Rogue Warriors

ROGUE WARRIORS

BY

DR. VERDUN TRIONE

Copyright Verdun Trione 2004

All rights reserved

ISBN 978-1-55349-091-3

Published by Books for Pleasure at Smashwords

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Few people demonstrated interest when I said there would be a novel about Psychopathic youth. Several questioned me about the hypothesis of training these troubled and bitter young people. The Psychopath has been known by many names. Recorded information about the Psychopath was known among the early Greek people. I learned not to trust the Psychopath, but I did find how to make him useful rather than linger in jail.

My thanks to the people kind enough to read my manuscript. To Shelly and Louis Villanueva for suggesting the title of the book. My appreciation for the meticulous editing by Richard Campbell, attorney and son-in-law. Also, to my daughter Jill, wife of Richard, for her quick scan to determine if there was enough love interest for female readers. I trust I met that charge. To a geologist and fellow writer, Dick Cousineau, who checked the geographical locations, including flora and fauna of the desert, my thanks.

My appreciation to Carol Griessen for her precise typing and organization of the manuscript.

Without the encouragement and patience of my wife, Ethel, this novel would not have been written.

LIST OF CHARACTERS

Protagonists

Dr. Leonardo Juaregi

Chief Juvenile Officer; former Vietnam Seal

Creates concept to train youthful Psychopaths into mercenaries

…

Dr. Joseph Ozanna

Professor of Forensic Psychology, University of California, Berkeley

Former CIA Field Supervisor

…

Judge Justin Lueck

Chief of Juvenile Court Services

…

Fianna Tutti, M.C.

Physician to Warlocks Project

…

Aldo Treponte

Son of Las Vegas Godfather, Florio Treponte

Former Seal and a friend of Leo Juaregi

…

Bart Bain

Member, Board of Directors, Treponte Enterprises

…

Ella Bryant

Ex-Cop. Administrative Assistant to Leo Juaregi

…

John Bell

Graduate Student; Deputy of Juvenile Court

…

Dario Gambogi

Superintendent of Sipapuni Juvenile Training Center

Ex-Colonel and Vietnam Veteran

…

Dino Traverso

Sheriff of Nye County, Nevada

…

Nick Pronko

Millwright at Sipapuni

…

Michael Treponte and wife Linda

In Charge of building maintenance at Sipapuni

Trione/Secret Centurions

…

Jeb Treponte (son of Michael) and wife Denise

In charge of vehicle equipment and repair at Sipapuni

Trains Warlock how to drive

…

Indian Police

Sgt. Joe Manaba

(Return to War)

Trooper Pete Kai

(Willow Tree)

…

Ancillary Characters

Ed Riley

FBI Investigator

…

Dr. Pietra Ozanna

Wife of Dr. Ozanna; Biology Professor at U.C. Berkeley

…

Jacob Jiminez

Chief of Police in Tijauna

…

Training Cadre

Dr. Aaron Brok

Physicist at U.C. Berkeley

…

Commander James Grant

Ex-Vietnam Seal

…

Sam Lu

Taiwanese, Ex-Seal; wilderness survival expert and tracker

…

Rosa Panetta

Ex-Street Cop; Juvenile Officer

…

Jackie Shaw

Juvenile Officer, Ex-Cop; private investigator

…

Ted Tamika

American-Japanese; Ex-Seal

Expert in demolitions, firearms and martial arts

…

Sifu Tubari

Turk; Ex-Seal; martial arts; linguist

Trione/Secret Centurions

…

Antagonists

Anselmo Blanco

Head of Mexican Cartel and Terrorists

…

Ciro Blanco

Son of Anselmo

…

Alberto Padilla

Second in command to Blanco

…

Juvenile Psychopaths (age 16 – The Warlocks)

Vic Armano

Terry Brennan

Santo Carrado

Curt Hale

Connie Jones

Malika Lorant

Amodeo Lucca

Molly McCarty

Ed Melchior

Ramon Naldo

Donella Ramos

Duke Ray

Welby Tomlin

Thor Torkel

Joki Viljo

FORWARD

As a Psychologist I worked with Psychopathic youth, sometimes called Sociopaths, for nearly thirty years. I learned, with difficulty, that the Psychopath does not respond to traditional therapy or education. In the early years I found there was a paucity of critical literature as to how the young Psychopath functioned. Professional Counselors, Psychologists, Psychiatrists, Social Workers, Educators and legal services did not understand the real world of the Psychopath. His language structure and beliefs are elliptical, elusive and confusing. He/she has no conscience, hence no sense of morality acceptable in our society.

The Psychopath is extremely intelligent, usually in the upper five percent of the population. The Psychopath may come from the ghetto or from an affluent family. Those who dismiss him conclude the personality is genetically defective. Others disagree. Aristotle considered the Psychopath developmental. Until genetics comes up with objective data, I lean towards the developmental viewpoint.

To be successful with the Psychopath, you enter his world and drag him into your own. He/she comes reluctantly if the material rewards meet expectations. Easily bored, the Psychopath lives on the edge and in the present. His indifference to general society is his dialecticism for living. This novel presents that position predicated on many clinical experiences, hours in court, and recent research on the Psychopath.

Dr. Verdun Trione

Forensic Psychologist (Diplomate), Retired

School Psychologist, Diplomate APA

Retired Professor, University of Nevada

CHAPTER ONE

The Challenge

Bogies at six o’clock, murmured Leo Juaregi to his companion.

Next corner, muttered Aldo Treponte without emotion, or missing a step.

Leo Juaregi’s keen hearing had heard footsteps. A slight turn of his head located four male youths creeping up on them.

They turned the corner and quickly flattened against a warehouse wall. Within seconds, the youths jostled into them. Two of the youth wore ‘knucks’ on their right hands; another flashed a switchblade; one wielded a club. Leo and Aldo, ex-Seals, attacked with hands and feet.

Shocked, the youths flailed wildly. Leo’s right foot cracked the knee of the knife wielder, sending him to the pavement with a shriek. Aldo broke the wrist of the club holder. He retrieved the club from the howling youth.

The other two paused, stunned. Chief Juvenile Officer Leo Juaregi flashed a badge and .38 police revolver.

Drop the knucks and assume the position, waving to the wall.

Aldo slammed two against the wall, dragging the injured two next to them. They were whimpering, holding knee and wrist. Leo noted in the early evening light that there were two Caucasian, one black, and one Mexican youth.

Asshole, snarled the black youth to the Mexican. You said it would be easy.

Youths’ hands on the wall, Leo kicked their feet apart and frisked them. He found nothing. Stay here, he growled. He stepped back and flipped out a cell phone. He punched in the number of the Police Chief Paul DiBianco, City of Pittsburg, California.

Eight minutes later DiBianco roared into the scene, siren screaming, followed by an ambulance with paramedics. People were coming furtively out of nearby houses.

Hey, Leo, called Chief DiBianco, exiting from his car. Joe Enea, his deputy, remained on the other side of the car, hand on his weapon, loose in its holster.

Paul, I got some live ones for you. Have the paramedics help those two, gesturing to the injured. He ran his flashlight on all the youth’s faces. For the luvva Pete, he groused. All repeaters. They are on parole and should be home at this time. Judge Lueck will not take kindly to this.

By this time, the paramedics had fitted injured limbs with splints and bandages. They were loading them into the ambulance. DiBianco gestured to his silent deputy. Enea, go with them. I’ll take the other two to juvy. He turned to Leo. I’ll write them up, assault and violation of parole. Some of these kids never learn, exasperation in his voice. He pointed, Melchior, Garrett, stand in front of my car.

Enea pulled away with the ambulance.

Leo nodded, We’ve talked about juvenile psychopaths. He introduced Aldo Treponte, former fellow Seal and classmate at U.C. Berkeley.

Treponte! Vegas! exclaimed DiBianco. Your father and I were classmates at Cal years ago. I heard your Uncle Quatttro passed away. I take it Florio has a handle on things. Direct, no nonsense DiBianco.

Some Families wouldn’t agree, Aldo replied dryly with a distant smile.

DiBianco, hands on hips, grinned. The folks in this town have their money on the Trepontes.

Aldo and Leo exchanged looks. Pittsburg population was fifty percent Italian. Many had friends and relatives in the Nevada desert city.

I want a lawyer, yelled the moonfaced youth standing in front of DiBianco’s police car. His sullen faced friend, Garrett, was leaning against a fender next to him.

Shut up, Melchior, snapped DiBianco. You can call your parents from the station. Tonight you’re our guest. Melchior opened his mouth. Pipe down, glowered the police chief. I have hauled you in so many times I’ve lost count. He swung around to Leo and Aldo. You guys need a ride?

No need, Paul, advised Leo, watching some of the bystanders walk back to their homes. We were headed to Ambrosi’s for oysters. Care to join us?

Don’t tempt me. I have to get these two to the station. DiBianco turned towards the two youths. Garrett was pointing a small, cocked .25 caliber automatic at Leo.

Garrett! yelled DiBianco, grabbing at his forty-five. Drop that gun.

Garrett, with a mirthless grin, swung his arm and fired the gun at DiBianco. The slug caught DiBianco’s left shoulder. He did not miss. The forty-five slug slammed Garrett against the front of the police car. Mouth open in shock, he slid down with his automatic clattering to the pavement.

There were shouts from nearby people. A man ran forward and checked Garrett’s vitals. He shook his head in the shocked silence. He’s dead, Paul. looking at the Police Chief standing in dazed comprehension.

Leo jumped forward, seizing the weaving DiBianco. He took his weapon and activated the radio.

Sergeant Gaetano, he called. Juvenile Officer Juaregi. On the double with paramedics. The chief just killed a juvenile who shot him.

Aldo grabbed Melchior and threw him in the caged section of the vehicle. He then pulled out a first aid kit and slapped a bandage on the chief’s shoulder.

Paul DiBianco sat stunned. He lifted agonized eyes to Leo. Leo, he wheezed, I just shot a kid. Just a kid.

Leo held the man’s hand. Paul, you had no choice. In ‘Nam we had kids shoot and throw grenades at us.

The man who checked Garrett’s vitals had thrown his jacket over the youth’s body. He put his hand on the chief’s knee. You had no choice Paul. We’ll all testify to that. People behind him murmured assent.

Leo turned on Melchior. Where was the gun? We frisked you guys.

Babbled Melchior, shrinking into a corner, He had it strapped to his leg in his crotch. He wore those big loose pants. He unzipped his pants to get it and…. His voice trailed.

Why? whispered the Chief, painfully looking at the covered body, sweat beading his face.

Aldo found a blanket in the trunk of the car and threw it over the Chief’s shoulders.

Sergeant Gaetano arrived with a siren blasting ambulance. Medics immediately attended to DiBianco and loaded him into the ambulance. The vehicle’s siren revved up as the medics headed for the hospital.

Leo made his report to Gaetano, handing him the Chief’s gun and leather.

Gaetano was efficient. This kid was a placement from your agency, he told Leo. I’ll call the social worker to tell the foster family. They had problems with the kid. We have picked him up for shoplifting and truancy. I have no idea where he got the gun.

The man who had checked Garrett stepped forward. Sarg, the Chief had no choice. The kid fired first. We will all testify to that. It’s a lousy situation, but that’s the way it came down.

Gaetano was busy taking notes. He got the names of witnesses and details of the shooting.

Leo noted the sincere efforts of the community people to stand behind their Chief. He had served the community for twenty-five years. I’ll send you my report in the morning, Leo told the Sergeant.

Thanks, Dr. Juaregi, snapping closed his report book. This is the first time Paul ever shot a kid. It’s pure hell for any cop. I’ll call you, shaking Leo’s hand.

The coroner’s vehicle slid up. Gaetano had the presence to call when he heard of the incident. Sergeant Gaetano walked to the vehicle and exchanged words with the coroner. The technicians quietly lifted the body onto a gurney and slid it into the vehicle. The coat covering him was returned to the man.

Leo and Aldo watched Gaetano drive away in the Chief’s patrol car. Melchior was in the back seat, fast asleep.

The crowd had thinned to a few occasional groups of two and three people. Four men approached Leo and Aldo, thanking them for their role.

We keep getting kids from San Francisco, Oakland, Richmond, explained one man. We have added on an extra policeman, but it keeps growing. Folks move here with their kids, not realizing they are bringing problems with them.

Paul’s been with us twenty-five years, said another, shaking his head. He was born here and grew up here. He’s a great cop. I know this tears him apart.

It had to happen sooner or later, added another. These kids don’t give a damn. No matter how decent you treat them.

Therein lies the tale of the Psychopath, thought Leo. Thank you for coming forward, he complimented the men. Visit the Chief. He needs to hear from you as to what a great job he’s doing.

We will, chimed the men as they walked towards their homes.

Leo looked at his companion and quizzed, Still hungry?

Aldo chuckled. Never stopped us ten years ago, he said referring to their tenure as Seals in mean, godforsaken places.

They stepped up on the sidewalk and continued their original journey towards the restaurant. Leo turned his head towards his old friend. Why have we been so frequently near danger?

Aldo shrugged, smiling, but eyes sober. Call it fate; maybe tradition. I come from a long line of Roman centurions. Our grandfathers and fathers fought in World Wars I and II.

Nodded Leo, Come to think of it, my Basque ancestors cut the hell out of Charlemagne’s rear guard at the Battle of Roncesvalles in 778.

With a hint of reckless understanding for his friend, Aldo laughed. Basques are incredible. They have lived centuries without a formal government. You have fishermen, sailors who make their own boats with hides. People don’t know historically, the Basques were with Columbus and the Spanish Conquistadors in the New World.

Leo and Aldo were in front of Ambrosi’s Restaurant on the wharf that extended out into Suisun Bay.

You guys ever stay out of trouble? asked a genial voice from the doorway. The door swung open revealing a gray haired, erect man wearing a long, old-fashioned apron.

Hi Ambrosi, called Leo, shaking hands. This is Aldo Treponte.

Treponte, a well known name, declared Ambrosi shaking hands with the Treponte heir. I hear you guys had a little set-to down the street.

Aldo and Leo exchanged amused glances, impressed how news got around the neighborhood. The telephone lines had been busy.

Leo gestured while seating himself. We’re hungry, Ambrosi. You know what I like. Aldo will have the same, looking at his friend who nodded. Incidentally, Leo asked, how is your boy? referring to Ambrosi’s fifteen year old son.

Amazing, exclaimed Ambrosi, seizing Leo’s hand, shaking it. He’s changing. Even volunteered to get a haircut when I offered him a job to work here on Saturdays. He paused, eyeing Aldo. Met your father some years ago. Is Vagliente still Consiliere? Tell him hello.

Aldo waved acquiescence, smiling and biting a breadstick from a jar on the table.

Ambrosi rubbed his chin, pointed a finger at Leo. I’ll make you a meal for a king. How about a side of pasta and a salad along with the oysters and mussels in olive oil and capers.

Show me, chuckled Leo.

For you, the blood of my family. The man strode off to the kitchen. Leo and Aldo understood the compassion of that statement within Italian families.

I picked up his kid who was involved with a gang. He was in trouble. The kid’s back in school and doing volunteer work. I got him a good counselor, explained Leo, as he reached for a grissini (breadstick) from the glass.

Sounds like a good family, commented Aldo. I like this little family restaurant, looking appreciatively about the warm looking interior.

Ambrosi brought them mussels I olive oil and Balsamic vinegar with capers; a loaf of sour French bread and steins of his homemade beer. The latter he gave only to his favorite customers. Local authorities ignored this occasional minor bending of rules.

Great beer, sighed Aldo after a draught. Tastes like the kind Grandpa used to make when I was a little kid. Picking up two mussels with a tiny fork, he lifted his eyes to Leo. What’s the story on the proposal to train Psychopaths?

It sounds promising, reported Leo, joining his friend with a tiny fork. They smacked their lips over the gustatory rendering Ambrosi had set before them. It was hell for Dr. Ozanna to get it through the U.C. Faculty Senate and county commissioners. Dr. Ozanna (their former graduate professor) was a virtual Patrick Henry to them. Judge Lueck backed him. Only one voted against it out of the seven-man commission board. In fact, continued Leo, we met a couple of Psychopaths tonight. I know the file of the one who got shot. He shook his head, looking over the rim of his glass at Aldo. In the past two years nationwide, it’s alleged we have had a fifty percent increase of teenaged Psychopaths.

I agree, said the listening Aldo Treponte. At Sipapuni we applied the Hare Psychopathic Checklist. We got rid of six of them. They didn’t belong in the rehabilitation center which is geared only to delinquent kids.

The Psychopath and the delinquent are miles apart, rumbled a voice at their table. Dr. Joseph Ozanna slid into a chair with them. The Professor of Anthropology and Psychology at U.C. Berkeley went on. The Psychopath is brilliant, without conscience and scruples and reported in Greek writings as early as 250 BC. Aristotle was alleged to have described it as a developmental condition; a natural condition without moral or ethical propositions.

Ambrosi arrived pushing a cart with bowls of steaming oysters. On the cart were pasta, crisp salads, dips and bread.

Hello Doc, he greeted Ozanna, and placed a setting of dish and silverware before the men.

Ambrosi, you escapee from the best of Cordon Bleu. How is the lager?

Ambrosi reached down to a lower shelf and brought out a pitcher of his beer. It’s beer, you overeducated nincompoop.

He and Ozanna laughed heartily, shaking hands. Leo smiled at the familiar ritual between Ozanna and Ambrosi. Leo quickly filled in Ozanna about the incident with the four youths, including DiBianco’s action.

Ozanna nodded soberly. Nothing new. It’s happening all over the country. He looked at Leo. I heard from CIEL about our proposal. I should know more in a week. It sounds favorable. We may get the money.

CIEL (Central Intelligence and Experimental Laboratory) was the brainchild of Dr. Ozanna when he was a field supervisor for OSS agents. Its purpose was to test new methods, techniques and equipment useful to the agency.

Ambrosi arrived with another pitcher of beer. Heard from the hospital. DiBianco is okay. Will spend the night there. Too bad about the kid getting killed, the man said soberly. He put down the pitcher.

Leo dug into an oyster, matching Ambrosi’s look. It goes with the territory as it does in any war. He finished plucking out the oyster. We are in a war and folks don’t know it. He exchanged looks with Ozanna and Aldo, who nodded.

I know it’s not the same as we had it in World War II, Ambrosi’s eyes glowed. Whatever I can do for you guys. He swept up used dishes, placed them on the cart and rolled away.

The three men ate silently with their thoughts. Each had experienced war in his own way. Their thoughts were tumbling with the concept of the Psychopath.

It never ends, asserted Leo. I spent two years on the streets studying these kids in their neighborhoods and gangs. I found them in wealthy, educated neighborhoods and in the slums. I concur with the original opinion of the Greeks. It is not genetic.

That’s why we took Leo’s doctoral dissertation and made a training proposal from it. We sent it to CIEL for funds, declared Ozanna, taking another pull at his beer.

Leo’s face was hard. He stopped eating and leaned back in his chair. His eyes sought the surface of the bay shimmering beyond the wharf’s lights.

The training will be tough as we had it in the Seals. I also will adopt methods from Russian Spetsnez and French Foreign Legion, declared Leo.

I remember, said Aldo. We had a couple of Psychopaths in our outfit we called fuck ups. They nearly got us killed with their idiotic judgments.

Leo chuckled, We got rid of them. Having them taught us something about personnel selection and combat conditions.

Leo’s study of the street gangs was hailed as a brilliant contribution about teenage Psychopaths. It pointed out that the Psychopaths did not respond to traditional counseling or rehabilitation. Nor were they amenable to formal education. Leo, ex-Vietnam veteran, recognized the Psychopath’s penchant for violence and his lack of remorse for his acts. He and Ozanna concurred on the plan to train them as mercenaries. They could be used to cope with the growing dangers of terrorism.

We will make them mission oriented warriors, Leo told Ozanna.

Only a Basque could come up with such a pragmatic plan, grunted Ozanna. He leveled his sharp blue eyes at Leo. I think our proposal should stir the attention of CIEL.

Leo grinned. I’m sure you must have pulled in a few favors from those who owed you.

Ozanna’s eyes twinkled, but he ignored the thrust. You spent two years on the streets of Seattle, Chicago, Los Angeles, El Paso, and Philadelphia. You identified nearly two hundred Psychopaths among those gangs and came up with a common denominator. The teenage Psychopath is bright, ruthless, and has no conscience. He or she does not respond to traditional psychological treatments or education. No matter what psychologist, psychiatrist or social worker is involved.

Leo shrugged, I also picked up a small group of Psychopaths that had been inducted into the army.

Who went AWOL or were kicked out of service, intervened Aldo Treponte. We had a few in the Seals, but they fit.

We had control and the squad was the source of discipline, agreed former Lt. Leonardo Juaregi of the Seals in Vietnam. That’s where I got the idea to train young Psychopaths to be mercenaries.

It made an excellent doctoral dissertation and basis for the proposal I sent the Central Intelligence Experimental Laboratory, declared Ozanna. His impish smile concealed the fact he had been the inventor of CIEL when he was a field supervisor of agents for the OSS.

Aldo Treponte had some knowledge of the proposed project. He paused, helping himself from a huge platter of mollusks. If this project goes, it could mean solving more than one problem with the Warlocks that I call Psychopaths. He harpooned an oyster off a half shell. It means reducing the prison population, and giving us a Cadre of warriors to cope with the increasing terrorism this country faces. He slid the oyster between his lips that smacked over the morsel.

Aldo Treponte was the son of the Mafia Don of Las Vegas, Dr. Florio Treponte. His father, a professor at Nevada Southern University had been pressured to take over the Mafia Empire left to him by his deceased Uncle Quattro Treponte. He did so reluctantly but very successfully. Aldo was slated to take over the helm of Treponte Enterprises.

Aldo looked dreamily out over the bay. He turned to Leo and Ozanna. How would you like to use Sipapuni as one of your training sites?

Whoa, exclaimed Leo, half rising from his chair. Ozanna missed the end of the cigar he was lighting.

You mean it, Al? asked Leo.

Sure. Consider it a contribution by Treponte Enterprises.

Ozanna cleared his throat. We’re grateful. It’s falling together. I expect CIEL to approve the proposal. He slurped up a couple of oysters. He was not to be outdone with other announcements, inwardly grinned Leo. He and Aldo exchanged knowing looks. They were aware of Ozanna’s penchant for the dramatic.

And? asked Leo, eyebrows elevated in question.

Ozanna picked at another oyster with his fork. They are arguing about the amount of the budget, he informed them, placing the delicacy in his mouth and chewing.

Too much? asked Aldo. He’d stopped eating, feeling anger. He had worked out that budget to the nickel. Now what?

They wouldn’t say, leaving Leo furious.

Judge Justin Lueck appeared at their table. Did I hear the proposal went? wide-eyed, shaking hands and then pulling up a chair.

Ozanna repeated what he had told Leo and Aldo. We should know within a week. He glanced at the two young men. I am just as frustrated as you are. As soon as CIEL calls, I’ll tell you.

Ambrosi put a plate and setting before Judge Lueck. Lueck was a stocky five foot eight, blue eyed, florid complexion. He took his job seriously as Chief of the Juvenile Court. While helping himself to mussels and oysters, he remarked to Leo. I once traveled in the Pyrenees Mountains that separate Spain and France. I recall Navarre and Guipzceos. The Basques were ship builders. They made ships out of steer hides. Incredible!

Leo leaned back. My ancestors also were smugglers and farmers, he grinned. They hunted codfish off Newfoundland and whales further north. The Romans called us Vasconnes from the province of Navarre.

And you Basques gave Franco a bad time, interrupted Ozanna with a wave of his fork.

Lueck pursued his topic. How have you Basques lived so many centuries without a formal government?

Leo laughed at the question. It’s a code of loyalty and honesty. He cracked open several oysters. It’s called the Fueros. He gulped an oyster, following it with a chunk of French bread. He looked keenly at his friend. Aldo, are you sure about Sipapuni?

It’s fitting. Aldo put own his utensils. Sipapuni means place of emergence by the Hopi. The place is isolated. You have mountains, desert, and forests. It has all the housing you need. There is a dispensary, school, dining hall, plus staff to run it.

The Warlocks Center will be used for three months near Mount Diablo, declared Ozanna looking from one man to the other. We are most grateful for the use of Sipapuni.

Consider it done, smiled Aldo, reaching towards the fresh pasta Ambrosi had just set on the table.

* * *

Chief Juvenile Officer Leo Juaregi stepped cheerfully into his office the next morning. He stopped dead in his tracks. Now what? he muttered. Frowning, he stepped to the intercom. Code Four! Code Four! his voice boomed. It was an emergency alert he and his staff changed daily.

What’s up? asked Deputy Jackie Shaw, poking her head through the doorway.

Leo gestured with his chin as he pulled a .38 revolver from his desk drawer. It’s a hunch. Something is wrong. Take Deputy Jones and shake down the female unit. I’ll take the male wing. He headed out the door swinging left towards the male wing.

On it! Jackie trotted out the door to the right. She beckoned to Deputy Panetta coming towards her. Jackie was used to her boss’s premonitions.

Leo Juaregi had a history of premonitions. The first time it happened he was alerted to coyotes when tending sheep for his family in northeastern Nevada. The other time in Vietnam with a Seal team behind the lines. Finally, when he was a street cop in San Francisco’s Tenderloin.

Extra sensory perception, a fellow graduate student at U.C. told him.

Leo paused at the desk of his administrative assistant, Ella Bryant. He noticed that she had pulled open the top right hand drawer of her desk. Within it was a .38 police special. Leo shook his head as he went on. The woman is psychic, he thought.

As he stepped out into the hall, Deputy John Bell met him. He saw Rosa Panetta strolling up the hall. Leo snapped, Something is wrong. Got your piece?

Bell nodded wordlessly, eyebrows curved in question. Rosa stopped at the door.

Got your gun? asked Leo.

What for? she asked.

Leo scowled at the laid back woman. We’re making an emergency sweep of the units. We have the male wing. Get it? On the double.

Panetta opened her mouth, saw his face, whirled and ran to her office. She snatched the Glock out of her desk drawer. Emerging, Leo observed her having trouble deciding whether to hold the gun or put it in her waistband.

Put the damned thing in your belt, Leo growled.

They were at the door of the male wing. It was ominously quiet inside. Leo slipped a plastic card key into the door’s lock. He waved Bell and Panetta to both sides of the door. They flattened on either side, guns held at ready. Crouching low, Leo slammed his shoulder against the door and hurtled into the room. Bell and Panetta were on his heels, sweeping to either side.

A yell of pain greeted them when the door slammed against the wall. It was Vic, the Cheyenne-Mexican youth, pinned against the wall. Big John Bell twisted the knife from his hand. He picked up Vic by the scruff of the neck and hurled him into a chair. He pointed a finger, warning him to remain there. He then leaped to Rosa Panetta’s aid who was helping Officer John Connor from the floor with a bleeding head.

Leo advanced into the room, herding over youths before him. Sit, roared Leo, pointing to the floor. Seventeen male posteriors hit the floor. Melchior, snarled Leo to an obese youth, pointing back. Get over there with Vic.

You can’t touch me, sneered the youth, moving slowly towards the door.

John Bell’s hand reached through the doorway and descended on Melchior’s shoulder, sending him sprawling towards Vic. Bell then dropped him into a chair. Not a word to each other or anyone else, towering over them.

Where is Jenny? inquired Leo of the other officer.

John Connor, the injured officer, looked into Leo’s stony eyes and flushed. She stepped out to go to the john and have a smoke. I thought I could handle them. I should not have stayed sitting at the desk.

What happened?

Vic was challenging me to arm wrestle. Melchior snuck up behind me and hit me with that flower pot, pointing to a broken flowerpot on the floor.

Leo instructed Rosa Panetta, Get Connor to emergency. Bell, keep an eye on these kids. I’ll ask Ella to get a couple of officers for the male unit.

Rosa helped a still dizzy Connor out of the room. Leo dialed the female unit. Jackie answered. All under control, Chief. We found a .25 Ruger automatic.

Where?

On Donella.

How-----?

She was the only one endowed enough to have that size bra, asserted Jackie’s dry voice.

Oh, muttered Leo. He caught Bell’s grin. No crack out of you, he warned.

Can the staff manage? he groused.

Yes, a slightly irritated Jackie answered.

Leo cursed to himself. It was a stupid question. Jackie was one of his best.

Thank you, Jackie, hanging up. He then called Ella to get officers for the boy’s wing. At that moment Jenny Swenson, the missing officer to the wing, strolled in. She looked puzzled at Leo and Bell.

Jenny, where the devil were you? Two of the detainees in the wing attacked Connor.

Hurt bad?

No. No one officer is ever left alone to supervise the unit. You know the policy. You are the senior officer in this case. Connor’s injury could have been worse.

Swenson’s hard face briefly flickered. Well Connor’s okay, yeah? Where is he?

Panetta took him to ER. Doesn’t seem serious. Where were you?

I went to the can; stopped for a smoke. Everything was okay when I left.

Leo simmered at her indifferent tone. Please come to my office in ten minutes. I have to set up Mr. Bell. I am assigning two substitute officers until we get this matter cleared.

Okay, Swenson replied indifferently.

Leo regarded her receding figure. Three years as chief officer he had missed something about her. Now he grasped it.

You okay until the subs get here? He asked John Bell. I suggest these two, Melchior and Vic, be locked down until we decide otherwise."

I’ll take care of it. Sorry about Connor and Swenson. Bell led off the two; hands on their shoulders.

Leo met Swenson in his office. She regarded him expressionless. He had some minor infractions with her before, but not this. Jenny, you disregarded policy and jeopardized a fellow officer. You know you never leave one officer with a roomful of potentially violent kids.

He doesn’t know how to handle them. I’ll bang a few heads and get them under control. Her voice was ugly.

Leo looked deep into the woman’s indifferent eyes. She was a piece of work. A Psychopath’s calculating eyes? He puzzled over her lack of conscience about Connor and the youths. He made a quick decision. I am relieving you of duty immediately, his voice cool. You once worked with Vice with good ratings. I am recommending you be transferred there.

Hey! You can’t do that. I’ve been five years on this job. I’ll go to the Board of Commissioners. Connor wasn’t hurt bad. He knew not to turn his back on the little bastards. I have seniority. What do you know with your fancy PhD? she snarled.

Jenny, none of the staff likes to work with you. You’ve dogged it on the job. Besides, you don’t know diddly about Connor’s injury. You are not a physician.

You bastard, snarled Jenny. I’ll get you for this.

You are relieved of duty---now! Report to personnel in the morning, waving her out.

Swenson kicked over a chair and slammed the door behind her. Leo was left with the word Psychopath hanging in his mind. Where did I miss it with this woman? The Psychopath is found at all socio-economic levels, including the legal system. While he was there thinking of Swenson, he recalled a study done by a fellow graduate student. He gave a personality test to a group of prisoners at San Quentin. He also gave the same test to a group of guards at San Quentin and Folsom. The correlation between guards and prisoners was remarkably high; over a seventy percent overlap.

Leo had showed the study to Ozanna who chuckled, Well, I guess it takes one to catch one.

It was episodes like this, and many of his experiences as a street cop, that led Leo to study street gangs. He collected data for two years to create his doctoral dissertation. His two years also as leader of a Seal team in Vietnam made him a resilient scholar about Psychopaths.

He called Ella. Jenny Swenson is recommended back to vice. She’s relieved of duty immediately. Be sure she cleans out her desk and locker. She’s been instructed to report to personnel in the morning. Please alert the personnel office of the matter.

Leo heard Ella’s calm, Yes sir, and hung up. What he didn’t see were the ‘high fives’ exchanged by the clerical staff when Ella reported his decision.

Jackie paused at his desk and handed him a clear plastic bag containing a .25 caliber Ruger automatic. Courtesy of Donella, she announced. It’s still loaded. All is quiet in the girl’s wing.

Thanks, Jackie. Stay with John. Ella’s getting us a couple of substitutes for Swenson and Connor.

No problem, said Jackie exiting.

Jackie would have made a hell of a Seal, mused Leo. Cool under stress; intelligent, tough, organized. She was brusque but fair with the youth at ‘juvy’.

He smiled, recalling an event when two male youths attacked Jackie. She demonstrated amazing proficiency with feet and hands to the youths’ sorrow.

Ella Bryant placed a completed transfer form on his desk for signature. One of the clerks followed her with a cup of coffee and a wide smile. He caught on. Ella read him like a well-thumbed almanac.

Thank you, he told Ella and the clerk. Did you locate a couple of officers for the boy’s wing? looking at her expectantly.

Yes sir. There are two I’d like to recommend, she said, looking questioningly.

Recommend hell; this was a game Ella played. They were on their way already. She had a barrel full of ex-cops who deemed it a privilege to work juvy with Ella. He signed the form and handed it back. Ella peeled off the back sheet and returned it to him.

Sir, personnel will want reasons for the transfer.

I’ll take care of it.

She paused, Connor was sent home for a couple of days sick leave. It looks like he is okay.

Thanks Ella, Leo replied looking up at the freckled, redheaded, slender, fifty-two year old woman. An ex-cop, Ella was the first woman to serve in a Black and White for the Sheriff’s Department. At thirty-five, she was cut down in a fight but she got the shooter. Injured, she was transferred to an administrative desk.

Leo finished writing his reasons for the transfer; signed and handed it to his administrative assistant.

Thank you, sir, murmured Ella as she turned.

* * *

Ella buzzed him. Dr. Ozanna, she announced, on line two.

Leo, you are the first to know. We got the grant for three years.

The budget? asked Leo hoarsely. He could hear Ozanna flourishing the letter in the office.

Five million!

Incredible,