“I know, I know.” Leibman spoke in the ghost of his courtroom voice, thin and weak. “But I can’t do it, Sam. I can’t betray her.”
Sam reached into his briefcase and withdrew a small digital recorder. “No? Maybe this will change your mind.” He pressed the play button.
“I want a deal,” said Rose Marie’s voice in the recording. “That dumb bastard has screwed everything up.”
“Why would I give you a deal, Ms. Van Dee? I’ve got you dead to rights. No wiggle room.”
“Hear her out, Mr. McCoy.”
“She turned the Supernatural Defender away. That’s Sig Shatenstein’s voice you’re hearing,” said McCoy.
“It’s your nickel,” said McCoy in the recording.
“That…that weasel did those things without my knowledge. I’ve never done the things you told the jury I did. I’ve never bribed or threatened a juror, magister, judge, or anyone. It was all that fool, Leibman!”
“She’s willing to testify to that, McCoy.”
“It would take more than her testimony, as you well know. What proof do you have?”
“I bugged my underling’s phones. I have recordings of Leibman giving orders across a number of cases. Orders I knew nothing about.”
“Uh-huh,” said McCoy.
“I’ve also got records. Bank records showing Leibman funded the bribes, the zombie hordes, the assassins. He’s the true head of the so-called Van Dee Cabal. I let him run things while I turned my mind to more pleasant pursuits.”
“Right.”
“I’m serious, Mr. McCoy. Paul Leibman is the one you should be prosecuting—”
“Turn it off,” whispered Leibman. “Sam, turn it off.”
McCoy picked up the recorder and pressed the stop button. “You see, Paul?”
Leibman dropped his face to his hands, and his shoulders shook for a moment. “What can you do for me, Sam?”
“Testify against her, Paul, and I’ll get you a reduced sentence. You’ll spend twenty-five years in the dungeon of your choice—provided it’s within the borders of this locus—in protective custody.”
A sigh whistled from behind Leibman’s hands. “And Rose Marie?”
“I’ll bury her deep, Paul. She’ll be lucky to see the sun in eighty years.”
He drew a shaking breath and nodded. “Okay. Set it up.”
2
Oriscoe pushed Angie’s wheelchair into the gallery and wheeled her up to the swinging gates of the bar. Dru held the gates open, and Leery maneuvered her chair behind the prosecution table next to the smiling Sam McCoy. Angie sent a murderous stare Rose Marie Van Dee’s way, but the zombie kept her gaze down.
Thoridn thumped the butt of his halberd on the floor. “All rise! Order, order! I call this court to order, the Just and Honorable Grimhildr Gyuki presiding.”
The judge came gliding in from her chambers, wearing a bright smile. She mounted the steps to the bench and took up her gavel. She thumped it on the sound block and took her seat. “Be seated,” she said. “I understand we’ve reached an accommodation, Mr. Shatenstein?”
The magister for the defense stood and cleared his throat. “We have, Your Honor.”
“Good. Let’s finish it, then.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” He lay his hand on Van Dee’s shoulder, and she shrugged it off with an angry jerk. “You must,” he whispered.
Shaking her head, Mama Rose Marie stood.
“Rose Marie Van Dee, you’ve entered a plea of guilty to one count each of the following charges: conspiracy to commit murder for hire, sale of body parts without a license, harvesting body parts without a license, intimidation of a law enforcement official, perverting the course of justice, improper action, and attempted murder of a law enforcement officer. Do you understand that your plea dispenses with a trial by a jury of your peers and equates to convictions by said juries for the charges I read?”
“Yes!” snapped Van Dee.
“Does the prosecution wish to hear an allocution?”
“Your Honor, I fear we’d all perish before Ms. Van Dee could complete a full allocution of her crimes. It will suffice for the defended to admit guilt to each of the charges.”
“Very well,” said Gyuki. She turned her piercing blue eyes back toward Van Dee. “The defendant will do as the prosecutor says.”
Van Dee scoffed and scowled but admitted her guilt.
“Mr. McCoy?” asked Gyuki.
“The People are satisfied, Your Honor.”
“Very well. Rose Marie Van Dee, I accept your plea and find you guilty of all charges. In accordance with your plea agreement, I sentence you to four lifetimes in a dungeon to be determined by the Locus of New York’s Department of Correction. Sentences are to be served consecutively and without the possibility of parole or early release.”
“Your Honor!” shouted Shatenstein. “Our agreement calls for leniency.”
Grimhildr’s smile could have flash-frozen falling rain. “That is leniency, Mr. Shatenstein. If I had my way, your client would even now be stepping up to the stake, awaiting ignition.” She rapped her gavel. “Court adjourned.”
Chapter 5
The End
1
Van Dee’s screams could be heard out in the hall, and the sound of it put a smile on all four of their faces. Angie was pale, and exhaustion lined her face, but her eyes twinkled with glee. “How long do you think it will be before she fires Shatenstein and has a new magister papering us with appeals?”
Sam shrugged. “I imagine it’s already in the works.”
“Too bad about Leibman,” said Angie.
“He made his own choices,” said Sam. “And twenty-five years is a gift. He owes you big time.”
“He—” Angie bit off her words as six men in Convenancy Marshal windbreakers came in from the front steps. “What do they want?”
Sam scowled. “I don’t know.”
The six men walked toward them, led by the tall black man who’d picked up Dee Terry and Jack Barnett. They stopped as they drew closer, and the tall man pulled a blue-backed writ from his inner coat pocket. He held it out to Sam, his face as impassive as that of a marble bust.
“Where’s the coffee?” Leery asked. “You should always bring coffee—it’s the polite thing to do.”
The ebony-skinned man sneered at Oriscoe and turned his gaze on McCoy, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.
“I admit I doubted you were really a Marshal until I saw that sneer. You’re way too stuck up to be a hitman.”
Other than a slight narrowing of his eyelids, the tall black man ignored Oriscoe.
Sam took the order, opened it, and scanned it before handing it to Angie. “I hope you’re kidding. Witness protection? Van Dee is the one witnesses need protection from!”
The tall man shook his head. “You’ve had your bite of the apple, McCoy. Now, it’s the Covenancy’s turn. Van Dee will give us the heads of at least three other occult cabals.”
“She gets no time?” hissed Angie. “We convicted her of attempted murder of a law enforcement officer, among other things!”
The marshal’s eyes twitched toward Angie, but he never met her irate gaze. “She has information—”
“I could shoot him,” said Oriscoe, and though his tone made it sound like a joke, his eyes were hard and cold. “Want me to shoot him? I don’t mind.”
“Who’s behind this?” demanded Dru. “Give me a name.” She pulled out her phone and flipped it open.
“Signed by a Covenancy judge,” said the tall, solemn marshal. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“Want to bet on that?” snapped Dru. “Give me the name.”
The marshal shook his head. “I’m here as a courtesy. This writ allows me to take custody of Rose Marie Van Dee, and I could have done that from holding without saying a word.”
“Oh, well, gee, thanks for nothing,” grated Angie. “You know she almost succeeded in killing me?”
The marshal’s gaze twitched her
direction, but again it didn’t move far enough to meet her stare. “I don’t make the decisions.”
“Now I really want to shoot him,” growled Leery.
“Right, of course you don’t make any decisions. Your kind never do,” said Dru. “Tell me who made this decision.” Her thumb hovered over her phone, ready to speed-dial a contact named “Mom.”
“This deal was cleared by both the Grand Cynosure and your Locus Cynosure.”
Dru gave a curt nod as her thumb descended. She turned and walked a few steps away. “Hello? Mom?”
“Uh-oh. Someone’s in trouble,” Leery chanted in a singsong voice. “Before this is over, you’ll wish you’d brought me coffee.”
The marshal shot a cross look at him, then held his hand out for the writ. “We’ll go get our prisoner, now.” Angie dropped the writ to the ground next to her wheelchair, and the tall man stooped to pick it up. As he straightened, Angie’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm. “Don’t you treat her like a queen! She should suffer for all the pain she’s caused in this Locus. Make her wait tables or clean toilets.”
“What about the others?” Sam asked.
“What others?”
“Paul Leibman. Shuten-doji. The troll, Lothidn? The various unseelie involved in this sordid affair? Are their sentences to be reduced?”
The tall man shrugged. “The writ only mentions Rose Marie Van Dee. The others are yours to do with as you please.”
“Where’s the justice?” Angie murmured.
“It’s not too late for me to shoot him,” said Leery. “That would be a big step toward justice, if you ask me.”
Dru rejoined them, wearing a tight smile. “My mother’s going to make a few calls. Mr. McCoy, she asks that you do what you can to delay things.”
McCoy nodded. “I think Judge Gyuki is still here.” He snatched the writ from the marshal’s hand and set off for the judge’s chambers.
“Well, sport, you’re in for a treat,” said Leery, wearing a wide smile. “Too bad you didn’t bring the judge coffee, either. She loves it.”
2
Grimhildr scanned the writ, her eyes narrowing with each line. When she finished, she looked up at Sam, and simply said, “No.”
“I feel the same way, Your Honor. You can imagine how Angie must feel.”
“Where are these marshals?”
Sam hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “I left them in the hall outside your courtroom.”
“Come with me,” she said. She went out into the courtroom, her strides long and full of purpose and fury. “Thoridn!” she called.
“My liege?” He came bustling in from the clerk’s chambers.
“Bring your halberd.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” He reached behind him and pulled the runed halberd out of thin air. He set his face in grim lines, his eyes boring into Sam’s.
“It’s not me,” Sam said and turned to follow the judge.
The three of them stepped out into the hall. Grimhildr bowed her head toward Dru. “Your Grace,” she said with a sunny smile. “I bid you welcome. Many blessings to Her Majesty, your royal mother.”
Dru nodded her head. “I will convey them to her. She asks for a few moments to confer with…others.”
The judge turned her gaze to the marshals, and as she did, the warmth drained from her face. “I’ve read your writ. You may not have my prisoner.”
“But…” The tall man shook his head and looked at his comrades. “We have a writ.”
“Yes. I’m quashing your writ.”
“You can’t do that.”
Thoridn growled into his beard.
“Oh, I misunderstood,” said Grimhildr. “I thought I was the judge, and you were the visitor. My apologies.” Her tone dripped with sugar.
“I mean that you can’t quash a Covenancy writ. You’re a Locus judge.”
“Oh, is that how it works?” She turned to her bailiff. “Thoridn, please go to the holding cells and ensure no one breaks my order of isolation for prisoner Van Dee.”
He snapped a salute, and his gaze snapped to Leery’s and held there until Oriscoe nodded. Satisfied Grimhildr would be safe, he jogged away to do as she bid him.
“I’m just doing my job,” said the tall marshal. “I have no say in this.”
“No, you do not,” said Grimhildr. “But I do, and I say you wait for the Witch Queen’s pleasure.”
Dru grimaced but kept her head up, her back straight.
“It’s okay,” whispered Angie. “Sam already knew.”
Dru shot a glance at Leery.
“No,” said Sam. “Oriscoe kept your secret. I found out another way.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “It was bound to come out.”
The marshal’s phone trilled, and he fished it out of his inner coat pocket, stepping away and grimacing at the caller ID. He murmured into the phone for a moment, then hung up. “Come on,” he said to the other marshals, ignoring everyone else. “The Grand Cynosure has changed his mind.”
“Bye,” said Leery. “Don’t be strangers. Only next time? Bring coffee.”
I hope you’ve enjoyed this episode of CLAW & WARDER and are chomping at the bit to get on to the next. Mitzvah: CLAW & WARDER Episode 3 can be found here: https://ehv4.us/4cw3.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
I hope you are enjoying these books—the Witch Queen knows I am. And to be honest, that comes as a bit of a surprise. I’d never considered writing Urban Fantasy (though many have told me my other dark fiction books are at least kissing cousins to the genre), and I have been pleasantly surprised by how much I look forward to writing about Leery and Dru every day.
It’s funny where life takes us sometimes, and some of my life’s destinations have left a little to be desired. I’m happy to say the journey the CLAW & WARDER series is taking me on has been a fun one, and one I hope to continue for a long time.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m still getting my daily dose of horror (writing a long horror novel at the same time as writing these first few CLAW & WARDER books) and have ideas for both a post-apocalyptic epic and another dark fantasy tale. Plus, more ideas for horror novels than I can shake a crucifix at.
I’m glad you’re here with me, and I hope you’re having as much fun as I am. Please don’t hesitate to drop by my Facebook page located at https://fb.me/erikhenryvick or my Readers’ Group at https://ehv4.us/fbog and say hello!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Erik Henry Vick is an author who happens to be disabled by an autoimmune disease (also known as his Personal Monster™). He writes to hang on to the few remaining shreds of his sanity. His current favorite genres to write are dark fantasy and horror.
He lives in Western New York with his wife, Supergirl; their son; a Rottweiler named after a god of thunder; and two extremely psychotic cats. He fights his Personal Monster™ daily with humor, pain medicine, and funny T-shirts.
Erik has a B.A. in Psychology, an M.S.C.S., and a Ph.D. in Artificial Intelligence. He has worked as a criminal investigator for a state agency, a college professor, a C.T.O. for an international software company, and a video game developer.
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Copyright
Copyright © 2020 by Erik Henry Vick
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Arms Dealers/ Erik Henry Vick. -- 1st ED.
Arms Dealers Page 14
