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The JoneStranger

GRAPHIC NOVEL

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JARRETTE FELLOWS, JR. 

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JoneStranger is a self-styled vigilante, military veteran (U.S. Army) fed-up with runaway crime, failure of law enforcement to curtail crime in fictional city of Metrobia, like gang turf wars over illicit drug trade, police/political corruption. 


JS’ alter ego Rushia (RUS-SIA) Gerard makes himself a committee-of-one to make an impact on the madness, initially to bring to justice the young urban thugs (JS calls Yutties) to justice, whom law enforcement has had little success (purposely) in interdicting.


What drives Rushia Gerard into action is a rumor on social media of a declaration by Crips and Blood gang factions a 100-day gangland murder spree to kill 100 innocent people adorned in a red or blue clothing item. Several random shootings marked by one physically-challenged teenager who wore red laces in his sneakers sends JS into the night to find and apprehend the shooter and deliver him (with evidence) to the Metrobia Police Department (MPD) 77th Street station. 
 
JoneStranger is adorned in
carefully designed attire that blends with his environment (blacktrousers, shirt, gloves, loose-fitting trench coat, black Amish Padre Stetson hat). Attire blends with ordinary to onlookers. Items are in actuality high-tech garments digitally wired, bullet-proof, stab proof; Wears a high-tech waist-belt device that obscures his physical appearance rendering him nearly invisible at night. 

WEAPONS 

JoneStranger’s modus operandi is to refrain from killing, but when unavoidable can and/will use deadly force in drastic situations. As story evolves, he will kill one individual who left him no choice. This is when law enforcement interest in him will go from casual annoyance to “Top-10 Fugitive" when charges against him escalate to homicide. 
 

JS has a number of miniature immobilizing crime-fighting devices at his disposal attached in his light-weight trench-like coat. Here is his total weapons cache (doesn’t carry all these weapons at once):

 

Light weight flex steel toe/rubber sole boots 
• Black attire is light weight made of special super tough fabric
• 60,000 watt miniature rechargeable (cell phone-size) taser  
• Tranquilizing darts tipped with concentrated ketamine tranquilizer 
• Red powder mist immobilizer (small cubes that explode into red mist on impact)  
• Special light-weight alloy .357 magnum with 20-clips & silencer 
• Miniature lithium battery-operated police scanner 
• Portable lithium battery operated night vision (infra-red wrap-around eyewear); cell phone & camera 
• Specially-designed unbreakable, cut-proof, fire proof plastic hand ties
• Street fighter. Japanese combat judoka/jui jitsu expert; Zendoryu karate, Hapkido expert.  JS’ repertoire of offensive/defensive skills include pin-
point kicks, punches, knee strikes, back fists, 180 and 360 degree spinning kicks, elbow strikes, knife hands, ridge hands, back fist/bottom fists, spear hands, joint manipulation, arm & wrist locks, arm & knee bars, and a multitude of chokes. 


Targets gang bangers, drug dealers, street drug operatives, home-spun chemical labs; abusive copsmessage to them, “I will be watching!”


Will be spun around real crimes in the fictional city of Metrobia with interplay from mayor, council, police chief, activists, community leaders with fictitious names to provide a sense of reality, although the storyline will be enhanced with false, but imaginative angles and sub-plots.

 

JS is not a full-time crime fighter but hits the streets periodically to throw law enforcement off his trail, and to keep the Yutties and other criminal element skittish, unable to get too relaxed for fear of “the spook,” as they call him, lurking nearby at the edge of darkness.                                                  

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EPISODE 1 

The 'Green Shoelaces' murder

AWAKE IN THE A.M. AFTER A RESTLESS NIGHT...

 

Rushia Gerard springs awake, abruptly throws the covers from his body,knowing he has much to do.

A glance at his bedside clock reveals a false alarm—it is only a quarter past five. He’d been restless all night and didn’t sleep well. The green shoelace killer weighed heavily on his mind.

 

Hopping out of bed, Rush grabbed his bathrobe and flopped into the big black leather chair before his computer, fired it up and waited for the Google logo to appear. 

Before the screen in thought the lit screen casts him in silhouette:

“Crimes have gone down since I slept…. I know County Sheriff Rob Muna's cowboys failed to corral the killer of that young boy! Perhaps the press should pay more attention to escalating crime in Metrobia, and less to side-shows like Ronald Rump's media theatrics!”

"The strategy meetings between the political hierarchy is gettin' stale. Mayor Katie Fisch, Auntie Roxanne Rivers, Sup. Janna Hall, and Muna may mean well, but I THINK IT'S TIME FOR THE STRANGER TO HIT THE SCENE!


IN THOUGHT  FACING COMPUTER…

“Time to make another round—pay those Yuts, the Lime Street gang a night call. They killed that kid

‘cause he wore greenlaces! And they're still walkin' around free and braggin'!


“I’ll round ‘em up! Congresswoman Rivers is right—‘someone’s gotta pay for the damage they did to Metrobia, flooding it with drugs and guns!'”

FRONT VIEW OF RUSHIA FACING COMPUTER 

 

Consternation in his expression.

“… and gotta plug the cartels too or they’re gonna reduce America to a stupor ... if the nation's not already there!

"But, first need to gather some intel on the Lime Street gang responsible for the kid's murder. They hang out daily at The Bistro ... . I'll pay the joint a visit and deploy a stealthy MDIO operative to gather some irrefutable intel for indictment and conviction... ."

LATER THAT AFTERNOON ...

Rushia Gerard sits at a patio table outside The Bistro inconspicuously munching on a double cheese burger and fries, having already released MDIO-1, a water bug, which scurried to a hidden locale

inside the guest dining area ahead of any of the arriving Lime Street gangsters.

 "Now, I'll await for the transferral of the intel..." Rushia thought to himself, slurping a Pepsi.

MEANWHILE...

Several hours elapsed since Rushia Gerard planted the robotic spy at The Bistro, now enveloped in

the darkness of nightfall. The Lime Street gang numbered 20 strong on this night—several engaged in a game of bid whist, four more slamming dominoes, and the rest munching edibles, fixated on the Lakers and Nuggets game on a mounted 60-inch big screen.

Unbeknownst to them, the robotic spy had been gathering intel and transmitting undetected to 

Rushia Gerard for hours now in a chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

The bid whist action dominated the scene, with the gang set's 30-year-old leader Rayvon "Gallows" Charles commanding attention with his raucous outbursts.

Slapping a winning card hand on the table...

 

"That's a plus-seven," he bellowed. "Me and my pot-ner triumph! Hell, that was easier than smokin' that lil chump wearin' green shoe strings in my 'hood! He had to go, and ya'll gotta pay! That's "Gallows" truth!" 

ELSEWHERE...

"Water bug aced it!" Rushia Gerard shouted. "Got a confession and photo ID. I will make a house call tomorrow night at The Bistro to gather the package for the Metrobia County Sheriff, along with digital evidence—and a scoop for Metrobia Herald Editor Jerrold Goodfellows...

"I will sleep soundly tonight," Rushia mumbled, bearing a broad grin.

THE NEXT DAY, MONDAY ...

Rushia Gerard initiated his action plan before sunrise, messaging the same intel directly to both

the rookie sheriff Muna and the Metrobia Herald's veteran publisher Goodfellows. 

Glancing at his watch, several hours expired since he pushed the "send button" on his PC.

"Both men should have the message by now, aware that an extraordinary event will befall them soon

—that a new breed of crime snuffer will emerge in Metrobia to make the city a safer more lawful place.

MEANWHILE ...

 

At both Sheriff Muna's office and the Metrobia Herald, similar energy was churning.

Muna read the note with interest, aware from 36 years in law enforcement that vigilantes would

from time-to-time rise with grandiose notions of single-handedly circumventing crime. Muna was

careful not to overreach as former Metrobia Police Chief Renard C.P. Larks had done in the 1990s to Kurt Sliwall and his Guardian Angels, when they voluntarily instituted patrols of Metrobia's worst neighborhoods.

Instead, he assigned Undersheriff May Tardee to follow-up and keep him posted.

At the Herald, Jerrold Goodfellows wasn't about to pass on a potential scoop, unaware if any other media had been apprised. He assigned coverage of the story to long-time reporter Doug Lincoln and the Herald's star photojournalist Roddie Rashly. Their task was to quickly get the story posted online ahead of the competition. 

LATER AT 7 P.M. MONDAY EVENING ...

The Bistro was teeming with activity, with the entire Lime Street Gang present—as was the case

most nights during the week—engaged in table-top gambling, billiards, attuned to sports on the big

screen or chowing down.

They hadn't noticed the appearance of the guest adorned in all black at the entrance to the cafe—until he caught Gallows' eye.

"This ain't open to the public from 7 to 10 p.m.—it's a private party," Gallows lied, something he and his cohorts had been doing for a year to maintain their exclusivity. The owner dare not object and the gang kindly obliged him with $10k per month to serve them food, and to use the cafe as their private gang set for three hours on weekdays and two additional hours to midnight on weekends and holidays.

The stranger held a red cube in his right clench, trench coat collar turned up, and brim hat tilted

low over his brow, so that his face was hardly discernable. He also wore a black mask over his mouth and nose, and didn't flinch.

"I said this is a private set, maan—why you still standing there?" Gallows barked. That's when all

eyes turned on the stranger, who subsequently tossed the red cube several feet above the gang,

hitting the ceiling and bursting profusely into a red mist, quickly enveloping the entire cafe in a fog, rendering those present instantly unconscious, collapsing to the floor and slumping

where they sat. 

Unfortunately, the cafe owner suffered the same fate. But the stranger took special precaution to

turn off stove-top burners and ovens to prevent a fire in the cafe.

"Never planned to remain here, Gallows," the stranger said, after which he shackled the gang leader's hands together with two indestructible plastic ties around a circular steel pole in the center of The Bistro dining area extending from the floor to the ceiling. 

The stranger emerged from the cafe, activating a device within his trench coat that renders him hard to detect during nightfall. He blended into the darkness not a moment too soon.

Just then four Metrobia Sheriff units pull up and one other vehicle bearing a reporter and shutterbug from the Herald.

The time is 8 o'clock p.m.

 

EPISODE 2  

By the Light of the Moon:

Justice in the 'Green Shoelaces' murder

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Sheriff Rob Muna didn't take part in interrogating suspects or attending interrogations. But this one wasspecial involving the slaughter of a kid scarcely past the growth spurts of puberty.

The indicted but yet unconvicted Rayvon Charles, aka "Gallows," was seated on a stool with hands bound behind his back.

"I just had to see for myself what kind of muck puts a .38 caliber slug into an unarmed kid over some damn green shoestrings?" Muna said.

"I'm innocent. I AIN'T DONE WHAT I'M ACCUSED OF ... THIS IS A RACIST SET-UP!" Charles snapped.

"Oh, we got our man! We have your confession on tape, and a video of you mouthing the confession bragging about your deed, Rayvon Charles, alias GALLOWS!"

Charles turned to Sheriff Muna in the low-light room.

 "The Sheriff Department ain't piss—ya'll deputies ain't dog piss! Some spook in all black crashed our party and somehow drugged us," Charles complained. "Next thing I know, um in the back of a police car! My homies laid it out for

me! 

 

"That's got to be illegal!"​

"The evidence will stand up in court this week, where I'm confident you will be found guilty and hopefully put away for life in a Federal or State penitentiary!" Muna scowled.

"You won't be a guest here at Metrobia Central, long. We're shipping you out, Charles!

"W-h-a-t-e-v-e-r ... just another Black political prisoner," Charles bemoaned.

MUNA GLARED AT CHARLES FOR AN EXTENDED MOMENT.

"Send this misfit back to his cell!" 

LATER THAT WEEK AT A THURSDAY NEWS CONFERENCE IN FRONT OF THE METROBIA COUNTY JAIL ...

Sheriff Muna stood at a podium joined by Undersheriff May Tardee and other members of his brass. He revealed a disconcerting expression to a bevy of reporters and photojournalists assembled before him.

"I don't know how a newspaper managed to upstage me," Muna said, "but they did. Anyway ...

"I'M HERE TO ANNOUNCE, THE SUSPECT—'RAYVON CHARLES, ALIAS GALLOWS,' WAS SENTENCED TO STATE PRISON WEDNESDAY. HE WAS CONVICTED BY A JURY OF HIS PEERS ON 4 CRIMINAL COUNTS, INCLUDING FIRST DEGREE MURDER IN THE KILLING OF 12-YEAR-OLD ANDRAE TAY!"

A local activist interrupted the sheriff, holding a newspaper above his head ... 

"Here's what really happened," he said. pointing to a banner headline—JONES STRANGER NABS 'GREEN SHOESTRINGS KILLER!

"Looks like there's a new sheriff in town," joked Ali NaJae, prompting members of the press to focus their interest on him away from Muna.

"Where did you get that?" a young White female journalist from the Daily Metrobia Examiner asked.

"I don't know—you'll have to ask them ... the story reads the Stranger said his name was 'Jones'. I don't know. Interview the editor, Jarrold Goodfellows," NaJae chuckled.

EPISODE 3  

MDIO-1 Keeps on Transmitting:

Slippin' Into Darkness

Early Friday morning, Rushia was on the computer checking with MDIO-1 to listen in

on the chatter at The Bistro. Gallows, their leader was tucked away in the California Correctional Institute at Carlsbad, but it was business as usual with the gang set busy as normal in the proliferation, movement and sale of illicit drugs in Southern California with the Colombia-based Zorra Colombiano Cartel.

A red light flashed intermittently on the computer screen. Rushia was eager to learn what intel the robotic operative had gathered for him this time.

"MDIO-1 has attained the following intel for Agent Rushia Gerard by text messaging and audio: First, the test message: 'Representatives of the Lime Street Gang will meet with representatives of Zorra Colombiano Cartel @ 1 a.m. Sunday next, at the remote rear of the South Bay Airport for the transfer of 1000 multi-colored plastic vials, each containing 1,000 tablets of the opioid fentanyl for a combined total of 1 million tablets.'"

"Now the audio intel."

Rushia zeroed in on one of the Lime Street gang—Caspar Robinson, aka "Boo," who assumed "No. 1 G" in place of the deposed Gallows who was sentenced to 90 years+ 10 years for each of the Andrae Tay's 12 years of life, without the possibility of parole.

Rushia Gerard turned up the volume on the PC.

"The meet and exchange of the package is set for Sunday at 1 a.m.," Caspar confirmed aloud to no one in particular.

 

"This one is extra SWEEET! Gonna make bank on this one. Gotta do our due diligence.

Who said the American Dream ain't for us? Believe that if you want sucka. Not me!

Turn up the jam—let's party!"

The Lime Street gangsters were completely  oblivious to MDIO-1 and its meticulous spy work. It hadn't occurred to them the place might be bugged. Rudy Smith, The Bistro's owner, had his suspicions that the gang was being monitored.

Rushia Gerard pushed back from the computer screen, rubbed his eyes and sighed.

"There's a helleva haul coming in," he mused. "This may be one of the biggest illicit movements of fentanyl in the drug's history. Well, I'm gonna upset the apple cart.
 

"Uncle Sam is a chronic addict, and his lust for mind-altering drugs is being fed at every turn. He's desperate to escape the realities of life."

SUNDAY AT 9 P.M., SOUTH BAY AIRPORT

"All quiet at ground zero—a mite too quiet," the stranger thought, sitting in his Black Cloud Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut cloaked in near invisibility at the end of the back street bordering the airport. "I'm indebted to Army engineering for creating this cloaking mechanism that enables me and the car to blend into the darkness ... . 

"Engenders the 70's soul classic, 'Slippin' Into Darkness,'" by the enigmatic group War," the stranger chuckles. "I inherited my dad's gold LP collection. That jam soothed me a many days. But, here I am now watching these YUTS slippin' in the darkness..."

Movement at the other end of the block snapped the stranger out of his trance. He'd done his part. In position and ready to close in once the cartel contacts appeared with members of the Lime Street gang, were the sheriff department, Drug Enforcement Agency, ATF, agents of the FBI, and South Bay Police. They had positioned themselves out of sight since the afternoon.

The stranger was only there to observe and mop up any stray bad guys attempting to slip the trap. The coalition had no inkling of his presence.

THE RENDEZVOUS

At 10 p.m. four vehicles—all dark-colored SUV's turned onto the street and parked spaced apart at the other end of the block. The stranger spied them through night-vision goggles. Several men occupied each vehicle. They did not exit the vehicles immediately. 

 

The stranger knew they were scanning the area for anything appearing conspicuously out of place. Unbeknownst to them, they had already given the coalition justifiable cause to search them.

Four SUVs appearing roughly at the same time late at night on a sparsely driven street was suspicion. The stranger wondered what was holding the coalition back.

"I gather the drug dealers are content to wait as close to the switching hour or until 1 a.m. to execute the transfer, making sure of no encroachment," the stranger surmised.

TWO HOURS ELAPSE ...

The stranger flashed the time on the dashboard. The time was 12:30 a.m. There had not been any movement from the occupants in the SUVs for more than two hours since their arrival.

Then the stranger discovered why. Abruptly appearing in the sky was a single helicopter

that didn't betray it presence. The stranger spliced it all together.

"Obviously the other half of the party—most likely the Zorra Colombiano Cartel

arriving in a stealth chopper."  

                            

The stranger watched the helo through his night vision goggles touch down minus any lights or noise. He readily recognized the craft.

"Hmmm ... heavily modified Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk helo, specifically to achieve several goals: invisibility to radar, reduced infrared signature minimizing the heat emitted by the engine exhaust, and acoustic noise reduction," he thought. "The cartel certainly has the money to buy such crafts, no doubt through a third party."

It all became clear to the stranger.

"I understand now why the coalition didn't move in when the SUVs first arrived. They had intel I didn't, that the cartel would arrive separately by helo. Kudos to them! he said.

The stranger watched 16 occupants vacate the SUVs and enter an unlocked gate to the tarmac. He knew someone at the airport had abetted the drug exchange—clearing the helicopter landing, and leaving the gate unlocked.

"I'm confident the coalition will tie-up all the pieces in the caper," the stranger thought, as he could see coalition members with guns drawn, slowly moving in on

the illicit drug merchants.

Then, in a July Fourth-esque explosion of flash bang grenades, flashing red lights, wailing sirens and a bullhorn blasting commands, the quietly serene wee morn was transformed.

"STOP WHERE YOU ARE OR WE WILL SHOOT! LIE DOWN FACE TO THE GROUND—STRETCH YOUR ARMS FORWARD ON THE GROUND ABOVE YOUR HEADS!"

 

"¡DETENTE DONDE ESTÁS O DISPARAREMOS! ACUÉSTESE BOCA ABAJO Y ESTÍRESE

¡TUS BRAZOS HACIA ADELANTE EN EL SUELO POR ENCIMA DE TUS CABEZAS!" a second command blared in Spanish.

Members of the coalition began handcuffing the drug dealers, while others removed metallic cases containing the contraband from the helo.

 

The operation was carried out without a hitch. Not one shot was fired in the sting with a round-up of 20 total suspects, and an estimated county record grab of 1 million illicit fentanyl tablets. 

The stranger was gratified by the outcome of the operation. It was just one more evil deception crushed into defeat.

 

BACK AT THE PAD FEELING TRIUMPHANT

Rushia Gerard knew that the South Bay Airport haul, and the recent huge intercept augmented by The California National Guard supported counter-drug operations of the seizure of more than 5 million fentanyl pills at the California-Mexico border two

months ago—including more than 592,900 pills at the state's ports of entry, didn't amount to a scratch in the big picture.

 

"I know we didn't rattle the drug bear all that much in the last two interdictions of fentanyl, but we annoyed him; that is a strategic victory in my opin," Rushia thought.

"Besides, Gov. Gabe Oldsom's deployment of the California National Guard in the recent raid, and this morning's combined efforts made some headway.

"We took 20 drug operatives out of the loop—four were members of the Zorra  Colombiano Cartel, and 16 were Lime Street YUTS from Metrobia."

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