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Heralding Freedom of the Press and the Public's Right to Know
The JoneStranger
GRAPHIC NOVEL
JARRETTE FELLOWS, JR.
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 (MUPD) 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 cops—message 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.
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 10 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 heirarchy
gettin' stale. Mayor Katie Fisch, Congresswoman 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 she'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
water bug 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
the 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 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."
​
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
very 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 sudden 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 the 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
cold fog, rendering every one 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 photographer from the Herald.
The time is 8 o'clock p.m.
​
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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 was
special 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 THE SHERIFF
DEPARTMENT APPREHENDED AND BROUGHT TO JUSTICE,
WAS SENT TO STATE PRISON WEDNESDAY, 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 bearing the a banner—
​
"JONES STRANGER NABS 'GREEN SHOESTRINGS KILLER!'"
​
"Looks like there's a new sheriff in town," joked Ali Najae,
prompting members of the press to turn to him.
​
"Where did you get that?" a young White female journalist
from the mainstream 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.