THE BOLAN CHRONICLES: Reading # 46

46. Approximate Minutes Reading (AMR): 6

Introduction to Characters

THE BOLAN CHRONICLES

Chapter 3
A Real Live Policeman

**Narcissistic Rot**

Six months later, in January of 1988, Jake further substantiated his hero status.  This time, it was the headline in the Saturday edition of the Post. ‘Officer Bolan As Hero…Again!’  Jake had responded to interviews with such a breathtaking and rare combination of humbleness and charisma. He had stated, of course, that it was nothing; that any God-fearing, community-loving police officer would do what he had done. That he was simply doing his job and was just thrilled that no innocent life had been lost and that he was humbled that he again had been in a position within which he could save lives and that this is what he lived for, and…blah, blah, blah.  

But folks fell for it. They had now become so familiar with Bolan that his was a name of common discussion throughout town. Ordinary folks everywhere recognized him, especially while on duty.  His fellow officers began referring to him as ‘Courageous Jake.’  Though Bolan wasn’t particularly thrilled about this, he considered it a small price for the future benefits. He’d a plan, and it was coming together well.

According to the article, Jake had been off duty and alone. He had changed into his civilian clothes after a workout at the gym, and he had been taking care of paper work at a local coffee shop when a burly, middle-aged man had walked in and ordered a coffee. His hair was long and disheveled. He wore a green stocking cap with a large “Don’t Get God Started” button on the back. His off-white trousers—at least two sizes too small—were wrought with yellowish-brown stains and clung tightly to his legs. The holes at the tips of his Converse shoes revealed his dirty toes.  

He’d looked around the shop, scoping it out, but he’d failed to notice Jake in the corner, directly behind him. Jake had been sitting at the very end of the large oak table located in the back. He had noticed, while the man was giving his order, that something was stuffed down the back of his pants. He had watched him carefully, mentally preparing for what he considered inevitable. By the time the man had pulled his gun and had pointed it at the young lady taking his order, Jake had pulled his own gun and had ordered the vagrant to drop his weapon. From his position under the table, Jake had pushed it over and had used it as a shield. The man had turned to face Jake and had shot at him. Then he had made his way to the area behind the register.

All the while, the three employees who had been working behind the counter had rushed to the storage room and had locked the door behind them. Two young female employees between the ages of 20 and 25 and one male, about the same age, were crouched together under a metal prepping table. They’d surrounded themselves with boxes. One of the girls was crying while the other two employees were trying desperately to calm her, hoping that the shooter had not already heard her sobs.

The vagrant had managed to plow through a large stack of boxes and then had begun screaming from his location around the corner of a dividing wall. He’d loudly informed Jake that he wanted Jake to leave the store--to let him do what God had asked him to do. He had been asked by God to do his part in ridding the world of two more selfish sinners, those ‘young sons-of-bitches who were only interested in their own selfish pursuits.’  According to the man, it made no difference who he killed, only that they were not children and that they were younger than forty.  It had been, according to the vagrant, this generation of humans who had infected the country with their “narcissistic rot.”  And he had, according to the story, repeated the phrase, “narcissistic rot” several times, loudly, as if he had wanted to ensure that the individuals in the storeroom would hear him.  

Jake had then begun to negotiate with the man. He had asked him how in the world he could know that these people were the right age, and wouldn’t he have to be sure of the right age, and if he were not sure, wouldn’t he be accountable to God for having not obeyed him completely? And he added, “You are to complete your mission across the street at the St. Vincent’s College bookstore. You’ll see the narcissistic rot as soon as you walk in.” Then he had finished by saying, “I am the servant of god who has been sent to give you his message.”

The man had suddenly become silent. He finally spoke, acknowledging Jake’s logic. And amazingly, he had then agreed to leave the store with the promise from Jake that he would not be harmed. Jake had then promised the man that he would let him go, that he, in fact, had been sent by God to advise him of his mistake. When Jake had said this, the man had come out from behind the wall and had, without pause, begun the slow limp out of the coffee shop, drops of blood left in his path. And just before he had reached the door, he had turned toward Jake and said, “Thank you so much.” And then he had started to sob quietly as he reached for the door.

When Jake had seen that the vagrant had returned his gun to the back of his pants, he had crawled out from behind the table and had then slipped through a side door exit. He had carefully reached the front of the shop and had jumped the suspect just as he was about to cross the street. He had pinned and eventually apprehended him and had waited for backup to arrive.

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The true story was only similar. When Jake had entered the coffee shop, it was not to buy a cup of coffee and then to do paperwork.  In fact, it was the second time in the past 15 minutes that he had gone in.  

The first time Jake had entered, he had ordered a cup of coffee.  \He had noticed, prior to entering the shop, that the patio area heat lamps were turned off, and he’d asked if it might be possible that they be turned on so that he could sit outside he did his work. The twenty-something male employee, Jonathan, knew officer Bolan well, as a regular customer and of course, as an up and coming sort of local super-hero. 

Jonathan had smiled and replied, “Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Bolan. It’s been so slow. Of course, we’ll get them turned on for you right away.”  

Jake had returned to the patio area and had begun to get his materials ready for work when he noticed a vagrant sitting on the ground in the far corner. He hadn’t been writing for more than a minute or two when the vagrant had walked over and asked if he had a few spare minutes to talk. At first, Jake told him no, that he was sorry, but he was very busy. But when the man informed Jake that he had information from God that was going to cause some degree of drama in the next few minutes, Jake had told him that he would listen. He asked the man if he might like a cup of coffee, but the man refused.  Then Jake asked him about the information. The man informed him that God had specifically told him that he was to rid the world of two more people on that day.  \He was to waste no time in finding two individuals between the ages of 18 and 40. Then the vagrant asked Jake his age.  

Jake had smiled at that point and had replied, “Well, I’m not fond of giving my age. How old do you think I am?”

The man had carefully looked Jake up and down and finally responded, “Oh, I think you are one of the narcissistic rot that God wants gone, that’s what I think.”

Jake had then said, “Nope. In fact, my daddy’s genes done been good to me.  I’m 42, and lucky at that, huh?”

Here, Jake formulated a plan. He knew it was a long shot, but he was willing to take the chance.

“How you gonna do it, partner?” He’d asked.

The man smiled, showing what brown teeth remained, “I got myself a piece.”

Jake returned the smile, “Ah, I see. And is it gonna do the trick? I mean, you got it with you, right?”

“Yeah, I got it right here.” And he pulled the 357-caliber pistol from the back of his tight-fitting pants.

“Geez! You are ready, aren’t you?”

“Uh-huh.”

Jake then took the plunge, counting on his natural judgment.

He looked around and leaned over then said softly, “Well, I got some inside information from the big man, myself, that you just might be interested in hearing.”

The vagrant suddenly became excited, “You do? What? Tell me!”

“Now, hold on, my friend. You’ve got to be patient.”

Jake then informed the man that God had told him, just this morning, that he was going to meet a man at the coffee shop and that he was to inform that man that this was indeed the area in which he would find his two narcissistic rots, but that he was only to hold up the place, take a hostage, and wait for a message from the servant of God.

After a moment, the man smiled. He shook his head slowly then said to Jake, “I’ll follow those directions! Then he announced, “Like Isaiah of old, ‘Here am I, send me’!”

The man had immediately left that spot and walked into the coffee shop, intent on doing the work of God. Jake had followed him, and he’d then taken his seat at the large oak table at the back of the shop. Before the vagrant had pulled his gun, he had looked around the shop then at Jake and smiled; the plan was taking shape.  

From this point on, the story had happened just as the paper had reported, and Jake Bolan had proven to be, once again, the mastermind at police trickery.