S. Gorden - The Duce of Pentacles

Last night, Jeff's uncle showed up. In amazement, she heard him confess everything to him. After his uncle left, he paced through the night. Nicole fingered herself while she watched her husband's strength crumble before her eyes. He was completely broken by the time the cops arrived for him that morning.

After Jeff left with the cops, Nicole started to pack. She had barely started when the doorbell rang. Two more cops wanted to talk to her about her husband. One was good looking. The other was ugly. Nicole knew she looked good to men. She paced the room in apparent nervousness in such a way as to accent her curves and sex. When she was sure they both were looking at what she was showing, she walked up to the ugly one and told them everything about her husband. She held the ugly cop's hands while she talked so he couldn't get away. As Nicole talked, she shifted her weight from foot to foot. From the corner of her eye, she watched a bead of sweat form on the ugly man's face as she brushed the inside of her thigh and the tip of her breasts against him. At the same time, she maintained a direct eye contact with the good-looking cop.

After the cops left, Nicole added to her bags the handcuffs she stole from the ugly man. In a slight way, Nicole wanted to stay; both cops showed some potential for fun. Instead, she finished packing. At Jeff's bank, she withdrew all of their money and from the safety deposit box, she took everything but Jeff's birth certificate. She left the bank and drove south.

* * * *

Shermon was dazed as he walked from the police car to his house. He entered the cold empty house. Frank was gone. His uncle was the only person in his life that he ever depended on. When his mother had been killed by her husband those many years ago, he had not felt fear or anger. He had felt a loss. Who would take care of him? Who would make his meals? Who would make sure his clothes were clean? For some reason, the loss of Frank was even worse than the loss of his mother. Back then, Frank had been there when his mother died. Now there was no one. No one!

Where was Nicole? He checked the house. Her things were gone. Outside,

her car was gone. She wouldn't leave him. She couldn't without money! He checked his watch. He could just make it to the bank before closing.

They had already transferred most of their ready cash into Nicole's account to protect it from a possible seizure by the lawyers of the teachers or the school board. The bank accounts had been emptied. Most of their remaining assets had been in bonds and certificates in their safety deposit box. They had been planning on a quick getaway and had consolidated everything for easy transfer. The only thing remaining in the box was his birth certificate. He read again the words on the document. Jefferson William Jenson

... born 8 lbs. 5 oz____ mother Julie Lynn Jenson ... father William Joseph

Jones...

Shermon screamed. He threw the empty box against the wall of the bank cubicle. He sat, ranting, on the floor meticulously shredding his birth certificate. That was how the bank security guard found him.

* * * *

Henry sat in his living room easy chair. The sun was setting through the window. The blood red glow darkened the silent room. Frank, Al, Pike, Jenny, Kawalski, Frank, Al, Pike, Jenny ... They had missed the killer. Would they get Billy before another was added to the list? Frank, Al, Pike, Jenny, Kawalski. Henry closed his eyes trying to erase the sight of Frank's mutilated body, the way his face collapsed in without a jaw. The setting sun came out from behind a tree and a shaft of light hit the lids of Henry's closed eyes turning everything blood red. In complete exhaustion, Henry fell asleep to the encompassing red glow.

* * * *

_The hands turn over a card._

A naked woman kneels, pouring water from two earthen jars. Her right hand pours the water into a pond while her left pours the water onto the ground. Seven white stars fill the sky of the upside down card. In the center of the card's blue sky is a large eight-pointed yellow star.

_Darkness engulfs the hushed room. The only sound, muted steps leaving._

Makinen woke with a start. He had started the night watch as usual but the tension of the previous nights was gone. Everyone knew that Jones had to be hiding. At three, James had come in for a cup of coffee. After drinking half the cup, he had slowly collapsed in stages while sitting on the couch. It took ten minutes from when his eyes first closed until he completed laying in a fetal position on the sofa. Jeffrey placed a blanket over James. He and the rest of the VFW gang finished off the watch.

Lori's lips changed from a slight pucker to a grin as she backed away from the startled sleeper. She saw Jim's innocent aspect as he slept and had to bend down to kiss his cheek. The startled man and smiling girl looked at each other, enjoying the momentary intimacy. Their smiles changed to worry as they remembered what was happening to them. What would happen next? Where was Billy Jones?

* * * *

Henry woke in his easy chair to the red glow of the morning sun. He moved his tired body in stages. Each limb woke in its own time and way. His left leg woke to an ache from a break when he was twelve. His knees crackled and popped as the arthritic joints moved. The back straightened in sequence as each vertebra fought to align with its neighbors. A good five minutes after his eyes opened, he hobbled his aged, crippled body into the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee.

As the aroma of brewing coffee filled the kitchen, Henry fought his boiling anger at the gruesome deaths of his friends and tried to probe for the next actions of Billy Jones.

By the time Henry stepped behind his office desk, he was coolly and calmly in control. It was the aloof control most people associate with

Scandinavians. People living in the far North all seem to have a reserve, a control foreign to the passions of the people of the warmer climates. The control is mistaken as a lack of feelings. The harsh endless cold of northern winters is unforgiving of any mistakes made in passion. The survivors learned to control their emotions. But the emotions are only controlled. Nature knew that in times of distress, passion and emotion could mean survival. The rest of the world only vaguely remembers the passion of the Northern Peoples in the form of a few words and stories left over from the time when the Vikings swept through Europe, North Africa, and Eastern Asia. Now their descendants waited and studied as their passions grew, waiting for the time of release.

At his desk, Henry studied the accumulated paperwork. The tox screens and final forensic reports were in from Billy's first victims. Henry found no new useful information there. He did find some grim pleasure when he read the revised FBI psychological report. He easily found the patchwork phrasing and sentences the behavioral psychologists used to repair their original report to match Billy Jones's profile. The one thing that caught his eye was the statement that Billy would run and hide. He would only start his killing again after he established his life in another location.

When Henry saw in technical gobbledygook those words, he knew they were wrong. Billy had moved here because of his family. Jefferson was his son. He had murdered for pleasure but also for some warped sense of family. Jefferson had said that Jenny resembled his mother when she was Jenny's age. He had killed all the others except Al for some obscure family-related reason. Pike was Jenny's pimp. Kawalski was a partner with his son. Frank was Billy's brother-in-law. Al had been in the way. In the way? In the way of what? Did Al see something? Was he in the wrong place? Where was Al before he disappeared? The school parking lot. Who or what was in the parking lot at the time Al was murdered? What was Billy doing? Henry somehow knew Billy wouldn't leave until his son was gone. Henry knew the psychologists were wrong again. Billy wasn't finished here.