Death of a Killer
It was a temporary, solitary holding cell; not nearly as secure as where the deranged psychopath and serial killer was heading. Once at the maximum security prison it would be near impossible to escape. None of the prosecutors, who'd sent Rafael Huber to prison, had the slightest inkling that his over-night accommodations were to him, as easy as a cardboard box to break free of.
With a sinister grin, he spoke, "So boring... Not much of a challenge..." emitting a sarcastic sigh,
"Ho-Hum," pleased with his deluded, self-perceived superiority.
Taking down the upper portion of an orange jumpsuit, he rubbed at an ostensible five inch long abdominal scar—deciding it was time. The ugly red scar appeared to be surrounded by dry skin. A tiny tab of that skin stuck out along the bottom end of the blemish. This, his dirty fingernails pinched a hold of, and began pulling, peeling back what had been a fake scar.
Humming a monotone note,
"Hmm, hmm, hmm..."
With dexterous fingertips the convict pulled out of that impromptu skin sheath, a four inch pick, as big around as a wire coat hanger, flat at one end—the other round, and sharpened to a point.
"There you are, you little devil."
At the stainless steel mirror above the sink, he opened wide his mouth to dig with the pointed end into an imperceptible hole on a rear molar.
He pried, and pulled out a tooth—also false.
"Hmm, Hmm, hmm..."
Crushing the white object, that had masqueraded as a molar, on the edge of the sink with the flat end of the wire shank, he scraped the now powdered white stuff into a pile. The substance was put into a drinking cup with a little water, swirled around and drunk. The wire and scar were put back into place.
"Back you go. hmm, hmm..."
His homemade chemical concoction did well in simulating a heart attack. When he woke from the resulting unconsciousness, phase two of his plan was put into action. Now at the infirmary, awaiting an ambulance, handcuffed to a gurney, he continued to feign unconsciousness.
On the trip to the hospital, Huber's armed guard sat prepared for any contingency. Jeremy Watts was an ex-Marine, having served in Guatemala and Afghanistan. But what served him best this day was his relationship with the Lord. The next few moments in time had already been played out and revealed in a dream the night before. He knew what was coming.
Back at the infirmary, the pick was used; the cuffs loosened; the hand would easily slip free. Re-clamped on the left wrist, they were tightened to only the first click. The shank was now well concealed in the killer's deadly right hand. Though Jeremy knew what was about to happen, it came swiftly.
Rafael's confidence in himself was foolishly misplaced. This cop was a man of God and a fighter as well.
Huber lunged for the kill!
But the Christian warrior's tactic worked well; leaning swiftly to the left, aiding Rafael to fly past him. Jeremy pushed the prisoner's face to the floor of the ambulance.
As Rafael tried to turn around, there was the tell-tale metallic click of a nine millimeter pistol behind the profligate's head. He'd been had—his genius thwarted by omniscience—outsmarted—a first.
His hands were cuffed behind his back, while the ambulance became a transport vehicle, delivering the prisoner to Pelican Bay maximum security prison.
As they passed through the metal gate, Rafael needed to understand what went wrong, asking Jeremy,
"You tellin me God told you my plan?"
"He reveals a lot of things, to those who belong to Him."
Jeremy pulled out a Bible, and stuffed it under the condemned man's restrained arm.
"Jesus wants you to know Him Rafael. These are His words. He told me to give them to you."
As the prison guards took custody, Jeremy turned to walk away, but something had clicked in Rafael's mind. It was a powerful click, much more than that of a hammer on a pistol being cocked behind his head. "This God is smarter than me."
"Hey cop... Officer Watts is it?"
"Would you come visit me, and tell me about this God?"
"You can count on it."
Jeremy smiled, silently praising God while walking away. In his dream, he'd also seen a soul winner inside the prison, where there once was a psychopathic killer.
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