Smith & Ronalds-Origins & Conclusions (2) Yours Sincerely D.B. GEORGTON “I agree with Mr. Georgeton.” Said Garry, clearing his throat. “Now onto the evidence...” What? Thought David. He gave Carrie a chance, and a person’s assistant, but not Hector’s own best friend? He let it slip by. He had gotten worse things from Garry before. But he wasn’t going to object to it like a trial, when he himself had complained about it turning out that way. Garry continued his speech: “...Mr. Joey Strouse, please stand and go over your evidence in this...um...case of Mr. Ronald’s.” Joey stood up. He was a friend of Cedric’s over at Station One. He had a short beard and thin, balding hair. “Greetings.” He said. “I present here, evidence that Hector Stone, is in fact dead.” David gasped loudly, so did nearly everyone else as well. Joey looked rather sad himself. He picked up a small blue diary with a black buckle on it. The cover said: 1997: A YEAR OF ADJUSTMENTS. David knew what it was: Hector’s new diary for that year. Joey continued. “Exhibit A, Hector’s diary. The last passage in the diary reads: The case is picking up heat and I’m now feeling that I’m in danger.... It stops right there.” He said with a heavy heart. “It was smeared off to the side, he was caught off guard by the explosion. Exhibit B:” David braced himself. Joey pulled a sheet out of the box. “This Hector’s family tree.” He read all the names aloud. “...Bob Goodensnake married Barbara Harrington, their daughter married Raymond Gronic, they had...” went on and on and on. David was beginning to wonder where he was going with this long family tree. The he came to his point. “He was related to the founder of the College, the founder’s best business deal was made to a street gangster named Ed Gardner. He borrowed money from him and paid him back handsomely. It turns out that the founder, who’s name is disclosed at this point, turned out to be part of an underground empire of dealers who exchanged money for blood from famous people. It was too gruesome for a few family members, so they left the criminal aspect of their family. The founder was arrested eventually and sent to prison, only to be released and found a school for blood research. Ed found him and offered him a deal for One Million Dollars ahead of time and an extra Thirty Million, if he could get the blood of Hershel Handcot, a famous gold miner during the Great Gold Rush. The founder agreed. Ed gave him six months to find the blood sample. He needed only two teaspoons worth. Five months passed with no luck. He resorted to the most disgusting way of obtaining it: grave robbery. He was caught in the act and sent back to jail. Ed bailed him out and gave him five days to run, or he would kill him for his failure. The Gardner family has since had two new generations, all of whom want to kill the last descendant of the founder: Hector Stone.” He paused for a moment and pulled out another piece of paper. “Exhibit C:” He said. “A letter that was found in the last reported spot that the Gardner family lived, it goes as follows: We are prepared to bomb the California School of Hematology on Saturday. Stone will not escape. I’m afraid that Hector is as good as dead.” Joey looked at his speech paper with sorrow in his eyes. “Thus passes Hector Jacob Stone, one of the best men I’ve ever met. To Hector!” David was outraged. They were quitting! David was not giving up, not yet anyway. CHAPTER FOUR A THREAT RETURNS JANUARY 14TH 1997- Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Hector woke up with a start. His alarm clock was buzzing loudly at his bedside. He extended his right had and turned it off. Today was his first on his new case. He was all pumped up for a bit of a challenge. He got up, dressed and went across the floor to his small apartment kitchen. He got a small packet of Instant Oatmeal out of his cupboard and poured it into his bowl. He lived in the Johnson Motifson Apartment Complex. It was a low cost, low quality, sort of living experience. His salary had not been good lately, so he could not afford a house or even a fairly good apartment. He missed life in Indiana. Even though there was a considerable amount of things to do in California, what he had in Indiana was a lot better that any of it. In California he had no friends, just miniature rivals, no house, and no one what so ever to talk to. Maybe this new case would show him some new friends. When Hector thought about it, he really shouldn’t be this exited about this case; some one had died in it. It was not the best occasion in the world. But Hector needed a break in his life so much that he felt like bursting into a million pieces. He finished his oatmeal, and headed out the door. He picked up a note he wrote on his ‘To-Do’ list. It said: Go to Mr. Gronic’s office first, at 10:00 am and meet him to discuss your case. He kept on repeating those words in his head so that he didn’t forget them. He ran outside and got on his bicycle. He picked up his helmet and strapped it securely onto his head. He tried to bike every day, just to keep his energy level up. CSH was about five miles from his apartment; he kicked off and peddled all the way there in about fifteen minutes. As he went into Gronic’s office he noticed that it was empty of all people. No staff, no assistants. Nothing. A small note was on Mr. Gronic’s desk. It said: DR. STONE, MEET ME IN THE DINING HALL ON LEVEL THREE INSTEAD. Hector nodded to himself, and headed for the elevators. He hated elevators with a vengeance ever since a bad experience with them two years prior. But the only staircase in the entire building was the fire escape. He got inside and punched the ‘3’ key. He felt like he was being stretched all the way up. When he finally got to the top he felt like vomiting. He was thinking that Gronic made him come to the 3rd floor as a punishment for talking back to him. These suspicions were confirmed as he entered the room and saw Mr. Gronic looking at him with amusement on his face. Hector did not dare to point it out. He would most likely lose the argument anyway. “Yes, sir?” Hector said politely. Gronic got up and approached. “You are to go to the house of Christopher Gardner, the author of ‘The Weekly Apocalypse’.” He said. “It is a book about the unreliability of tabloids. He is the one whose house was broken into. He is dead. No one knows why.” He paused for a moment. “He is said to be a member of weirdoes who think the tabloids are true, but cover them up to stop world-wide panic. The tabloids have been proven wrong in the cases of aliens who are dating senators in Kentucky or Werewolves who work for the ghost of Hitler. But some, like Mr. Gardner, are rumored to be the ones who give the stories to the tabloids in the first place to stop them from printing real stories. It is a maze of theories and rumors. All of them are ridiculous. Mr. Gardner was reported to have given the tabloid ‘Daily Secrets’ a story about a robber who was half-mantid. It was proven false, and he was sent to Jail for public fraud. He was released saying that he was against tabloid fraud altogether and thought he was selling one of his stories to a local newspaper, but that it was sent to the wrong address. He tried to prove it by writing a novel about tabloid fraud. It made him rich.” He paused. “The killer left only a small sample of blood. It was not Mr. Gardner’s mind you. We checked. We want you to help Detective Bridget Mark on the case. She is waiting for you at Gardner’s house. You are to meet her at 5:00 PM. Here are the directions.” He slid Hector a piece of paper and bid him farewell. Hector folded the directions and put them in his pocket. As he stepped into the hallway, he eyed the elevator. The very sight of it made him sick. He then eyed the Fire Escape. He had in idea. He saw a young woman walking towards a close room. He tore off his Campus ID and approached her. “Excuse me, ma’am!” He said in a very convincing southern accent. “The Fire Escape’s busted, I’m here to fix it. So if you hear anything, don’t worry. Just get on a PA and tell everyone what's gonna happen.” She nodded. In a few seconds... “THE FIRE ESCAPE IS BEING FIXED, SO DO NOT PANIC AT THE SOUND OF THE ALARM, THANK YOU!” When the voice was done, Hector opened the fire door. The alarm went off. “It’s fixed!” He yelled. He then ran as fast as he could down the stairs. Someone was coming; he could hear the footfalls. He had only three flights left so he jumped. He hit the ground with a small thud. He put the pains aside and ran away. After he hopped on his bike and slid on his helmet, he took off faster than a 747. He followed the directions to the late Mr. Gardner’s house. It was many miles away and stole almost all of his carefully earned energy. The house was not what you would expect from a Millionaire, but was still pretty nice. He looked around for Detective Mark, but could not find her. He ran around to the back yard. Nothing. He suddenly felt something pressing against his neck. It was a gun. Oh no! He thought to himself. He turned around; he saw it was a brown-haired woman in her mid-twenties. “It’s okay!” Said Hector. “You must be Bridget. I’m Dr. Hector Stone. I’m here to help you on this case!” She nodded. “Sit down.” She said, as she put her gun in her waistband. That is odd behavior for a detective! Thought Hector. He looked attentively at the woman. She looked at him through her brown eyes, and then she began to talk. “You have got to get out of here!” She said in an urgent whisper. “You have been led into a trap!” Hector was confused. “What kind of a trap?” He asked her. She sighed. “Do you know about the business that your family used to run about two generations back?” Hector shook his head. She nodded, paused a moment as if she was thinking, and then continued. “They traded blood of deceased celebrities. It was an underground empire. Your Great-Grandfather ran it. The same one of whom founded the California School of Hematology, Robert Watson. He had to find the blood of a famous Gold-Miner a long time ago but failed and was sent to jail for grave robbing. When he got out, the ringleaders of the opposing side of the Empire gave him a head start before he would track him down and kill him. He ran. He founded the school and stayed there. Mr. Gardner was the last descendant of the family of the Ringleaders. He worked his best to keep the story of the blood trading out of all papers and tabloids. He modified it to fit in aliens and all sorts of odd stuff and sent it in to a tabloid to be published. We wanted to keep the old operation secret so that when he killed you no one would know.” It took Hector while to figure out what she meant by “Kill you”. She continued when she saw the surprised look on his face. “They plan to blow up the school on March 15th of this year. You must leave only a few minutes, maybe even seconds, before the explosion to escape while the trackers think you are dead. Take that time to get back to Indiana and contact your friends. Also, I’m not a detective. What I’m telling you may lose me my job. So refer to me as Bridget at all times. Don’t trust Steve Gronic either. He wants to keep the case closed up because he is part of the Empire. I have to go!” Hector grabbed her by the shoulder. “What is your real name?” He asked her. “I was just curious.” She sighed. “My name is Ella Begri. Listen, I have to go!” With that she left. CHAPTER FIVE THE HIDDEN TRUTH
Copyright © 2004 Patrick Collins |