Midnight Justice

By Robin Dobbins

Alexandria McCord is a Houston inner city high school history teacher by day, and a justice serving vigilante by night, while on a mission to find the gang who murdered her parents.

She's also a champion of the underprivileged students, using her own system of justice outside the permissible boundaries of the law. While eluding

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gotham Books
• Release date: May 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9798887756905

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© 2024 Robin Dobbins. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by Gotham Books (May 3, 2024)

ISBN: 979-8-88775-722-3 (H)

ISBN: 979-8-88775-689-9 (P)

ISBN: 979-8-88775-690-5 (E)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

DEDICATION

I am dedicating this novel to Janel, my loving wife and the smart one in this 57-year marriage. As my best friend, she word processed the manuscript, made the corrections, and edited along the way. All the long hours of deciphering my hen scratch, she worked rather inexpensively.

Secondly, I want to thank Linda Martin, a fitness pupil of mine, for cleverly coming up with the book title.

I offer this fantasy to every woman, man, and child who has endured a criminal attack and wants to inflict their own justice where the authorities have their hands tied or crafty lawyers figure a way to allow filthy criminals to walk free to harm some other unsuspecting individual.

Alexandria McCord’s vigilante work will bring thrills, as you accompany her in dealing destruction to those predators who are unstoppable by the legal system. Are you too in the same grain as Alexandria McCord?

Chapter 1

Dressed in a skin-tight one-piece navy blue Kevlar and leather suit with a matching full head mask, a sleek but muscular figure, poised stealth-like in the pitch black of night chambered seven Remington 870 slugs from a cartridge belt, and proceeded to blast two shots into the rear tires of a new low slung 1985 Lincoln Continental. With catlike quickness, he moved to the driver’s side door and pulled a beleaguered youth from the car, slamming him face down on the pavement while binding his hands and feet with large tie wraps. Seconds later, four youths were making a frantic dash toward the car while firing shots in the direction from which they had come; a government housing project in the form of duplexes for those on disability and indigent retirees living solely on social security.

The mysterious intruder swiftly placed two more cartridges in his short stock 870 and emptied the magazine in rapid fire toward the unsuspecting assailants, taking down all four. With business-like precision, he quickly filled the cannon again and skipped across the shallow ditch in front of the houses to examine his handiwork. Finding the attackers on the ground screaming and clutching their wounds, he tossed their guns aside and confiscated the bags they used to carry the cash and social security checks stolen from those in the project.

By this time a crowd of old folks, donned in their sleepwear, was cautiously making its way to the scene. Speaking not a word, the masked marvel tossed the bags at their feet and began sprinting toward the back of the houses where a black 1971 Dodge Challenger awaited on the next street. No sooner had he hit full stride, police cars were converging on the scene at the front of the project, lights flashing and sirens blaring.

Upon reaching his getaway coach, two squad cars arrived on the backside blocking the roadway’s only outlet; they had him penned. Taking a step to the side of his car, the crusader discharged several rounds into the police vehicles, knocking out their headlights and puncturing the radiators. Before the officers could react, he tossed the shotgun across the passenger seat and had the Challenger in second gear, plowing through the backyards. Moving between duplexes on the way to the front yard, he downshifted into first gear and forced the snorting 426 Hemi powered Dodge across the shallow ditch onto the pavement while passing the oncoming squad cars screeching to a halt in front of the Lincoln.

Two of the black and whites turned around and commenced giving chase, narrowly avoiding a collision with two ambulances arriving at the scene. By this time, Captain America had turned onto the boulevard in the direction of the freeway on-ramp nearing speeds of 100 mph. Seeing that the chase was futile, one of the officers radioed ahead for further assistance.

Moments after the ambulance attendants began their work, veteran Houston PD detective Mike Kinstley and his new partner, detective Sharon Murphy, arrived. Kinstley, a 5’11 amateur bodybuilder with evidence of gray amongst a head of thick black hair, was very deliberate in demeanor. Murphy was a marathon runner, standing all of 5’4. She was fast to react and like Kinstley, headstrong and all business. Although only in her third year as a detective, there was evidence of gray peeking through her short dark brown hair.

Approaching one of the uniformed police officers taking a statement from a witness, Kinstley immediately inquired, Did he kill anyone?

The officer turned his attention away from the witness and replied, No, but one of the assailants did.

Who?

Her last name is Carrington. We’re actually standing in her front yard. Witnesses say she followed the assailants out of the house, screaming for help.

Kinstley stood scanning the scene and observed, None of the bad guys may be dead, but it looks like Taub’s emergency room will have their hands full. Who’s giving chase?

Carter and Simmons.

Another officer walking toward his squad car remarked, Detective Kinstley, you sure you want to apprehend this guy? I kinda like his work.

Puzzled, detective Murphy addressed her partner, You know whose handiwork this is?

We don’t know him by name; only his MO, he answered while wading through the crime scene debris. He stooped down to examine the wounds on the Carrington lady, pulling back the blanket covering her body

Further confused, Murphy inquired, But what about a license plate check and witnesses? How can you not have a name? I don’t understand.

Standing to watch paramedics place the gang members in ambulances, Mike explained, He must have connections inside the DMV because none of the many plates he uses are registered. Witnesses have never seen his face because he wears a full head mask. It’s also difficult to assess his build because he wears a thick full Kevlar suit that simulates an extremely muscular body. Anything else you want to know? he gruffly inquired with a slight grin while turning in her direction.

Murphy persisted, I get the strange feeling you don’t want to catch this guy. Are we not talking about a common criminal taking the law into his own hands?

Visibly losing his patience, Mike paused for a moment to maintain a respectful approach. Murphy, there’s nothing common about this guy. When he’s not busy protecting old folks from being robbed of their social security checks and cash like he did tonight, he’s finding time to rescue people from car jackings, robbery, assault, rape, and numerous other offenses against humanity. He once managed to avert a hostage situation at an all-night grocery. However, to set the record straight, I fully intend to bring this dangerous criminal to justice. Whatever that is. Personally, I think they ought to pin a medal on him.

Overtaken by frustration, Murphy placed both hands on her hips pleading, But he’s breaking the law! Police work is our job!

Exasperated, Kinstley pointed to the crowd of old folks still mingling and giving statements. Tell them.

Murphy then approached one of the officers investigating the crime scene, commanding, I want to know the minute Carter and Simmons apprehend wonder boy.

Sharon! Mike hollered, We’re not going to catch him in an all-out chase, so don’t get your hopes up.

Kinstley, why can’t we catch him? Does he have some sort of magical car? she asked sarcastically while advancing toward him.

Didn’t your dad once race a drag car on the NHRA circuit?

Puzzled, she asked, What’s that got to do with anything?

He turned away and proceeded to amble toward their department-issued 1984 black Ford Crown Victoria. Ask him the chances of us catching a blown 426 Hemi with a three fifty-five rear end.

Sharon paused for a moment to acknowledge the reality of his point, and then followed after him challenging, I know all about engines and rear gears, Detective Kinstley. But you’re going to tell me he can also outrun a Motorola?

As he opened the driver side door, Mike turned and explained, He makes wild stunt-like exits no one in their right mind would attempt, causing the chase cars to lose him. He then somehow manages to weave his way through the streets to wherever he holds up without being seen. Citizens in those neighborhoods are smart enough to not turn him in. Tonight, was our best shot to date at nabbing him. As soon as I call this in, we’ll go to Denny’s and finish this conversation.

The lonely stretch of Highway 59 south was suddenly shaken by the roar of a Dodge at full throttle attempting to increase the distance between itself and two Texas State Troopers giving chase.

Anxiety mounting fast and patience running thin, the lonely hero used the car phone mounted on the floorboard between the two front bucket seats to make a desperate call. Come on Richard, answer the phone! Nobody knows this number but us…Hurry Richard!

Just as the outlaw driver was about to slam the receiver back onto its cradle, Richard picked up on the other end. Sorry to keep you waiting, Alex. I was preparing the paint booth for the car’s next color. What’s up?

I’m covered up in black and whites, that’s what’s up! I’ve got this elephant running a hundred sixty plus, but they’re still in my rear-view mirror!

Where are you now?

I’m about five miles away. Surely, they’ve radioed ahead, so I don’t have much time to lose them. I need you to listen carefully. Open the gate and turn on the entrance lights. Stay on the line, because you’ll need to turn them off and close the gate when I give you the word. Then immediately turn on the lights to the hangar door. Remain on the line and I’ll tell you when to begin opening it. You’ll also need to open the rear door, because I won’t let off the throttle until I’m inside. That means I’ll end up sliding out the back door for two whiles. You’ll begin closing the front door just before I get there. Turn off the lights also. And Richard, please time it right.

I know I shouldn’t ask, but what are you planning?

I’m going to turn off my headlights about a half mile prior to that wide left turn just before the gate. When I come out of the turn, I’ll go hard right and hope to slide through. From there it’s full throttle again up the road to the hangar.

That’s an impossible feat! There’s no other way?

No. I’m going to lay the phone down now but I won’t hang up. It’s time to prepare for this insane execution. If you know a good prayer, say it now.

Wedging the receiver between the seat and the console, Alex squeezed the pistol grip shift knob of the Borg-Warner four-speed transmission in preparation for the rapid downshifting needed to perform the desperate maneuver. Extinguishing the headlights, the fugitive forced the muscle car to straddle the center line in hopes the pursuing State Troopers would think the big Dodge had simply vanished.

Then a voice from the direction of the passenger seat broke the silence softly saying, I am answering your prayer, Alex. Have faith I will see you through this maneuver. But it fell on deaf ears. Downshifting with the precision of an experienced race car driver, Alex forced the vehicle to stay on the low side of the left turn, leaving room on the high side to perform the insane right turn angle slide through the gate. Then came the moment of truth.

Heart racing in overdrive, palms sweating, and hands shaking nervously, the Masked Marvel yanked the wheel hard right, sending the car into a skid. Steering the wheel in the direction of the skid and giving it full throttle allowed the tires to grab and the car to straighten out enough to slide through the opening. A violent collision with the fence posts at the entrance had been avoided.

Grabbing the phone, Alex hollered frantically, Turn off the lights and close the gate!

Poised beside the entrance to the hangar, Richard did as instructed, and then proceeded with turning on the lights to the hangar door. He informed Alex, I’ve already opened the back door, so I’m waiting for the word to open the front.

Now! Do it now!

He reached over and thumped a large green button. OK, it’s opening as we speak.

The road from the highway to the old deserted county airport hangar was approximately one-half mile. As the mad driver approached within a hundred yards of the hangar, Richard turned off the hangar entrance lights and began the process of closing the extremely large door, hopefully having compensated for the speed of the hard charging vehicle. With fingers crossed, he waited anxiously.

Within seconds the Dodge bullied its way through the narrow opening, dismantling the driver side mirror. Immediately downshifting and braking, Alex brought the thundering vehicle to a screeching halt some 50 yards outside the back door, and began wheeling the car around slowly toward the hangar, stopping in front of the old offices turned into living quarters.

Emotionally drained and physically exhausted, Alex exited the car and placed both hands on the roof. Did we lose them?

Pushing the switch that engages the closing mechanism to the back door, Richard replied, I watched the camera transmitting from the gate and never saw them. They must have given up when you turned off your headlights.

As Alex pulled off the mask, her long auburn hair fell well below the shoulders as she shook it from side to side. I can’t thank this magnificent car enough for my not getting caught tonight.

Richard, a slender six-foot South Korean with a Ph.D. in both Political Science and Philosophy, was Alex’s 60-year old uncle and unwavering force in her life. Strolling across the Race Trac covered floor to the car, he leaned with his back against the front fender where his niece was positioned, and thoughtfully suggested, Perhaps you may want to give God some credit.

Looking at Richard through tired eyes, Alex made a concession, You’re right. You’re always right. The strangest thing happened after I extinguished my headlights. I could have sworn a soft voice spoke to me from the passenger seat. I took a quick glance, but no one was there, of course. I made that insane maneuver so easy; it was like someone else was driving.

Arms crossed and sporting a warm smile, he offered, For the sake of your inner peace, I only hope someday you’ll let the authorities and God handle justice. So, what did that phantom voice say?

I don’t know; something about faith.

Puzzled, Richard replied, Now you are scaring me. Better give up this night work and concentrate on the work God has planned for you at school and the youth center.

I think they’re on to me, Alex confessed as she ignored his offer of wisdom, and began to unzip her bulletproof Kevlar and leather suit. The police were in that neighborhood tonight laying a trap. They know I protect the old folks in poor neighborhoods on Uncle Sam’s payday. Tonight, they guessed the right neighborhood.

It may be a sign from the Father. Your next stop could be jail. What would then happen to all those who need your guidance?

Skipping over his plea, she said, I think I’ll spend the night here since it’s Friday, and take the Jeep back to the house in the morning. I’ll leave before sun up and get a few more hours sleep in my own bed.

Yawning, while rubbing his face with both hands, Richard commented, I need to spend the weekend here and do some work on this car. The paint booth is ready. What color do you want this time?

White; in honor of Kawalski in the movie ‘Vanishing Point’… I can’t thank you enough, Unc, she said leaning her head on his left shoulder. You are the steadying force in my life. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I don’t tell you that often enough."

What are uncles for? Want me to fix you something to eat before you sack out? he asked, while bending over to pick up the driver side mirror that had been knocked off when the car squeezed through the entrance.

No thanks, I’m not very hungry. My mind is racing and the adrenaline level is off the chart.

Placing the mirror on a nearby bench, he inquired, Alex, why don’t you give that Farley Fontenot guy a chance? The fact that you both teach history at the same school presents a pretty good foundation for a possible relationship. It would not hurt to have a man in your life. Maybe then you’ll have something else to do with your life at night besides this insane stuff.

Shaking her head negatively, she replied, I don’t know, he’s an ex-San Antonio Police Detective. It’s almost like he sees right through me. It’s an eerie feeling, especially when you consider what I do at night for fun. Besides, he’s…

Before she could finish her sentence, Richard interrupted while wiping his hands on a blue shop towel, I know, he just doesn’t measure up to Mike Koehl. Alex, it’s time you have someone with which to share your life. At 40, you’re not getting any younger. You’re past an age world-class athletes start winding down their careers. For sure you can’t do this forever.

I’m going to go to bed…. Richard, I’m going to get those Lymko creeps next. They robbed hundreds of people’s lifetime savings, yet they’re still rich. They’re gonna pay. From there I’m going after the airline executives who have the audacity to have the pilots and attendants take a huge cut in pay and benefits, while they pull huge bonuses and file Chapter 11. I’m going to get those squids.

Following her through the door, Richard exclaimed, Alexandria McCord, are you out of your ever-loving mind? Those are the biggest of the big shots in this world. Tell me you’re not.

She took a seat on a large sofa and begged, Would you please pull off these boots? Pretty please?

Unc succumbed to her charming child-like request, and while yanking on one and tossing it to the floor, he observed, You get me. You’re so gentle and caring at times, yet other moments you can turn into a cold-blooded administer of justice. A violent one at that. I’ll never understand how you pull it off.

I guess I was born that way. I remember watching movies where several guys would hold the arms of another fella while someone beat on him. It made me want to shoot up the bad guys right through the screen. I was filled with rage. When my parents were murdered while visiting some friends of my dad’s parents, it did something to me. I know you remember how my heart was broken into pieces. Those thugs robbed the people of their Social Security checks at gunpoint. Then decided killing them and my parents would be fun. The woman lived long enough to give the police the ugly details. Hate filled my heart, and I vowed to hunt them down like the filthy dogs they are.

While tugging on the other boot, Richard rebutted, saying, But that was ten years ago. You have not the slightest idea where they might be or even if they’re still here. Maybe in jail or dead, for that matter.

She glanced up at her uncle and informed him, Many bystanders identified them as the Grimm Reapers. At some point, I’m bound to run into them. Their leader back then was a young punk they called ‘Willie Boy.’ He’s the driving force behind my renewed martial arts training and weightlifting. If steroids did not have horrible side effects and did not transform my appearance to that of a man, believe me, I’d be juicing. Someday they’ll be illegal anyway.

Richard tossed the second boot aside and flopped down in a deep plush dark brown leather recliner. Boy, would your students be shocked to find out about this Heckle and Jeckle side of yours.

With a sudden burst of laughter, Alex clapped her hands, correcting, Heckle and Jeckle? Richard, it’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Heckle and Jeckle was a cartoon about two crows…Oh, you’re so funny. I needed that… I needed a good laugh.

Unable to hide his embarrassment, a once in a century occurrence, Unc sheepishly responded, Sorry, but I didn’t watch much TV. In fact, we didn’t even own a TV. I’ve always heard mention of Heckle and Jeckle, but didn’t know what they were talking about.

Continuing to laugh, Alex said, Oh, Richard, you’re so priceless. As long as I have you, I can manage without a husband. Besides, can’t you just imagine Farley amping out when he sees me suiting up to go out on one of my nighttime missions?

Eyelids sagging, Richard replied, Sounds like the perfect time to quit, considering he’s friends with Mike Kinstley, the renowned homicide detective here in Houston.

Smiling in Richard’s direction, she assessed, Doesn’t look like you can stay awake much longer, so what do you say we continue this far-reaching conversation when we’re both not so tired?

Richard simply rolled his head to one side and allowed his eyelids to close. Leaning back in a recliner late at night would have been certain comatose for most anyone.

Alex rose to her feet, entered the bedroom and opened the closet door, pulling a blanket off the top shelf. She then reappeared, placing the blanket over her uncle to his chin. Placing a kiss on his forehead, she softly whispered, Good night, my precious friend.

Returning to her bedroom, she closed the door and kneeled at the foot of the bed, placing her elbows on the mattress with her hands clasped. She began to pray:

Father Almighty, keep your vigilant watch over me, protecting me from harm. Make my hands steady and my aim true. Keep me on the narrow path. Let me continue to be an instrument of protection in the lives of the oppressed and the deliverer of justice to the oppressors. Keep me strong and keep me swift, Father. Let me be stealth and let me be wise. Father, let me be the teacher and mentor my students need. Thank you, Father, for Richard’s undying love and loyalty. Your humble servant, in Jesus name I pray. Amen.

While sitting in a booth at Denny’s Classic Diner with a view of the boulevard, detectives Kinstley and Murphy scanned the late-night menu.

Mike placed the menu back in its holder and announced, Murphy, I think I might just order breakfast. Pigs in a blanket, hashbrowns, three scrambled eggs, and a large glass of milk should do the trick.

Sharon looked up commenting, I would never have guessed you indulged in such a calorie loaded choice this late at night. My, I’m really perplexed.

Murphy, what do you say you let me eat my way, and I’ll let you eat your way? Perplexed? Where did you come up with that word?

Yielding, she responded while hiding behind the huge menu, "I don’t care how you eat. I was just surprised a fit looking guy like you would carb up so late at night. I didn’t mean to start a war…I was just trying to