Rule of Capture

by Christopher Brown

  The brain bomb went off pretty quickly in this mix, like the soft distant boom of the explosions you sometimes heard at night at the edge of town, sounds some people said were demolitions of storm-damaged buildings and others said were signs of fighting with the emerging underground. Donny could feel the ends of his neurons light up just a bit, while the stress of the week started to bleed off like a hearty sigh.

  The jukebox was playing “Iguanas of London,” while the TV screened a grainy old video with the sound off. Some dude in a chain-mail Speedo, free swimming like a man-porpoise down to the ruins of an ancient city at the bottom of the sea.

  That got Donny wondering, if you found Atlantis, who would own it?

  He thought about all the wild theories there were about different groups that had “discovered” America, from the lost tribes of Israel to the Chinese admiral to Frank Dodd and his Front Range Vikings. About the fights governments had about who owns the moon. About the Honey Eaters, who pushed the Lipan across the Rio Bravo. About who really owned the land on which that bar sat. Behind the myths of discovery were the truths of violent conquest and colonization, justified by force rather than law. It was there in the place names, some given by the people who lived there before, others by the soldiers who first secured the territory. Someday all of that history would be up for a fresh legal reckoning.

  Donny thought about how you would make that case. Then he looked at the TV and decided it was about as likely as a man being able to breathe underwater.

  That was when he looked back at his own home, which he didn’t even own, thinking about the unfinished work that awaited him, as quixotic as it was. And in the window, he saw the silhouette of a guy standing there in his living room.

  He looked for Vonda to see if she saw it, too, but she was in the back.

  When he looked back, the figure was gone.

  Donny ran from the bar, straight across the street, up the stairs to his door. It was locked. He turned the deadbolt and the knob, then put his keys in his fist so the edges stuck out between his fingers like claws, the way he’d seen somebody do in a movie once.

  Then he opened the door, slowly.

  “Hey!” he yelled. “What the fuck are you doing in here! I just called the cops!”

  Nothing.

  It was empty. The place was easy to check, just the living room, bedroom, and bath.

  He looked out the window, and the red Metron was gone.

  The light bent for a second as he scanned down the street, and he cursed the enhanced cocktail.

  It was only when he sat back down at his table with a fresh cup of coffee that Donny saw the note. It was there marking the page of the notebook he had been reading from. A business card, but with no identifying information, just a printed image of a cartoon wolf in a tuxedo.

  Someone had written a message on it in ink pen.

  “Don’t forget your oath.”

  He was looking up the Texas lawyers’ oath, wondering if they meant the part about upholding the law or the part about demeaning himself honestly, when the phone rang.

  “Hey, Donny,” said the voice on the line. “It’s Walker.”

  “Hello, Ward.”

  “Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner.”

  “Right,” said Donny. “It’s okay. Honestly, I got so busy I forgot all about it. I can try to take a look at your contract tomorrow. It’s been a rough week.”

  “I heard.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I talked to my guy, like you said. About you know who.”

  He meant Gregorio.

  “He said anyone who even asks about that must want to go on a trip. The kind you don’t come back from.”

  “Who’s the guy, Ward?”

  “A customer.”

  “Law enforcement?”

  “Nothing like that at all. A businessman. Local, one of my oldest and best customers.”

  “A real pillar of the community.”

  “You’d be surprised. Point is, this guy is super plugged in. And I think he knows what’s going down.”

  “So who did it?”

  “He wouldn’t say. Instead, he started asking me questions.”

  “You didn’t tell him about me, did you?”

  “He already knew all about you, dude. Or so it seemed.”

  “Jesus, Ward.”

  “Shit’s getting dark out there, Donny. A whole lot of self-help, if you know what I mean.”

  “Frontier justice. So I’m learning.”

  “‘We don’t need no badges’ kind of justice. You follow?”

  “I’m starting to get the picture.”

  “Call me tomorrow after you look at that contract. And be careful.”

  “I’ll try.”

  When they hung up, Donny looked again at the card the intruders had left. He thought about all the modes of intimidation the human species had invented. He figured it was the combination of Vonda’s Atlantean Dream and the silent recitation of his duties as a lawyer that got him to grab his laptop, crack the books, and use the fear to fuel the new claim he had in mind. If they were going to read what he was working on, he might as well see if he could scare them back.

  25

  Miles had Donny meet him at the courthouse early, before eight. Donny waited on one of the benches in the main hallway, just past security, watching the eye watch him. Miles was late. Miles was never late.

  “You get stood up again, Kimoe?” said Turner.

  Donny looked over at Turner, who was sitting at his station watching the closed-circuit feeds. There was a red blinking light on one of the monitors, and you could see a prisoner transfer in progress on the black-and-white screen, as four guards carried a shackled guy wearing a hood and headphones out one of the basement doors into a waiting armored car.

  “Only by you, Turner,” said Donny.

  “Hang tight, big mouth. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Today would be good.”

  Turner looked at him and rubbed imaginary bills between his finger and thumb.

  Donny thought about giving him the finger, but opted for a thumbs-up. If he got lucky with his petition, he might not have much time to get together the new evidence his filing promised. And if he blew that shot, he would likely never get another. Xelina would be gone.

  There was another screen there on the lobby wall, running the live feed from Eagle News Net, in that new ultra high resolution that made everything look realer than real life. They had a clip from the President, touring the scene of a bombing the night before at the federal building in New Orleans. Donny tried to tell if the guy was wearing makeup, or if he really looked that good. Donny hadn’t heard about the bombing, but those kinds of incidents were as common as mass shootings these days, maybe even more so, and he was only slightly ashamed to find himself watching to see if they identified any potential suspects he might be able to represent. But they didn’t give any names. Just the President saying whoever did it were terrorists, and answering the question about the election fight by saying his only focus was protecting the American people from “the enemy within.”

  The elevator pinged, and out stepped Miles, almost smiling.

  “I expected to see you coming from the other direction,” said Donny, meaning the front door security checkpoint.

  “I got here early,” said Miles. “And you are all set.”

  “All set, as in postponed?”

  “As in no charges. I talked to Broyles. Caught him as he was coming in to work.”

  “You stalked him outside his chambers?”

  “I don’t stalk people. Especially not members of the federal bench. He was happy to talk about it.”

  “Ex parte?”

  “He got the prosecutor to come down and join us in his chambers before we wrapped.”

  “You are untouchable. Broyles loves you.”

  “Actually, he loves you. Or at least cuts you a lot of slack.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  “He
said you pissed him off in court this week, but he knows you didn’t mean any actual threats on the President.”

  Donny looked at the President’s face still talking on the screen, and wondered if that was really true.

  “Motive, not means.”

  “Come on, Donny.”

  “Sorry.”

  “The AUSA agreed. No charges.”

  “Bridget?”

  “No, that new guy that just came in from Washington. McAuley.”

  “Haven’t met him yet.”

  “Kind of a hard-ass.”

  “More than Bridget?”

  Miles nodded. “He initiated a review of your security clearance, Donny. And said he’s recommending you be added to the Secret Service watch list.”

  “What?”

  Miles held up his hands. “Be glad they’re not going after your license. Broyles had your back.”

  “You had my back. Broyles just feels guilty for being party to the insane shit that is going on in his courtroom.”

  Miles looked at the screen behind them. “Just when we thought we couldn’t get any busier,” he said.

  Donny nodded, but his mind was on other things. Like whether it was a good thing to be protected by Broyles, or a sign of his own moral failings. His failure to pick a side. His willingness to serve a corrupt system moving rapidly into shadow.

  “Broyles is going to be pissed when he hears what I pulled in that detainee case you got the free pass on Monday.”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Miles. “I was going to ask you about that.”

  “He screwed us over, so I filed a Section 23–2.”

  “I know,” said Miles, his mood changing. “I’m glad you reminded me. I was going to ask you what the hell you thought you were doing putting my name on that.”

  Donny had meant to tell him, and forgotten.

  “How did you find out? Tell me Broyles didn’t tell you.”

  “I just got a notice from the court this morning, on my way down here. Telling me I’m supposed to be here tomorrow afternoon at 2:30 in front of Judge Jones.”

  “Awesome!” said Donny, standing.

  “The hell it is,” said Miles, pointing a thumb at the screen. “I have oral arguments in front of the Fifth Circuit tomorrow.”

  “They’re already hearing the appeal in the election case?”

  “A piece of it, yeah, the martial law issue. How else do you think you get things moving that fast? At least somebody else wrote the briefs. And at least I don’t have to go there.” He pointed at the TV. The smoldering bomb site on screen was across the street from where the Fifth Circuit heard appeals out of the region, until the storms and the fighting caused its recent relocation to Houston.

  “Well, I don’t need you tomorrow,” said Donny.

  “I might be better off staying home. Between the threats from the President’s supporters, and you signing me up to represent insurgents I haven’t had a chance to vet, I’m starting to regret taking on these political cases.”

  “Sorry, Miles. I should have asked first. But this one is not like those bombers. And I figured it was okay to put your name on her case, because one, you were already on it and they hadn’t taken your name off even though Broyles reassigned it, and two, the client actually asked for you instead of me—”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, she was fangirl raving about your handling of the Refugio Five case.”

  “We got lucky on the coverage on that one,” he said.

  “The third reason is, you owe me after stealing my paralegal.”

  “She came to us, Donny.”

  “Fine, poacher man. Just help me on this one. Because I have an even crazier thing I want to file. One of those world-changing Hail Marys we used to talk about when we believed changing the world was possible. I sent you the brief. Kind of a work in progress. If you could just look at that, it would be a huge help. It’s all I ask.”

  “Okay, but you need to promise me the same thing Broyles told me to make you promise.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Remember your oath.”

  Donny was stunned. It took a minute to react.

  “Broyles said that?”

  “Yeah,” said Miles. “Those exact words. I told him it was excellent advice, right on the money.”

  Donny looked at the electronic eye above the TV. Then he looked over at Turner, who turned and smiled.

  “I need to get out of here,” he said.

  “Me too,” said Miles.

  They got up and walked for the exit. As they stood there at the waist-high barriers waiting to be buzzed out, Turner looked at Donny and held his thumb and pinky to his head. Call me.

  Miles had his driver there waiting in the Town Car, just past the barricades. Donny thanked him again, for real this time. As Miles drove off, Donny got his phone out to check for messages, and then wondered if he should toss the thing in the sewer. And then he looked up in the sky to see if he could spot the helicopter he heard.

  When you started looking for the eyes, there were a lot more than you realized.

  Maybe, Donny thought, there was a way to use that to his advantage.

  26

  The dogs were still there when Donny drove back to Xelina’s place. Three Chihuahuas, taking turns charging into the middle of the street thinking they could scare him off.

  Donny did his best to ignore them, and shuffled through the ruins looking for things that might have survived. The smell of smoke was intense. He found an old coin, some cheap jewelry, pieces of plates, and a glass bottle. He was standing there holding a melted video disc wondering if he might be able to salvage any of the data when he felt the chomp on his leg.

  He yelped, then kicked the little dog with his other foot. It yelped back, not as bad as Donny. He saw when it was on its back that it was an intact male. Then it got back up and charged him again, stopping short this time.

  “Fuck off, Cujito!” yelled Donny, doing his best to be scary.

  “Hey!” said a woman’s voice from across the street. “Stop hurting my dogs!”

  Donny looked. “This little bastard bit me!” he said.

  “Well whadja expect snoopin’ around in other people’s yards?”

  She was a white lady, late sixties maybe, with hair the color of cigarette smoke.

  The presence of their owner gave all three dogs more confidence, and suddenly they had Donny surrounded. He tried growling, and it seemed to have some effect. He walked out to the sidewalk to meet the lady, who soon had two of the dogs in the pocket of her robe and the one with the cojones in her arms.

  “Look,” said Donny, pulling up his pant leg and pulling down his sock so she could see the wounds. It looked like he had been attacked by the world’s tiniest vampire.

  “Sorry,” she said, after taking a minute to size him up. “They’ve been real jumpy since what happened. Especially Aldo, ’cause he’s so protective.” She stroked the monster. “Aren’t you, Aldo.” It licked her back.

  “It’s okay,” said Donny, pulling his sock back up. “We all get a little jumpy these days.”

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I’m a lawyer. I represent one of the girls who lived here. Xelina Rocafuerte.”

  “You look like a lawyer,” she said, like it wasn’t a compliment.

  “Good, because lately I feel like I’m faking it. You live here?” he asked, pointing at the house across the street.

  She nodded. “Nineteen years.”

  “Wow,” said Donny. “A real survivor, sticking it out so close to the Evac Zone.”

  They both looked at the fence at the end of the street. In the daylight you could see what lay beyond. A bridge over a creek that had been washed out, old warehouses on the other side, and some derelict LNG tanks in the distance, like the broken eggs of some Japanese movie monster.

  “I don’t know where else I’d go. Everything else is so dang expensive with all those damn people coming here from every other part of the co
untry.”

  “I hear you,” said Donny. “But you know they closed the borders to try to get that under control.”

  “Too late if you ask me. They oughta put some piranhas in the Red River. See how they like that.”

  “You should write the Governor and pass along the idea. You might be surprised.”

  “Is Xelina the one with the crazy hair?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Donny. “I mean, I think so. I haven’t met the others.”

  “If you came here looking for her, you’re wasting your time. She’s gone.”

  “So I see. The whole house is gone.”

  “I know. Woke me up. Took forever for the fire trucks to get here. But they still got that trailer in the back there.”

  “Where’s that?” asked Donny.

  “Down that drive,” she said, pointing at some parallel tracks that went around the far side of the yard into the trees behind. “That lot’s real big. Backs up to the creek.”

  “Gotcha,” said Donny. “I’ll try back there. Maybe her friends are still around.”

  “You can try, but they all cleared out.”

  “You know where they went?”

  “Hell no. Off to make trouble someplace else. Or jail, it sounds like.”

  “Something like that,” said Donny. “Did you see any of this happen?”

  She looked at the scorched site. “No,” she said, looking at the dog in her arms.

  “You mean to tell me Aldo there didn’t set off the alarm?” said Donny. “If he went after me like that, I’d hate to imagine what he’d do to some guys with guns.”

  She stroked the dog more intensely. You could see the feeling coming up.

  “You know what they did? They Tasered him! Tasered a little sweet dog!”

  She ran her hands over the welts on Aldo’s shoulder, which Donny hadn’t noticed. They were bigger than Donny’s bite.

  “Tough dog,” said Donny. “Glad he’s okay.”

  Somehow knowing that he had recently been electrified made the dog’s crazy eyes seem more likable. They looked extra crazy when she kissed him again.

  “So did you see that?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”