Officer Jerry Ramirez felt disgust and pride at the same time and the combinedsensation was not a pleasant one.  He was proud that Detective Sergeant Matt Hammond had enough faith in him to deliver such a loathsome prisoner to the Bexar County Jail.  For that reason, he was determined to insure Jason Biggs arrived at his destination in the same shape he was in when he left the Transit Hotel.  Yet he was disgusted that the brutal remorseless killer of one of his best friends was riding in the back of his patrol car and he, Jerry Ramirez was essentially his protector.

     Biggs had not said a single word to Officer Ramirez from the time he was put into the cruiser.  Despite the almost over powering urge to inflict some damage on the package he was delivering, Ramirez warned the prisoner to watch his head when he entered the backseat of the patrol car.  He carefully buckled Biggs seatbelt to protect him if there is an accident.  But Biggs issued nary a thank you to his keeper.

     Officer Ramirez was feeling more like a chauffer than a police officer.  He was grateful the ride to the county lockup should be over in about five or six minutes.  Pulling in to the spot police officers usually park when depositing prisoners, Jerry was grateful that there were no other cars to compete with.  That allowed him to pull up right next to the door of the giant red brick jailhouse.

     He pulled in, turned off his headlamps and cut the engine.  He turned and looked at the prisoner who continued to sit in stoic silence, arms still behind his back after almost four hours.  As the officer got out of his seat and closed the front door, Jason Biggs began flexing his arm muscles, hoping the officer did not notice the exercise and especially hoping he didnt realize the dangerous sociopath had released his left wrist from the handcuff that had bound it to the right.

     Although it would have been prudent for Jerry to get some assistance, there were no other SAPD officers around and he hated asking a deputy, they always pissed and moaned.  Oh well, they were only 20 steps from the door, what could go wrong.  As it turns out,  just about everything.

     As Officer Ramirez opened the back door of his cruiser, he immediately reached in to loosen the prisoners lap belt.  Jason grabbed the officers head with his right hand and forced his face to the floor.  While doing that, he took his left hand and grabbed Jerrys holstered Glock, freeing it from the leather it was sitting in and using it to strike the totally shocked young officer six times on the back of the skull.

     Then, after checking if anyone had noticed the commotion, Jason grabbed the officers handcuff keys and two magazines of ammunition and leapt from the cruiser.  Like a deer being chased by a hunting dog the agile 21-year-old jumped a wall that was about four-and-one-half feet high and ran off into the darkness.

     One of the jailers inside the building was watching the monitors which displayed the views of the 16 cameras set up at entrance ways and other strategic points outside.  He managed to catch the final two blows Biggs inflicted on Jerry Ramirezs skull.

     Jason almost made it to the parking garage of the Mercado Central, one of San Antonios busiest downtown tourist attractions.  Way behind two other officers have begun a foot pursuit of the escaped prisoner and still other officers are responding to the officer down call they heard broadcast on their radios. 

     The would-be master criminal does a quick desperate search of several vehicles in the garage, hoping some idiot had left their keys in the ignition.  No such luck.  He sees a commissioned rent-a-cop who reaches for his gun, but does so too late, Biggs is already on top of him and is holing Ramirezs deadly Glock against his ear.  You dont want me to splatter your brain all over the concrete with a nine-millimeter bullet do you, Biggs asked him in a cold calm voice.  The terrified security guard said, N n n no no, and Jason grabbed the mans service revolver, a 357, and pistol whipped him with it, rendering him a bleeding pulp who had his skull cracked open when it impacted with the concrete floor.

     Biggs then sprinted east across the street that runs between the garage and the central market.  Seeing another security guard heading toward him, Jason grabbed a girl who was about 11-years-old and held the terrified child in front of him.  He noticed the security guard was a rather fat Mexican man of about 60-years of age.  He also saw the old man was unarmed and looked to be more frightened than the girl he was holding tightly in front of him as a shield.

     Everything happened so fast and the scene continued to speed up like a movie in a runaway projector.  Jason knew nothing better than death row in Huntsville and a lethal injection in the arm lay ahead for him.  He had nothing to lose and that gave him a type of foolish courage that scared even him.

     His mind kept rerunning movies of his life these past 20 months or so. First he was Jason Biggs, leader of the Preppies, respected by his seniors and feared by his peers.  Unrealistic images to be sure, a mockery of reality, but it had become his reality.

     Then he was John Boucher, the 20-year-old genius who single-handedly turned the misfortunes of the San Antonio Diamond Exchange around, the mastermind behind the biggest diamond heist in the history of the world.  Im on top of the world, Ma, he suddenly blurted out a la James Cagney, for reasons he could not himself explain.  But it was enough to make the old security guard stop dead in his tracks to reassess his options.

     Finally he was Jeff Begley, on a futile quest to locate the precious fruits of his labor that had unfairly been snatched away from him by a homeless man, a bum.  Oh the unfairness in that.  If anyone was going to thwart the greatest criminal mind in the world he had hoped it would have been a Texas Ranger, they were fearless and intelligent, worthy adversaries for the best criminal mind in the world.

     Not a step further old man, he screamed as the security guard, acting more on his idea of what he thought was right rather than any sense of courage or bravery, inched closer to him.  The old man stopped and stood straight up, not ten feet in front of Biggs.

     I am the trinity, shouted Jeff Begley, John Boucher and Jason Biggs all at once in his quickly decompensating mind.  We are one we are omnipotent, we will rule the world!  The girl tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but he possessed the strength of three  men now, the trinity, Biggs/Boucher and Begley, the three in one.

     Finally Jason Biggs ceased his ranting.  The busy tourists who had been viewing the scene as if it were a western skit being played out on the streets of old San Antonio for their viewing and vacationing pleasure.  Jason was caught up in their silence, almost mesmerized by it, until the irritating voice of the oldest security guard in the world invaded the peace he was trying to call up from deep inside himself.

     You dont want to hurt anybody, the old man told him, as if that stupid old Mexican knew what he wanted, no what THEY wanted, the trinity.

     The old guard began his slow creep toward Jason again and he put Jerry Ramirezs Glock to her head and said, Stay back you old mother-fucker or Ill kill her, I really will!

     Sirens began to sound in the distance.  The old man began to show some renewed strength from their mournful wail.  Now son, dont do anything foolish, he said softly to Jason.

     Jason reset his grip on the squirming girl and said, Dont you do anything foolish old man.

     Still approaching Jasons space ever so slowly, the old man said, Son, Im not even armed. And Jason looked at him and said, Good, just before he fired a single shot into the  brave old guards upper abdomen. The bullet almost killed the old man instantly, but not before he heard the amoral Jason Biggs say, And Im not your son.

     The report of the nine millimeter Glock in the confined space of the central market with all those silent witnesses looking on created panic.  Not only were tourists, waiters, waitresses and musicians scrambling for cover, the young girl Jason was using as a shield suddenly went limp and crumbled to the sidewalk.  Without his hostage and with the San Antonio Police approaching the market form the south, this sociopath who now considered his name to be Trinity instead of Jason/John/Jeffrey, held the revolver and Glock in both hands for all to see. 

The crowd in front of him parted and he saw they had cleared a path directly into the market itself where perhaps one hundred artisans and shopkeepers sold their wares in a bazaar-like atmosphere.  He takes the four steps leading to the entrance as one and with four police officers in running after him on foot some 25 yards behind, Jason tries to scramble to safety.

With hundreds of tourists running and diving for cover Mexican handicrafts and food items were flying every which way: large ceramic vases, pots and statues; piñatas, foodstuff, creating a mess in front of and behind Jason Biggs that his pursuers could follow like a trail.

The police officers had their weapons drawn, but there is absolutely no way they would shoot their guns unless the young man they were chasing decided to discharge his.  Too many tourists and other civilians in the line of fire made these officers aware of the outcry that would occur in this tourist city if they used bad judgment.

     Finally Jason made it to the Commerce Street side of the market and he literally flew out a door, guns ready to blow away any cops he saw out there.  But there were none and the Trinity could not fathom why that was.  He saw a green trolley driving slowly by on Commerce Street, preparing to unload a group of tourists who wanted to enjoy the ambiance of the Central Market this rainy night.

Instead of allowing them to disembark, Jason waved two pistols at them and forced his way on the trolley.  Drive! he screamed at the driver, striking him on the side of the head with the hard blue steel barrel of the 357.  But where? the now bleeding and hysterical VIA driver asked. Just drive straight ahead as fast as you can, Trinity ordered the driver who complied lest he be hit with the hard barrel of that pistol again, or worse receive a bullet in his head from this madman.

The Via trolley continued to speed down West Commerce, a dozen frightened tourists hanging on for their very lives.  The San Antonio Police were pursuing in two cruisers, staying what they felt was a reasonable distance behind, being told by their superiors to give him space so he doesnt do anything foolish to the hostages.

But the Trinity thought they were too close and told a male tourist to jump off the speeding trolley in hopes it would dissuade the police from following or at least slow them down.  The man didnt want to jump so the Trinity shot his son in the leg and said if daddy didnt jump by the count of three the other knee would also need surgery.  The loving father was gone on the count of one.

His horrified wife, wounded son and cute teenage daughter watched in shocked disbelief as their father and husband bounced several times against the hard concrete before being struck by a police car.  The Trinity had five other men to use in a similar fashion and each one in their turn jumped from the moving trolley to be brutally beaten by the combination of velocity and hard pavement.

Up ahead, over a rather sharp hill, the San Antonio Police Department had an 18-wheeler block all four lanes of West Commerce Street.  By the time the driver was aware of it, it was too late for the brakes to allow them to avoid a collision.  The driver screamed as did the remaining passengers.  The Trinity was watching the hostages, trying to decide who to sacrifice next when the trolley came to its abrupt stop.

The Trinity was knocked to the floor as were several of the remaining tourists.  But some were able to begin jumping off the now inert trolley.  The Trinity stayed on the floor fearing ambush and he crawled toward the driver, sitting in shock and crying helplessly.  As he reached the front door of the quaint little trolley that never would carry passengers again, he heard a voice call, Biggs, turned to see who it came from and ate nine shots from the Glock he borrowed from another officer.  A bleeding Jerry Ramirez avenged the death of his friend, Jaime Bravo.