SHOT IN THE DARK Chapter 2 (Revised)

2

         Josiah Christopherson worked at his computer in front of the windows of his one-bedroom apartment.  His desk gave him a good view of the beautiful tree lined street in the heart of Old Town.  It was a classier part of town, not the richest, but the architecture of the old homes, most of which had been turned into apartments, made it picturesque.

         The atmosphere of the neighborhood drew him to the old renovated house with windows from a bygone era when stained glass and fancy glasswork were the standard in windows.  His living room window filled most of the front wall.  It was three quarters glass with the upper window in a stained glass floral design.

         He turned his attention to the police scanner on top of his desk, when he heard about a gang fight in Jefferson Park.  His close association with the police, and his work as a writer for a magazine that dealt with gang violence in the Minneapolis suburbs, was the reason he had a scanner, and why it was always on.  He had just started an article entitled Your Children and Gang Violence.

         He looked across at his dog on the two cushion dark green couch that showed signs of wear.  “Well, Dickens sounds like trouble in the park again.  Want to go for a ride?”

         Dickens jumped from the couch, eager for the promised ride, as he went to where Josiah kept his leash.

         “I just have to find my keys.”  He checked his pockets, looked under the clutter on his desk, checked the small metal framed gray laminate kitchen table with two mismatched wooden chairs on the opposite side of the living room, and went through the dining-living room to the kitchen where he found them on the counter beside the sink.  “Here they are.  Let’s go.”

         He took Dickens leash from the peg on the wall near the kitchen door to the upstairs apartment.  The small alley style kitchen with a window over the sink looked out at the back yard, and the other at the far right end overlooked the house next door.  The kitchen had a wall of cupboards on either side of the sink, and hutch style cupboards on the facing wall.

         Josiah snagged the leash to Dickens’ collar, and had to hold him back as he rushed down the covered stairs, to the red Pontiac G3 sitting in front of the two-car garage.  He handed Dickens into the backseat and slid behind the wheel.  He soon pulled into the parking lot at Jefferson Park just as the police arrived.

         An officer looked his way as he drew near.  “I see you had your ears on.”

         Josiah stopped near him, got out of the car, and let Dickens out of the back.  “Always, this is my job.  To write about it, and find an answer to the problem.”

         “I remember when you were part of the problem,” the officer said.

         “I remember only too well myself.  I’m glad someone believed in me.  Now I do what I can to help.”

         They walked through the park with flashlights, and soon found the scene of the violence.  They separated as they searched for evidence or victims of the gang war.

         Josiah kept his eyes trained on the areas lit up by flashlights, and his ears tuned to any possible survivors.  “This is their answer to the latest victim we found last night.”

         “Over here,” an officer said.

         “How many do you count?” the officer asked his partner.

         “There’re two over here, gunshot wounds to chest and legs on one, and arm and chest on the other,” the officer said.

         “I’ll call it in, and get an ambulance sent out,” his partner said.

         Dickens sniffed around and came to a stop a short ways from them.  “Hello, what’s this?”  Josiah stooped beside the body of a young woman.  He found a pulse and noticed several gunshot wounds.

         The officer came over to investigate while Dickens continued to sniff around the area.

         “We’re going to need several ambulances.  I found three more boys, besides the two and this woman.  All alive, barely,” an officer said.

         “I want my mama,” a boy whined.

         An officer went over to him.  “Your name?”

         The boy looked up at him.  “I won’t tell you!  I want my mama.”

         “Tell me your name and where we can find your mother,” the officer said.

         The boy was silent, though he moaned from the gunshot wound in his leg.

         “The boys will have some explaining to do to their parole officers.  I wonder about the woman.  You would think she would know better.”  The officer reached into the car and grabbed the handset.  “Mobile twelve to base need ambulances in Jefferson Park.  Five gunshot victims, boys, ages between ten and fourteen also a young woman, age, early to mid twenties.”

         “Roger, Mobile twelve,” dispatch said.

         He went back to his partner who looked over the victims of the shooting.  “What do you have so far?”

         “Well, no ID on any of them, but this one here is known as Soda.  Real name Jesse Gibbons.  Member of Snow and Ice by the silver and blue jacket he’s wearing.  I was just talking to his parole officer this morning.  He hasn’t been in to see him in some time.  Now he’ll know where to find him.  The others haven’t been in court before and have no ID.  The young woman is without ID, but I’m sure that’s because it was stolen when they heard the sirens,” the officer said.

         “Two from the Devil Lords, by the red and silver jackets,” Josiah said.

         “They’ve become more of a menace lately.  They operate all over the city, trying to conquer any territory they can.  So far it hasn’t worked, but they keep trying,” an officer said.

         “I wonder about the woman.  She doesn’t look like the type who would run with gangs.  Clothes are more business casual.”  With pen and notebook, Josiah began to describe the scene of the latest gang war.  “It will be a wonder if she survives the night.”  He flashed his light over her.  She was slim, not very tall, blond hair, mud and grass smudged pale face.  “I see four gunshot wounds, one close to her heart, wounds to her left leg and right arm, and it looks like a head wound over her right ear.  No purse, probably stolen.  I’d like to talk to her, find out why she was in the park.”

         “If she survives,” an officer said.

         “You know what value an eyewitness is,” Josiah said.

         “Yes,” the officer said.

         “The ambulances are here,” his partner said.

         The sirens blared across the park as three ambulances stopped near the victims.  Paramedics soon had the boys and woman prepped and in the back of the ambulances on the way to the hospital.

         Josiah watched them scream away into the night before he looked around for Dickens and found him close by.  He shook his head.  “Why do you suppose she was in the park?”

         Josiah continued to scan the area with his flashlight, looking for any clues or evidence.  He knew the police would be back in the morning, but he wanted the fresh look.

         He stopped near the dead carcass of a mallard duck, bullet through its chest, and a victim of the gang war, overlooked by everyone.  Dickens looked up at him a sad look on his face.  “I know.  Everyone suffers in these fights.  I need to get him tagged and bagged, and then we can go home.”

         Dickens walked by his side as they walked back to the car.  Josiah flashed the light over the bushes, looked in garbage cans, and soon arrived at the car.  He took out a tag, wrote something on it, wrapped it around the mallard’s leg, bagged it, and headed home.