Junkyard Dogma (The Elven Prophecy Book 4)

by Theophilus Monroe

  “You don’t have to,” the President said. “All you need to do is turn yourself in. How you plead and how you try to handle things after that? Well, let's hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “I’ll agree to comply,” I said, “and I won’t run. But I want a pardon or acquittal in less than thirty days.”

  The President laughed in my ear. “I’m not sure we could even get this in front of a grand jury in thirty days.”

  “You’re the President,” I said. “You really expect me to believe that you couldn’t make that happen if you really wanted to?”

  “Here’s the thing,” the President continued. “If I get you indicted quickly, if you’re either acquitted or pardoned, I lose all my leverage. I don’t see any reason why I should do that for you.”

  “Right now, you’re eager to see me speak out to support your position with Brightborn,” I said. “But soon, you will be more eager to see me as an ally to defeat him. Trust me, Mister President. It’s just a matter of time before he turns on you.”

  “Do you think I made my way to the top without out-maneuvering snakes like Brightborn?” the President asked.

  “With all due respect,” I continued. “Brightborn is not your run-of-the-mill garter snake. He’s a fucking anaconda.”

  “My anaconda don’t want none…”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know the lyric. Unless you got buns, hun. The point is, he’s already destroyed one world in pursuit of his goals. You think he wouldn’t destroy this one in his effort to take it over?”

  “Take over the world?” the President asked. “He’s powerful. I’ll grant him that. But he hardly has the manpower to take over the whole world.”

  “He doesn’t need manpower,” I said. “We don’t know for sure how many elves he’s already brought to this world. All we know is what he’s shown us. I’m warning you, sir. You don’t want to underestimate him. By the time you come to your senses, once you realize you need my help. Well, it might be too late.”

  “Too late? I have my own plans and my own timeline for things, Cruciger. I’ll tell you when we’re out of time.”

  I bit my lip. “Sir, this isn’t like you. When we met before. You were so certain about standing up for our freedom, for the American way. It makes me wonder what Brightborn might have on you.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Cruciger!” the President shouted, raising his voice for the first time since we started our conversation.

  “What does he have on you, sir?” I asked.

  “He’s got nothing on me! I’m the President of the United Fucking States! What do you think he could possibly have on me?”

  The President’s tone said it all. I’d struck a nerve. The truth was that Brightborn, apparently, did have something on the President. I wasn’t going to get him to tell me what, of course. Not when he was so defensive at even the suggestion that the elven king might be blackmailing him.

  I took a deep breath. “I need a pardon in thirty days or less.”

  “Turn yourself in today,” the President said. “I’ll have agents meet you at that church you call St. Ensley’s. And I promise I’ll spend the next twenty-nine days considering it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  From the junkyard to the swamp of Washington politics. I couldn’t believe the President was so presumptuous as to think that he had the upper hand in his relationship with Brightborn. Still, I had the conversation recorded on my phone. Aerin would make sure Collin got it. It helped in the swamp to have a creature of the lagoon at your side. At least Collin would be in his element.

  The fact that the President got so angry when I suggested that Brightborn might have something on him was interesting. You don’t react that strongly to something like that if there isn’t any truth to it. But what could it be?

  I stepped out of the front door of the farmhouse and onto the porch. I handed Aerin my phone. “Make sure the lawyer gets this.”

  Aerin nodded. “What did the President say?”

  I shrugged. “Not a lot. You can listen if you’d like. He got especially upset when I suggested that Brightborn might have something on him. Something damaging.”

  “Knowing my father,” Layla added. “He certainly has something.”

  A loud rumble stole my attention.

  I looked up. Jag had apparently managed to get the truck running.

  “Well, that’s good timing,” I said. “Might be helpful to have another set of wheels once I’m gone.”

  “When do you turn yourself in?” Layla asked, scratching the back of her head.

  “I need to do it immediately. The President said he’d have someone waiting for me at St. Ensley’s.”

  “Immediately as in, we have to go now?” Layla asked.

  I nodded. “I’m sorry. But we have to get the ball rolling on all this. If we have any shot at all, now’s the time to take it.”

  “We’ll drive you,” Aerin said. “I mean, Layla will drive. But I’ll come along.”

  “You don’t have to come,” Layla said. “You could stay here with the drow. I think they still need some direction.”

  “All right,” Aerin said, nodding. “Just make sure to take the phone to Collin. He’ll have to get to work right away. If he needs any more money, just let me know.”

  “You can count on that,” Layla said, rolling her eyes.

  “That you’ll let me know? I figured…”

  Layla laughed. “That he’ll want more money.”

  Aerin shrugged. “Whatever motivates him to get the job done.”

  I chuckled. “You say that like throwing cash at the lawyer is akin to throwing treats to a dog.”

  “I suppose it is a bit like that,” Aerin said, tucking her hair behind her ears. “But I think he has a good plan. You just focus on keeping your head down. Don’t do anything dumb. I don’t think you’ll go to prison right away.”

  I shrugged. “Not really sure how that works.”

  “I think they’ll probably hold you in a local jail before trial. Probably in the county. They won’t transfer you to a federal facility until you’ve been sentenced, which, technically speaking, we’re hoping to avoid entirely.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing that I’ll be local, I suppose. Once I’m released, presuming all goes according to plan, we might not have much time left before I have to meet up with the Furies. Just make sure that Brag’mok is ready, too. He has to come along.”

  “We’ll handle it,” Layla said. “One way or another, we’ll have you out of there before the month is up.”

  “One way or another?” I asked. “Layla, remember it has to be by acquittal or pardon. The Furies won’t accept anything else.”

  Layla rolled her eyes. “I know, Caspar. That’s obviously the goal.”

  I nodded and stepped down from the porch. I walked over to Jag and patted him on the back. “Nice work, man.”

  Jag smiled from ear to ear. “We have a truck, Casp!”

  “I see that,” I said. “I’m going to be leaving for a while. You seen Brag’mok?”

  Jag nodded. “He’s in the camp, sparring with the drow.”

  “Sparring?” I asked. “Seriously?”

  “I think he’s really in his element. Fighting, elves, you know?”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, I can see that.”

  Jag squeezed my shoulder. “You’ll get through this, Casp.”

  I took a deep breath. “I hope you’re right. I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous about anything.”

  “Whatever you do,” Jag said, “remember, if you get down on yourself, look at yourself in the mirror…”

  “And call myself a pussy?” I asked.

  “This isn’t the gym,” Jag said. “I was going to say to remind yourself that you’re a hero.”

  I shook my head. “Hard to feel that way, you know, locked up facing a murder charge.”

  “The truth is on your side,” Jag said. “We’ll be ready when you get back.”

  I
nodded and extended my hand.

  “I’m not shaking your hand as if this is a goodbye,” Jag said. “I don’t know a lot about going to jail, but from what I understand, it’s a mental game. Sort of like when you’re tackling a workout. The moment you allow doubt to creep in, it’s over.”

  “Your faith in me,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s encouraging. I appreciate it.”

  Jag nodded. I nodded back. Because that’s what men do. We nod at each other. I’m not sure what the nod meant. But it was comforting. “I won’t let you down.”

  “I know you won’t,” Jag said. “You never do.”

  I smiled and walked back to the tents. The drow were gathered in a circle in a clearing behind where the tents were pitched.

  Inside the circle were three drow warriors with pieces of burlap tied around their blades to prevent them from cutting their opponent on one side, and Brag’mok on the other without so much as his broadsword in hand. All three charged him.

  Brag’mok stood there, ready. As they circled him, he grunted, and with a sweep of his leg, took out the first drow who came after him.

  The second one jumped on his back, bringing her sword around his neck.

  He flipped her over like a rag-doll. The drow warrior landed on her back.

  The third charged at him and dived low to sweep at his leg.

  Brag’mok jumped high, missing the sweep, then grabbed the drow warrior by her shirt and lifted her over his head.

  “Nice try,” Brag’mok said. “Try another approach.”

  I laughed as I stepped into the circle.

  “You guys practicing?” I asked.

  Brag’mok smiled, his lower incisors curled over his upper lip. “These drow haven’t faced a giant before. Not that they’ll be facing any others. But the way I see it, they need to know what I’m capable of once we end up in a battle with the elves.”

  I nodded. “Smart. You ladies all right?”

  One of the drow, the one Jag had taken a particular interest in, the one they called Rina, smiled and nodded at me. “We’ll take him down eventually.”

  “I’m sure you will,” I said, chuckling.

  “You have a minute, Brag’mok?”

  The giant nodded. “Give me a moment,” he said to the drow warriors.

  Brag’mok followed me back toward the rear side of the farmhouse.

  “If I don’t get out,” I said. “You’ll need to lead them. You’re the only one who has ever fought the elves, and you might be the only hope our world has.”

  “Stop talking like that,” Brag’mok said. “The prophecy would not have brought you this far to leave you languishing in jail, Caspar.”

  I nodded. “I know. I want to believe that. But just for my sake, whatever happens, I need to know that you’ll be prepared to fight.”

  Brag’mok cocked his head. “I’m always ready to fight. These warriors are better than you’d think.”

  I snorted. “Could have fooled me, the way you threw them around just a second ago.”

  “They won’t be fighting giants,” Brag’mok said. “And they won’t be shielding their blades in battle. Their weapons are enchanted.”

  I nodded. “But they don’t wield magic the same way the elves do. You’re the only one here who has faced the elves that way.”

  Brag’mok put his massive hand on my shoulder, his thumb spreading halfway across my chest. “We’ll be ready when you return.”

  “How are you doing with everything?” I asked.

  Brag’mok grunted. “I’m still angry. Furious. But the time for battle will come.”

  “It will,” I said. “I just need you to be ready. I’m going to need you to testify.”

  “In court?” Brag’mok asked.

  “To the Furies,” I said. “Even if I can’t get out, if I can’t get acquitted, they need to know what Brightborn did to the giants.”

  Brag’mok nodded. “They will know my tale. But I am not inclined to approach them until you return, Caspar.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m just saying, in case I don’t get back in time. You have the best chance to convince them to change their minds.”

  Brag’mok snorted. “You can count on me, Caspar.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The US marshals were waiting for me on the steps of St. Ensley’s. Layla lifted her hand to my cheek and kissed me softly.

  “One way or another,” Layla said, “we’ll get you out of there.”

  She put her hand on my shoulder. “Remember, you can use your magic if you have to. The elves will already know where you are, so if push comes to shove, shove back.”

  I nodded. “As a last resort, of course. But I need to try and do this by the book.”

  A tear fell down Layla’s cheek. I caught it with the back of my hand. “Someday, we’re going to laugh about this.”

  “I can’t wait until we can,” Layla said. “But right now…”

  “I know,” I said, nodding. “It sucks.”

  “Understatement of the century.” Layla sighed.

  I stepped out of the car and approached the marshals. They were the sort of men who fit every law enforcement stereotype you might expect. I could see that they were wearing bulletproof vests beneath their black jackets. Not that the vests would do much against my abilities, but I suppose they had a protocol to follow.

  “Come with us, Mister Cruciger,” one of the marshals said. “We’ll have to put you in cuffs for transport.”

  “I’m not going to fight,” I said.

  “Still,” the marshal said, “it’s standard procedure.”

  I nodded.

  The marshal recited my Miranda rights, the ones you hear on all those crime television shows about the right to remain silent and all that crap. When it came to my case, I didn’t plan on talking. I had the right to an attorney. Had that one covered.

  Riding in a car with your hands cuffed behind your back isn’t comfortable, not to mention I had an itch on my cheek.

  Couldn’t scratch it.

  I rubbed my cheek against the seat instead.

  I tried to engage the marshals in small talk. I know I had the right to remain silent, but hell, what harm would there be in a little harmless chat about the unseasonably pleasant weather? Apparently, despite the universal interest in the topic, the marshals didn’t care. One of them made brief eye contact with me through his oversized rearview mirror.

  “So, how about those Cardinals?” I asked. “Think we’ve got a shot at the series this year?”

  They weren’t having it. No reply. These guys were like drones, on task. If they had any humanity, they weren’t showing it. Of course, the Cardinals had no chance in the series this year. Perhaps my topic choice just fell flat.

  “You guys watch football at all? I heard the Chiefs are really overhauling their offensive line. All about protecting Mahomes. I can’t wait to see how good he’ll be behind a proper line. Can you imagine?”

  Again, nothing. Not even a glance in the rearview mirror this time. You never know how people will react to football chatter in St. Louis. Since the Rams left town, people either had no interest in the NFL at all, they gravitated to the Chiefs as the only other team in the state of Missouri, or they were downright bitter that the team they once stole from Los Angeles decided to go back home to a more lucrative market.

  “Did you guys see what Britney did?” I asked.

  No response. Britney hadn’t done a lot in a long time. But it used to be a regular conversation starter a decade or so ago. “What about Miley?”

  These guys were unshakable.

  All a part of the image. The act. They were probably regular dudes when they were off-duty. I was just trying to distract myself. Silence is deafening. Meaningless small talk would, at least, keep my mind off the reality of what I was facing.

  They pulled up next to the Thomas F. Eagleton United States Courthouse. The building was a modern monstrosity that had been designed without any thought of saving the taxpayers
money. One of those new federal courthouses, it doubled as a number of other offices dealing with federal law enforcement.

  I imagined the unnecessary flourishes meant to communicate the “majesty” of the feds was also meant to be intimidating. When you’re being dragged into that building, where I believed most federal court cases in the region were held, it was hard to imagine yourself as anything other than one more bug ready to be squashed by the almighty government.

  Of course, I probably wouldn’t be held there. Not for long. The place wasn’t a jail, strictly speaking. Though, as I soon found out, the marshals did have cells.

  Processing was a slow process.

  Fingerprints.

  Photographs. Face forward. Turn to the side.

  At least they hadn’t made me put on one of those orange jumpsuits. I supposed that would come later when the indictment was confirmed.

  Bend over and cough.

  Pretty much all the crap that I’d seen a hundred times on Law & Order. Of course, this time, I was dealing with the feds. If you thought local law enforcement was pretentious…

  These guys didn’t even pretend to be my friend. I was sure some nice guy, acting super casual, would show up later to question me about Fred’s murder. He’d act like he was my friend.

  I knew, no matter how nice he might pretend to be, that he wasn’t my friend. These guys were pros. Intimidate the hell out of you in the booking process, then try to act like they’re on your side so you’ll talk.

  There was a lot of waiting. Sitting in a cell by myself, still cuffed, while the marshals did whatever. Surfed the internet. Played solitaire. All a part of the process, I imagined, to break me down. After so much waiting and boredom, I’d be more liable to talk.

  Or, at least, that’s what I imagined they were thinking.

  “Just so you guys know in advance,” I said. “My lawyer is Collin Law. I won’t be talking about my case until he gets here.”

  Two marshals exchanged exacerbated looks. “That’s your right, I suppose,” one of them said. “We really just need to make sure you’re not a threat before we can let you go.”