“How do you want to handle this?” Dixon asked, seeing Gibbon approach the building. He had ridden in on a shabby 12-speed bicycle, which he didn’t even bother to secure to the bike rack. Despite being at least fifty pounds of muscle heavier, he was easily recognizable. He was about six feet tall, shaved head, with a neatly trimmed beard and moustache, just like in his mug shot.
“We’ve got to be careful,” Watson replied, not taking her eyes off of the mark. “I don’t want to risk tipping him off that we are here and having him take off on us.”
“On a bike?” Dixon asked, scoffing.
Watson shot him a look that made him stop mid-chuckle. “There are other ways of getting away, Dixon. He could highjack a car, disappear into those woods over there. He’s a pretty resourceful guy, so let’s just think this through. He didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, so we should have a few minutes to put a plan in place.”
Dixon was quiet for a few moments, staring at the building intensely as Watson did the same. “As far as we know, we only have two exits, right? Front door, back door?”
“Affirmative,” Watson replied. “I don’t believe there are any interior doors connecting to the other businesses, at least there didn’t seem to be any on the blueprints I looked at last night.”
“Okay. But we’ve got a full panel of glass windows facing the street on this side. What about the back?”
“All brick,” Watson assured him. “If he’s going out the back, he’s using the door.”
Dixon nodded. “All right, so we put ten, fifteen uniforms on that back exit, spread them out across the parking lot, create a perimeter. Same in the front but back away from the windows. Set up roadblocks out here, get some back up, and we go in the front door. Seems easy enough.”
“Make it happen,” Watson agreed, though she knew it was going to be anything but easy. Steven Gibbon was a wild animal, and wild animals didn’t come into cages easily.
It took almost half an hour before they had everyone in place, and Watson was comfortable with the set up. They got someone on the back exit almost immediately, just in case, but she wanted to make sure they had every available officer in close proximity before she moved in. They also had a chopper close by ready to take to the air should Gibbon somehow escape on foot. Finally, around 7:30, she and Dixon approached the front entrance to Rocky’s Gym, hands on their weapons, badges in hand.
There were about five other patrons in the establishment, as well as the gym employee working the front desk. He was the only one who noticed them when they walked in, and Watson silenced him with a finger and a sharp look. Gibbon was there, across the room, working with free weights, another patron nearby. This guy was shorter and much thinner. He was talking to Gibbon, as if he were asking him for tips.
Watson was hopeful that the other man would notice her first, but he didn’t. As soon as Gibbon dropped the dumbbell, he glanced toward the door, and his expression changed immediately. No longer carefree, his face broke into a grimace, and Watson fingered her gun. “Steven Gibbon?” she called. “We need to ask you some questions about the murder of Maddison Rigby.”
Gibbon glanced at the back door and could see that his other exit was also blocked. Instinctively, he grabbed the man next to him. Watson could not pull her weapon fast enough; he pulled a knife out of his pocket. It was a small, three-inch flip knife, but with it held to the other man’s neck, it could be potentially deadly. “Who the hell are you?” Gibbon screamed, his eyes wild with fear.
“I’m Detective Abby Watson, Philly PD,” she said, showing him her badge. “You need to let him go, and come down to the station with us. We need to ask you some questions about your whereabouts last Tuesday night. Now, let your friend go, and drop the knife.”
“I don’t know any Maddison--whatever you said,” Gibbon yelled back. “I was home last Tuesday. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Leave me alone.”
“Steven, it’s fine, man,” Dixon tried. “Just drop the knife.”
“Help,” the captive managed to screech out. He was clearly panicked, his eyes wide with terror. “I can’t breathe.” Gibbon had his arm clenched tightly around the other man’s neck, and the more nervous he became, the more he began to increase his grip.
“Okay, look, we’ll put our guns down if you put the knife away, all right?” Watson promised. She slid her gun into her holster, put her badge in her pocket slowly, and raised her hands, Dixon doing the same.
“What about them?” Gibbon asked, pointing at the back door with his head.
Watson gestured at the officers standing right outside the back exit, and they slowly backed away. “Come on, Gibbon. You know you’re not walking out of here alone. Just let him go, and we’ll go talk about this. You say you don’t know Maddison Rigby, and you have an alibi for where you were last Tuesday night, then I’m sure we’ll have this cleared up in no time.”
The gym patron began to make gurgling noises as his airway started to collapse.
“You’re choking him,” Dixon said calmly, “and if you kill him, not only will you have no hostage, you’ll really be in trouble. Come on, let him go.”
Gibbon seemed to consider Dixon’s words. He looked at the man whose neck he was crushing as if he was just seeing him for the first time. “If I let go of him, will you let me go?”
“Let him go, and we’ll talk about it,” Watson offered.
“I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill anyone,” Gibbon yelled, still putting pressure on his newest victim’s throat.
“I believe you,” Watson said, her voice as serene as possible. “But we have a job to do. We have to bring you in and ask you some questions, okay? So just let him go, and come down to the station, answer our questions, and we’ll get this cleared up as quickly as we can. All right?”
He hesitated, glancing at the blue face in his grasp and then back to the officer. “You really believe I didn’t do it, right?”
“Of course I believe you.”
Slowly, Gibbon released his victim, who fell to the ground grasping his throat. The blade slipped from his hands and clattered onto the weights on the floor next to his feet.
As Dixon walked careful to the man on the floor to protect him from becoming involved again, Watson casually crossed the room to Gibbon. Though he no longer had the knife, there were various sizes of weights at his fingertips which could have easily been used as weapons. “Mr. Gibbon, could you come stand over here with me for a moment?” she asked in an attempt to get him out into the open before she handcuffed him. “I just want to make sure you’re the same Steven Gibbon we were asked to bring in.”
Gibbon seemed to accept that and cautiously took a few steps toward her, stepping away from all of the potential weapons he would have had within his grasp. Dixon had one hand on his weapon, now that Gibbon had his back to him, in the off-chance Gibbon had another weapon on his person.
“Thanks a lot for letting him go,” Watson said, knowing she needed to get medical attention to their most recent victim as quickly as possible without sending Gibbon into a panic. “Do you mind if I pat you down for my safety?” Gibbon shook his head no, so she continued. “Interlace your fingers and put them on top of your head, please.”
Gibbon turned away from her and brought his arms up as if he were about to comply. However, just as his left arm came around, he turned and bolted past her toward the door. Watson yelled after him to stop, drawing her gun, as Dixon alerted the team outside of what was happening. As Steven Gibbon opened the door to Rocky’s Gym, the officers outside opened fire.