As usual, timing is everything...

Criminal Conundrum

Daniel B. Young

A bone-chilling gust of wind swept the urban graveyard as the elderly couple knelt in prayer at the headstone of their only child. They were identically dressed in oversized Navy P-coats, Hi-top lace-up thermo-lined boots, faux-fur hats that snapped shut under their chins, and thick hand-knitted woolen scarves. Loose flakes of snow were being driven against them with sandblast force. Despite this and the tears freezing into little mounds on their cheeks they took little notice of the weather

They had traveled for two and a half days to be here for the twentieth anniversary of their daughters' gang rape and murder. Their Sara had been only eighteen. Her murderers were never caught. After her funeral they had liquidated their assets, settled their debts and moved as far from the city as they could. The last twenty years had been spent living a quiet life in a rural setting.

They had come on every anniversary at first, but the rigors of the journey and being in the city again had become too much. It had been ten years since they had made this pilgrimage and they were well aware that it might be their last.

They'd both had professional careers and had waited to have a child until they were approaching middle age. That was the time they thought they could provide the best life for their child. They'd done just that. The best education, worldwide travel vacations, her talents fully encouraged and explored. Sara had become a happy, well-adjusted young woman full of potential and dreams.

One night of celebration with her peers after high school graduation had ended it all. She had been abducted into a van right off a busy street. Her friends had tried to defend her but were beaten down. They had survived but still bore the scars, inside and out. Sara had not. Her body was found dumped in the gutter twelve hours later. Battered, violated, and cold.

Her parents were in their eighties now. The three pillars of their life were the undiluted love they had for each other, the good memories of Sara, and the cold, unfeeling declaration on the marble stone before them.

Sara Anne Brutes
Beloved Daughter
Born: October 29 th 1988
Murdered: June 19 th 2006”

They were so intent on their devotions that they didn't notice the remnants of the BPS gang forming a semi-circle behind them.

The Blue Powder Syndicate was the most rag-tag, most despicable, most psychopathic group of lowlife losers in this part of the metropolis. They were strictly bottom-of-the-food-chain thugs. They were lead by a man called Slug. His leadership was based solely on his seniority. He was the only surviving founding member of the gang and was now thirty-eight years old. A generation ago the B.P.S. had numbered two hundred strong and had been a force to reckon with. They had controlled a substantial amount of the city's illegal drug trade along with the usual accessory criminal enterprises. Luxury apartments, the latest fashions, jewelry, expensive vehicles and women had been theirs for the asking. If they got bored with easy women they would just snatch one off the streets. Long prison sentences, shootouts with competing gangs, and state executions had depleted their numbers. The development of myriad dirt-cheap, make-at-home drugs had cut off their cash flow and protection. The apartments had become too expensive, the vehicles had aged and rusted, and the high-ticket women had faded away. There were now only thirteen members left, mostly runaways and bad seeds. They were reduced to theft and mugging. Despite this they maintained a feared reputation among street denizens. They achieved this by never leaving witnesses to their crimes no matter how petty. Pickings had been slim lately because of the weather so these bumpkin-looking tourists beckoned as an easy score.

The old man sensed their presence first. He slowly stood up and turned around, his wife following. They surveyed the miscreants surrounding them, fully aware of their criminal intent.

“What do you want?” the old man said.

“Everything,” Slug replied, with a thin grin.

“We have no money or valuables with us.”

“Then we'll have to settle for your entertainment value,” said Slug.

Slug moved forward, his followers matching his steps.

The old man turned to his wife.

“Honey, I think it's time for the twins.”

The couple, moving as one, grabbed the lapels of their P-Coats and popped open the snaps, bypassing the non-functional black buttons. They raised and aimed the weapons concealed at their sides by swivel straps over their shoulders. The weapons were twin Colt & Koch 50 caliber, fully automatic, snubbed barreled, military rifles with 80 round magazines.

“Gentlemen, nothing would please us more than for you to resist or keep moving toward us,” the old man said.

The gang members stood stock still, recognizing when they were out gunned.

“In that case, all of you will please lie down with your hands behind your head and your feet spread apart.”

The gang complied.

The old woman took a Universal 911 alarm transmitter from her coat pocket and activated it.

* * *

The local police had arrived. The winds' fury had abated but the frigid bite remained in the air. The gang members were safely chained to the inside panels of the police transport van. Uniform Sergeant Milton Niles was finishing the paper work with the Brutes.

“You'll have to appear in court tomorrow. Since they only threatened you with physical harm and had legal firearms in their possession the best we can hope for is two or three year sentences for the lot. They'll probably plead out as a group so you shouldn't have to spend time on a trial. At least we'll keep them off the street for eighteen months or so. We suspect they've committed murders, but you're the only witnesses we've had against them in the last ten years.

“One more thing, your weapon permits are only valid in your home state but I don't care and I doubt the D.A. will, either.”

“We've always tried to be good citizens, Sergeant Niles,” Mrs. Brutes said.

“I confess I wouldn't have minded being forced to open fire on them. Scum like that took our daughter Sara from us,” Mr. Brutes said, gesturing toward the headstone.

“I wouldn't have had a problem with it if you had”, said Sergeant Niles.

A black sedan emblazoned with a government seal and the legend “Homeland Federal Police” drove into the crime scene and parked. Two men in identical black overcoats, black suits, white shirts, black ties, and black fedoras got out and approached the Sergeant.

“Sergeant, I'm Agent Sherman,” said the older man, showing a wallet badge and I.D. “This is Agent Peabody,” indicating the younger man. “We would like to see your report on this incident.”

The Sergeant handed over the report. The two agents went to stand by their vehicle to examine it. A few minutes later they returned and proceeded to place handcuffs on both the Brutes.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” said Mr. Brutes.

“Placing you under arrest for violation of the Bush–Ashcroft Act, specifically Amendment 73 – Section C,” said Agent Sherman.

“What law is that?” said Mrs. Brutes.

Agent Peabody produced a card and recited. “Any person or persons with the means and opportunity to execute a person or persons engaging in the commission of a violent felony and who fails to do so is subject to prosecution for a Class C felony. If convicted they will be subject to three to five years imprisonment and fines up to and including the cost to the state for the housing, medical care, and feeding of the non-executed violent felons.”

“I never heard of such an amendment,” said Sergeant Niles. “When did it go into effect?”

“The Congress and Senate unanimously passed it at 3:00 PM yesterday. President Bush V signed it into immediate effect at eight this morning,” said Agent Sherman.

“It's only 1:00 PM now, how the hell were we to know about this amendment,” protested Mr. Brutes. “I would gladly have killed them all. Hell, I'll kill them all now if you want!”

“But you didn't and they're not committing a violent felony now. Ignorance of the law is no defense.”