Authors: Derek Blass
“
You're nuts. I'd like to kill someone and only get five years.”
“
Take it Mason, or you're going to be embarrassed. You don't have the strength for this anymore.”
“
The hell I don't,” Mason said, as much to himself as to Sphinx, as he walked back into the courtroom. Judge Melburn watched both men return to their respective tables.
“
Did you reach an agreement?”
“
No,” Sphinx answered.
The judge shook his head while he chewed on a pen. “Don't turn this into a cockfight and waste my time, gentlemen. This courtroom has no place for your egos.” He whispered something to his clerk, who left the courtroom. When the clerk returned, she was with the bailiff and Sergeant Shaver. Mason noted that the coldness in Shaver's eyes remained intact. It was something Mason analyzed every time he saw the man. There wasn't a shred of remorse in him. Mason figured this would help with the jury. Shaver took his place next to Sphinx silently except for the clanking of his leg chains.
“
Enter your appearances and we will get started,” Judge Melburn said.
“
Mason West for the state Your Honor.”
“
Sphinx for the defendant Your Honor.” Mason bristled at the familiarity and slack Sphinx was afforded.
“
Simple arraignment here gentlemen. How does your client plead, Mr. Sphinx?”
“
Not guilty,” Shaver answered.
“
So he has a voice...” the judge said. A cell phone rang at the end of his sentence. Mason froze, mortified it was his. But the “Oh my God,” from behind him and to his right allayed that fear. He glanced up at the judge, whose face was blood-red.
“
Just who's...just who's damn phone is that?” One of Sphinx's associates stood up slowly. Mason turned around to look at the associate, both out of curiosity and to deflect the ensuing barrage. “This is a courtroom, not a goddamn lobby! You turn your cell phone off and if I hear another cell phone ring, from any of you,” the judge said as he looked at everyone, “I'll hold you in contempt of court. Do you understand me?” The associate nodded but dropped a redwell while trying to stuff the phone into her briefcase.
Judge Melburn shuffled paper around on his desk to regroup. “Now, I'm going to set this for trial in March, or about two months from now. I think three days will be sufficient. Your motions date will be in the middle of February. Have the parties reached a plea deal?”
Mason stood up and answered, “No, Your Honor.”
“
So noted. Is there anything else, counsel?”
This time Sphinx stood up, “Your Honor, I foresee a substantial evidentiary issue, related to a video allegedly capturing what occurred in this case. The video was never...”
Mason shot up and interrupted, “Your Honor! This is not the time or place for oral arguments related to exclusion of evidence. This is the arraignment, not a motions hearing.” Adrenaline coursed through Mason and he felt his temper start to flare.
“
I agree, Mr. West. Mr. Sphinx, you will save your arguments for hearings on the matter.” Mason knew Sphinx got what he wanted. The issue was now on Judge Melburn's radar. The judge banged his gavel and ended the arraignment.
Mason waited for him to leave the courtroom before admonishing Sphinx, “No games?? You're a loose cannon, Sphinx, and it's gonna bite you soon.”
Sphinx shrugged his shoulders. “I got what I wanted.”
“
I know you did,” Mason answered as he hurriedly gathered his documents and walked out of the courtroom. He strode through the courthouse and through the front doors. His phone rang.
“
Hello?”
“
Mason?”
“
Him. Who is this?”
“
Mason, it's Cruz Marquez.”
“
Hi, Cruz. Did you make a decision?”
“
Yeah … I'll help.”
“
Good to hear. I just got a taste of why I'll be happy to have you on this case.”
“
I've got some information for you. Startling information. Let's meet.”
“
Name the time and place and I'll be there.” Mason took down the information and shot down the courthouse stairs.
T H I R T Y-F I V E
__________________________________________________
T
yler walked out to his mailbox, one in a group of over fifty. He watched two men exit their car and head up to an apartment. He was always watching people—out of fear, desire to learn, and readiness. He sorted through a hefty stack of mail while heading back to his apartment. After getting through the usual junk, he came to a piece of mail with no return address. He pushed open his apartment door and set the rest of the mail down.
“
Tyler:
It's Shaver. I'm not sure what happened to you after they caught us in my house. A couple bullet wounds screwed up my ability to figure out what was up and what was down. I think one of the cops that ultimately booked me said you were booked too, but released. Would make sense, since they've got nothing to pin on you—yet. I've got something that you may want unless those asses ransacked my apartment and took it. It's a loose end someone like you should take care of. Come see me, you know where I'm at.”
“
Fuck you, Shaver, coming at me from the grave like this.”
The Chief's death, the capture by the cops, it was all enough to put a scare into Tyler. A lonely, usually quiet part of himself wanted to end the killing. It wanted some peace. How could you change a monster though? Tyler was no Hannah-fucking-Montana. He'd killed thirty-eight people. A murderer, cold, disconnected and dissociated from society. Violence, especially death, aroused him. A sociopath, as one shrink told him. There comes a point in life where change is not only extremely difficult, but probably not worth the effort. Whether you're a fifty-year-old book salesman or a thirty-something-year-old assassin, some things can't be changed. Tyler was sick, and he knew it. His options were to keep killing, commit suicide in some grandiose but hopelessly alone fashion, or check into an insane asylum.
In the few short weeks since Martinez captured them, the lust to kill resurfaced with vigor. Every day was worse. He just wanted to straddle someone's body, knees on their arms, his hands around their neck, slowly constricting, the familiar smells, the veins bursting, blood in their eyes.
Tyler shook his head. When he was released Tyler thought this may all be over. Shaver implied the opposite. He knew what Shaver wanted. Blackmail was a familiar friend and foe in Tyler's line of business. Shaver had something Tyler needed. A message. A phone call. Something to tie him to something he'd done. So he jumped into his car and headed to the prison. He was just an eventuality, why fight the force?
The prison guard told him to wait in stall number eight. He tapped his fingers and played with the cord on the phone. After thirty minutes of waiting he looked around, wondering if this was some sort of joke. Then a door on the other side of his stall opened and Shaver shuffled through. Even after a short time in jail, Shaver looked tired, a bit emaciated.
“
That didn't take you long,” Shaver said.
“
Not like I'm up to much. My employer is otherwise indisposed.”
“
Yeah, what was the final verdict on him?
“
I guess you could say verdicts. He stepped on a mine, ka-boom. Nothing to bring back really. There was a little bit left of that kid who was following him, but not much more.”
“
Now you're out of work.”
“
You can say that. We had a plant closure,” Tyler said with a mechanical chuckle.
“
That's not natural for you, is it?”
“
Laughing? No, not really.”
“
Me neither.”
“
I smile, but usually at the wrong moments, or at things that disgust people. I'm all fucked in the head.”
“
Aren't we all...”
“
Not that spending time with you in this shit hole isn't scintillating, but what did you want from me? What do you have that I so
desperately
need?”
“
Your former employer was a busy man. His doctor, Dr. Xavier Kastenoff, especially. Perhaps busier than even you in the same profession.”
Tyler raised his eyebrows. “You don't say?”
“
I do, I do. This doctor was quite active, for a long time.”
“
Good for him...why do I care?”
“
Getting there. Remember that journal I told you about? This doctor kept an accounting of his...
patients
.”
“
Okay, again, what's that got to do with me?”
“
This list makes several references to you, as an alternative source of patient care.” There it was. A list, with him in it.
“
Shaver, why should I trust you? You've got nothing to lose and a real craving to get out of here. This list could have nothing related to me. Hell, it may not even exist.”
Shaver had prepared for this. He wasn't book smart, but his upbringing taught him to be cunning. Persuasion and manipulation included. Shaver pulled a torn piece of graph paper from his pocket and held it up to the glass. Tyler started to read the meticulous handwriting. “The Chief declined my services for Lucy Hahn, stating that he would use Mr. Smith instead. Disappointing, as the Chief is using Mr. Smith more and more.”
“
Hey! You! What the hell do you think you're doing?!” a guard screamed as he came over and wrenched the piece of paper out of Shaver's hand. The guard then grabbed Shaver by the shoulder and started to pull him away.
“
All right, all right, I shouldn't have done it.” The guard relaxed his grip on Shaver, seemed to contemplate his next move, and finally decided on letting Shaver get away with the transgression. Shaver put the phone back to his ear. “Was that glimpse enough?”
“
Enough for what?”
“
Enough to know that I'm not bullshitting you and to get you to do me some favors?”
“
I'm not in a position to do favors, Shaver.”
“
Well, then how about no favors, but just do the only thing you know how to do. There's nothing else out there for you Tyler. No better life. No flipping burgers at a restaurant. The sickness will drive you forever. I'm just helping you release it. Plus, if you don't, that list is sure to get leaked. You'll end up spending more time in here than Charlie Manson.”
Checkmate, Tyler thought. Why resist; this is all he wanted. It was what consumed him in the middle of empty nights. “What kind of work are you talking about?”
“
You know exactly what I'm talking about. Three little piggies.”
Tyler shrugged his shoulders, “I'll think about it.”
“
You go ahead and think, but if I haven't heard from you in a week, consider the list published.” Shaver hung up the phone and rotated away to the door behind him. Tyler walked out of the jail, the same man, back to square one.
* * * *
Cruz sat in Mason's office, waiting for him to come back from a meeting. The past few days were eventful. Cruz and Martinez followed up on the lead they generated at the morgue. Jerome Miller was twenty when he died. Eight days from his twenty-first birthday, his mother explained to them.
Jerome's family still lived at the address that came up at the morgue. It was a dilapidated section of town, an area built up in the 1950s with small bungalows and row homes. Abandoned cars, or cars that should have been abandoned, lined the streets and driveways. Teal and white translucent porch covers hung on by single screws. The brick finishes of the homes were cracked and the lawns overrun with weeds.
Mr. and Mrs. Miller, probably both in their mid-fifties, were the core of the family. Jerome was their second child; his sister Donella was the oldest. Mr. Miller told them that Jerome had two other siblings, but said nothing else about them. Cruz saw no sign of them in the house, which was clean inside, although a funereal film hung about. The Millers showed Cruz and Martinez to Jerome's old room. Everything was intact four years later. The bed was made. The room vacuumed. Posters of athletes hung taut on the wall. The room shocked Cruz—the Millers hadn't let go at all.
“
He was our only boy,” Mr. Miller said from behind them. He was standing between them and the hall, apparently requiring them to respect this statement by staying in the room for longer than comfortable. Mrs. Miller put a hand on his arm and he stepped sideways, letting Cruz and Martinez squeeze by. “You told me you're a cop, and you're a lawyer. What's this all about? Jerome died a long time ago now. We've been through the rigmarole.” Mrs. Miller directed all of them back to the living room where a pitcher of lemonade and some glasses were waiting.
“
It's about just that, Mr. Miller. How Jerome died.”
“
But why would you want to know that? Especially now?” Cruz could sense some frustration and rightful indignation coming from Mr. Miller.
“
Have you followed the reports on this shooting involving one of the city's cops?”
“
I don't watch the news anymore. What happened?”
“
A sergeant in the city's police department, Sergeant Shaver, shot and killed an unarmed, elderly man from the Latino community.”
Mr. Miller tried to wave the importance of it away. “What's new? Police brutality? Look where we live, my friend. That's as old a game as dice.”