she had to escape. “Can I get you something to drink?” 
  He grinned, his eyes signaling her last moments. Robin sprang for the door but then two hands gripped her neck jerking her backwards while closing her air passageway. She kicked and squirmed but it was useless as her life drained from his deadly grip. I’m going to die, oh God, help me, I’m not alone, what is this feeling that now holds me? I see a glow that is soft and warm, that comforts me. I must go to that warmth that fills my heart. I see a vague figure standing with open arms, he’s majestic with love surrounding me, caressing me. Who is this creature waiting for me? Could it be? 
  She had a pleasant smile; her face seemed to glow as he stared. He cut off her wedding finger then left a message on her forehead in virulent red lipstick. WHORING BITCH! 	 
                                                             
  The killer left the house as a car was coming in the driveway; a man exited the car and approached the priest. 
  	“Hello father.” 
  	“Good evening.” 
  	“Is Mrs. Hardesty home?” 
  	“Yes, can I be of help?” 
  	The man was looking into his soul as if he knew that he had just killed. “Would you give her this?” He was carrying a small portable cooler. He withdrew a .22 Ruger six shot and aimed it at the killer priest.  
  	“You’ve performed your last rites” 
  	The fake priest jerked at the sight of the pistol. “Wha---“`Pop` The bullet left a telltale hole in the middle of the forehead. The startled priest fell; he had strangled his last victim. 
                                                        
       Detective Sampson was talking with the CSI investigator. 
  	“This is weird.” 
  	“No shit.” The CSI investigator agreed. 
  	“The Unholy Priest committing his fourth killing then being shot as he was leaving.”The police were actively hunting for The Unholy Priest and the community had been alerted. 
  	“Damnest thing I’ve ever seen.” 
  	Detective Sampson was stymied at the double killing as he ran his hand through his curly black locks. “This killer had to know when, where, and the exact time of the serial killers attack on Mrs. Templar.” 
  	“It looks that way” Replied the CSI investigator. 
  	“Whoever shot the Unholy Priest knew him and shot him in the driveway. He must have known that Mrs. Hardesty had already been strangled. He shot him as he was leaving. It has the look of a vigilante killing. I’m going to run a check of serial killers on our database and find out if this mo has been used before.”  
    The scene was thoroughly cataloged and the bodies removed. Detective Sampson ran a check on all serial killers and found two other serial killers had been killed with an ice bullet. His theory was pointing to a vigilante killer. These other killings took place in Los Angeles and Tucson. 
                                    Someone is killing serial killers 
  CH. 2   FAST JACK        
    He was moving along smoothly as the wheels clicked over the separations in the sidewalk- tic-tic-tic. Jack was a striking figure in his wheelchair. A fit specimen in a  
  Wheelchair with a short crew cut dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt with odd stainless steel caps just below his knees adding to his total look of curiosity. His lower legs had been shot off. And the caps caught the attention of passerby’s. His upper body was muscular with his arms betraying his strength. He had a square jaw and was an attractive man topped with pure blonde hair. Judging from his arm length he would be six feet two and weigh two hundred and twenty pounds if he still had all of his legs. The smell of trash wafted casually stinging his olfactory senses. The shadows seized the deserted street in darker contrast to the moonlit night. 
    The two gang members had been watching Jack for a few minutes from the dark alley smoking their noxious weed, their exhaled smoke drifting out into the moon light. They noticed he was dressed as if he might have a bit of cash. Both were dressed in ganger type outfits and had the usual tattoos denoting their gang affiliation. They wore oversized colorful pro football jackets with baggy jeans hanging low on their buttocks. Tattoos’ were on their hands and necks. This was going to be easy, they thought, as they walked up to Jack. They crossed the street passing a car without tires sitting on the pavement, stripped of anything that made it a car. The wheels looked naked without the tires with the rims sitting on the pavement. 
    “Hey man, you get around in dat wheelchair man.” 
    Jack didn’t respond but just kept tic-tic-tic. “Hey man, I’s yakin at ya.” 
    “Fuck off, punks.”  Snapped Jack” 
    The two gangers looked at each other and grinned. “Hey bro we need some cash.” 
    Jack stopped his wheelchair and looked up at the two punks, “You boys better get home before you get hurt.”His eyes revealed his steady look of defiance. 
    “Youse a smart mouth muther for a dickhead.” 
    Then the larger of the two reached out to grab Jack with his left hand and his right hand produced a six inch switchblade. Jack was faster than Muhammad Ali thrusting a jab. He caught the punk’s left hand and twisted it back and down with his strength and rammed his fist into the punk’s face knocking him flat on his ass. The other Punk froze for a second at the speed of this homey in the wheelchair.   
    He then reached for his blade, but as he did Jack threw a three point Ninja star and stuck him in the forehead. The other one got off the ground bleeding from the mouth. The ganger pulled a gun from his hip, as his hand was swinging to get a shot, Jack thumped his elbow against his side, and a wrist gun strapped to his forearm snapped into Jack`s hand--- `kapow`. The wrist gun instantly stopped the assailant’s life forces and he dropped lifeless to the ground.  
  The quiet was deafening as Jack stared at the two on the ground. The blood was coloring the black pavement, a black pool of life exiting each man’s life.  
                                                           
   As the confrontation was happening a window watcher caught the action on a video camera. He was a video hobbyist who often would film the street from his apartment window. He kept an eye on the street always ready to film anything that happened. He happened to see the drama unfold and grabbed his camera off the window sill. He filmed the entire confrontation and then he called 911 and the local TV station.   
  The San Francisco Police Department (SFPD) arrived talking to Jack and the video man. 
  “We reviewed the video that the witness took; you definitely acted in self defense.” 
  “Had no choice officer.” 
  “You have a permit to carry a gun?” 
  “Yes sir.”  
    A local TV station aired the interview and video tape of the attempted mugging. 
  Morning News-(KJTV-(SAN FRANCISCO) 
     “This is KJTV speaking to Jack Frazzel who was attacked by two assailants in the video which he dispatched with lighting speed and deft maneuvers from his wheelchair. Mr. Frazzel you must have had training to react as quickly as you did and you used a Ninja type devise to thwart one of the assailants. What kind of training do you have?” As he thrust the microphone in his face. 
    “I’m an x-seal retired from the Navy.” 
    “It’s obvious the way you defended yourself. It was dangerous to take on two but you didn’t hesitate.” 
    “It was my training, I acted instinctively without thinking.” 
    “From the video it was evident they meant harm.” 
    “Yes, I had no choice.” 
    “As you can see, Jack Frazzel defended himself from certain harm. We are grateful for the witness who filmed this; this is Connie Brinks from KJTV from San Francisco. More news at seven. 
                                                     
  The interview closed, Ron Papasinsky was watching the telecast from his private detective office as he was finishing a case his agency had closed. He thought, that was impressive for a guy in a wheel chair; he was fast and methodical defending himself. I might have a job for him. Ron called the police and got Jacks phone number. Ron knew the police well as he had worked with them on several cases. Jack agreed to come by his detective agency. Angie his daughter asked when Jack was coming to the agency, 
                                   she was impressed watching the video. 
  CH. 3 BACK TO TOPEKA 
    The killer of The Unholy Priest returned home, he lived in Topeka, Kansas, he checked in at work. Captain Russell Brock saw Larry arrive. Larry was hard to miss. He was six foot five, lanky build, good looking, and had silvery brown hair that gave him a look of a distinguished judge or successful business CEO. Captain Brock made a snide remark, “there’s that lazy detective whose case load is off the charts.” 
    “No problem, I’m gonna retire soon.” 
    “I remember in high school you were retired then too.” 
    The two had known each other as kids. They both grew up in Oakland adjacent to the Kaw River. Then it was a peaceful area and kids did what kids did, no drugs or gangs, it was a good place to live. Captain Brock (Bud by nickname) and Larry were always bantering and still are. 
    Larry returned to his parent’s house, he lived there alone now, his parents passed on. He has a sister who lives in Oakland, married with a daughter and husband. The solitude at home forced him to recall. Damn serial killer, I wanted to get him before he killed that lady. I need to react a little faster after I have my vision. That makes three now. These damn killers are sprouting like weeds. I don’t like killing but I hate to think of the innocent victims. I must continue on. The FBI should be looking for me, by now they have a profile on me. I’m ready for plan B if they come sniffing around Topeka. 
    Larry has worked for the TPD for fifteen years. He started killing serial killers three years ago when the visions started again. He knew that eventually he’d be found out. He had prepared an escape plan if he needed to go into hiding. So far he killed three serial killers with the last killing of the Unholy Priest in San Francisco. He had no remorse breaking the law or killing these monsters; after all he figured he was saving innocent lives that would be the next victims. Larry had inherited a large sum of money he used to travel and locate these killers. 
   He would wait for his next vision. They came without warning and the visions seemed random. He had no clue why certain killers were in his vision. He knew he would have to act fast to stop these killers. He had one vision while he was driving; he had to pull off the road since the visions would impair his driving. 
    A policeman saw him driving erratically and pulled over and approached Larry in the middle of his vision. “You having a little trouble driving?” The policeman asked.  
    Larry was in a daze but he was conscious that the policeman had spoken. Larry rubbed his head as he tried to reply. “Yes, I’m having a terrific migraine.” The policeman was suspicious that he might be inebriated. Larry’s head snapped back as the vision left leaving him exhausted but almost normal. Larry focused on the blue uniform standing by his car. He reached into his pocket and grabbed his badge. “Sorry officer but these headaches are vicious that’s why I pulled over”. The officer’s attitude changed when the gold badge catching the Sun’s rays flashed in his eyes. “You ok?” 
    “Yes, thanks for checking me out.” The two exchanged chat since they were fellow employees of the Topeka Police Department. The policeman shifted his belt and told Larry that everything was ok and left. 
    Larry headed home and prepared to go to Arizona and take care of the killer in his vision. He called in telling the Captain that he was going to take some vacation time and be gone for a few days. Larry only used his vacation time to hunt his deadly prey. 
                                                                ¤¤¤ 
    The vision revealed a large lake. The killer was in a patrol boat of some kind with the name Lake Powell Patrol written on the side of the craft. He was following a medium sized yacht with two males and two females on board. 
    Larry always had two or three visions until the last one were the killer would do his deed. So far he received a sign or clue on each vision where the stalking occurred giving him time to find the killer and stop him. He googled Lake Powell and it had to be the lake in Arizona. 
    He rented a helicopter in Arizona after his arrival by plane. It was a Bell 412 with attached pontoons.  He found a picture of the killer on the internet since he was an employee of the Corp, of Engineers for Lake Powell as a patrolman. He also found out that three other missing females had disappeared on the lake in the last month.  
    It was easy to locate the killer. He ran a scheduled patrol every day during his work week. He simply followed the killer in his rented helicopter. It was nearing dusk as Larry was following the patrol boat. Larry flew at a safe distance to avoid alerting the killer. He had packed his swat gear he brought thinking in this rugged terrain he might need it. 
    Lake Powell had two thousand miles of shoreline with cliffs surrounding the lake with many side coves darting off the main body resembling jagged tentacles from the air. 
  The killer was following the same yacht in Larry’s vision.  
    The yacht pulled into a narrow channel that had grey smooth boulders on both sides extending several hundred feet straight up. Against the crystal clear water the huge boulders looked like giant marbles of different sizes stacked to the top with shades of different grey colors on each smooth boulder. The killer sped past the opening then turned the patrol boat around creating an arc of white water and slowed to a crawl. The yacht traveled a third of a mile and pulled to the side and dropped anchor. The yachters were spending the night.  
    It was dark now as the Sun had retired for another day. Larry had his night vision goggles on as he landed in the bird’s stealth mode. He was on the cliffs directly above the killer. Larry had a Remington 700 sniper rifle with a night vision scope. The killer was changing into a wet suit with scuba gear, he was determined this night. Larry needed to act quickly before the target was swallowed by the lake; he set up his rifle and loaded his ice bullet from his dry ice cooler. He aimed---thawp, a direct hit on the top of the killers head as he was preparing to dive. 
                                    Larry had saved another innocent life 
  CH. 4 THE INTERVIEW 
    Ron Papasinsky called Jack and he accepted the invitation. He was on time at the Cisco Detective Agency owned and operated by Ron Papasinsky.   
   “I’m here to see Mr. Papasinsky.” 
   “Go right in, he’s expecting you.” 
   “How do you know me?” 
   “Saw the video, you were fantastic.” 
   “Thanks, I had one eye shut too.” 
  The receptionist laughed and Jack entered the office, Ron stood up and shook Jack’s hand. The office was nicely organized with pictures on the wall of all the associate detectives. Ron greeted jack. He was a fit fifty five year old man with a pleasant demeanor. His eyes had that caring look as if you were the most important human on the planet.     “Glad you came.” 
  “No problem, what do have in mind?” 
  “As you can see I run a detective agency.”	 
  “Looks like a successful agency; you have a nice setup here.” The building was a new one story metal building with a full basement sixty feet by sixty. 
  “Been doing it for twenty years, I have three good associate detectives that helped make this business successful.” 
  “Is this about a job?” 
  “Yes, I saw your video on TV, and I was impressed.” 
  I was lucky.” 
  “I doubt that, you must have some kind of training?” 
  “Ex-seal-retired.” 
  “You’re too young to be retired, why didn’t you stay on?” 
  “Offered a desk job and I’m not cut out for that, so I took my disability.” 
    “I could use a man like you, I read from your history where you were a squad leader.” 
    “Yeah, I’ll miss those guys.” 
    “I think you would make an excellent detective.” 
    “Even with my disability?” 
    “I think your disability would be an advantage.” 
    “How’s that?” 
    “For surveillance you would not be suspect, plus with your seal training you would be perfect for the agency.” 
  	“Finally a man with some common sense.” 
  	“A handicap doesn’t necessarily mean a person can’t do a job, it depends on the person.” 
  	“I like your thinking Ron.” 
  	“I want you to meet someone.” Ron called Angie to the office. She was a beautiful blonde, well built, and carried herself with confidence. “Meet my assistant and top notch detective, Angela Papasinsky.” 
  	“Glad to meet you, is this your daughter?” 
  	“Yes.” 
  	As Jack shook her hand it felt strange and her grip was extremely firm.  “You have an unusually firm grip.” 
  	She grinned as she pulled off her latex fake covering over her right hand.  Underneath was a shiny stainless steel appendage that resembled a well engineered mechanical hand. Jack was mesmerized as he stared at her fascinating hand; it looked like the hand of the terminator in the movie. She wiggled her fingers and then reached and picked up a pen on the desk and wrote her name with the terminator hand. 
  	“Wow!” 
  	“This hand is flexible.” 
  	“I understand now why you’re dad is not inhibited by a disability.” 
  	“Angie is my top associate and supervisor over the other detectives on my staff, and she works in the field.” 
  	“Now I’m impressed,” as he winked at Angie. 
  	“Your wheel chair seems to have some extra attachments and I noticed that the steel caps on the end of your legs have some kind of wheels for mobility.” 
  	“Do you have a gym or workout room in this building?” 
  	“Yes, we have a racquet ball court, weight room, and firing range for the staff in the basement.” 
  	“Lead me to the racquet ball court and I will demonstrate this altered wheel chair.” 
                                                       
       The three went downstairs where; they entered the racquet ball court. Jack wheeled to the center of the court and faced Ron and Angie. He pushed a lever, quickly four collapsible stainless steel rods extended at thirty five degree angles from the chair; they rested firmly on the floor creating a solid base to prevent the wheel chair from being toppled.  
  	“Ron, you’re a big man, try to knock me over from all four sides.” Ron tried to but Jack was firmly set. 
  	“Who designed this for you, Jack?” 
  	“I designed and built it.” 
  	“Where did you learn these skills?” 
  	“Before I became a seal I had three years of mechanical engineering in college.” 
  	“That would explain your wheelchair.”  
  	“I love to tinker so I rigged this up.” 
  	“What about those wheels on the end of those caps?” 
  	Jack grinned then pushed himself off the wheel chair and hit the floor roller skating around the court like a kid. Ron and Angie were awed by this ingenuity. “Where did you get the idea to build these?” Ron asked. 
  	“I saw kids with small wheels on the bottom of their running shoes and so I made my own.” 
  	“Why don’t you just forget the wheel chair then?” 
  	“Two reasons, one I’m a tad lazy, and two, I modified this wheel chair so that it can move as fast as kid running.” Jack floored the wheel chair and sped around the court like a demon on fire. “Damn, you’re full of surprises.” 
  	“You want more?” 
  	“By all means” 
  	“You mentioned a firing range, lead me there.” 
  	Ron had installed a one hundred and fifty foot firing range for his detectives too keep them sharp with their handguns. Jack placed himself at the front of the range, there was a paper target at the end of the range, and it was fifty feet from Jack.  
  Jack reached to his belt on the left side and pushed one of two buttons and a slight click could be heard. He raised his right leg aligning it with the target and pushed a second button four times in rapid succession---bang, bang, bang, bang. The end of his right cap released four nine millimeter bullets creating a neat hole in the head of the target.  
  The cap was smoking and Jack was grinning. Ron and Christy were stunned at this display and Ron quickly yelled.  “Wooweee, show us that device.”  
  Jack pushed the first button again on his belt, “that’s the safety button on the Sig Saur in the cap.” He  wheeled around and reached down and removed the cap revealing the Sig Saur built into the cap with a rod like structure located where the hammer of the pistol normally was located, the rod had a thin wire running up Jack`s leg to the buttons embedded in his belt. 
  	“You’re a dangerous man in that wheelchair.” 
  	“I love to design and build.”  	  
  	“When can you start?” 
  	Jack hesitated for a moment, this guy is serious and this job might be fun, at least I can use my training; I’ll take it and see how it goes. When do I start?” 
  	“Today if you can?” 
                         “Sure, my wheelchair needs the action.” 
  CH. 5 JACK AND ANGIE 
       Jack was hired and he asked Angie out to dinner to get acquainted. They were at a nice restaurant discussing their disabilities.  
  	“I enjoyed that today, watching you was fun.” 
  	“You were handy too.” Jack joked. 
  	They both laughed at the pun. 
  	 “How did you lose your legs, if I may ask?” 
  	“It`s ok, I’ll tell you.” 
  	“I was on a night recon with two other seals in Iraq. We were sneaking up on an Iraqi command post at three am Iraqi time.” 
   The moon cascaded over the dunes and a slight wind would cause sand to spiral up like a mini tornado. It was an ocean of sand stretching forever. The moon made the sand look like grey water rolling in high swells,  
  “There was a lone guard checking the southern perimeter and I quietly took him out. Then we were moving slowly toward the command post when a squad of six Iraqis appeared over a ridge in the dunes.  
  We all three hit the sand and lay perfectly still. They didn’t see us but we were about thirty yards in front of them and they were moving toward us. We had to do something quick, I gave the hand command for a pyramid move and then I sprang up and ran horizontally to them to divert their attention. I sprinted for a good seventy five feet as they started firing at me.  
  They riddled my lower legs with rapid fire and I hit the sand and started firing back. My legs burned from the bullets but the Iraqis had my attention. We now had them in our pyramid formation and my two buddies’ commenced firing. We surprised them in our crossfire and between the three of us we wiped them out. We had radioed in a copter and were rescued and returned to base, my legs were demolished.” 
  	“That was close, but your legs.” 
  	“Shit happens, what about you? Tell me about your hand.” 
  	 “We were chasing a bail bond jumper in a dark alley when I tripped and I put out my hands to catch my fall, my left hand hit a broken beer bottle that was sitting upright with the jagged edges; I sliced my left hand and cut my wrist so bad my hand was just dangling. My partner rushed me to the emergency room, they tried to reattach it but it didn’t take.  
  So I lost my left hand and after the stump healed a friend of dad designed an artificial hand. Not as life threatening as your story, I’ll hand you that.”  
  	“What about your family?”Angie said. 
  	“Lost my parents in a car wreck, then shortly after that I joined the Navy.” 
  	“Any siblings?” 
  	“No, just me.” 
  	“You miss the action in the Navy?” 
  	“Yeah, it’s in my blood.” 
  	“Do you think you`ll like this type of work?” 
  	“Better than a regular job, for sure.” 
  	“Do your legs ever hurt?” 
  	“Yes, sometimes they get to itching and ache.” 
  	“My wrist aches sometimes but it goes away.” 
  	“At least we both function well, a lot of people with our disabilities aren’t as fortunate.” 
  	“Have you met the other two associates with us?” 
  	“Not yet.” 
  	“I’ll introduce you tomorrow, there’s Will Farrow and Andrew Clemmer, both good men. Will is a retired detective and Andy is learning the ropes like you. Will retired from the San Francisco Police Department and Andy wants to be a crime fighter, both are good associates and can be trusted.” 
  	                                             “Tomorrow then.”	 
   
   
   Publication Date: March 10th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-rfeasel