Capital Punishment
Page 4
“Whatever,” hissed Johnson. “That was a loser of a case no matter what. Mitchell took it on contingency and advanced them all the costs. We were already in the hole on that one. Glad to get it off the books.”
“Two birds with one stone,” observed Fletcher.
“Yeah,” laughed Johnson. “Besides the little slut probably wanted it.”
Fletcher laughed too. But only for a moment.
“You mother fuckers!” I screamed as I stormed into the room. “This was all a fucking set up?”
Their faces went white. But then Johnson caught himself. He looked at Fletcher and winked. “I don’t remember saying anything. Do you, Jason?”
Fletcher smiled. “No, Brian, I don’t.”
Johnson smirked at me. “You find that order yet? The one that’s gonna give me the basis I need to fire you for cause?”
I was shaking. I didn’t know what to say.
“Oh, one more thing, Mitchell,” Fletcher smirked. “I did take the last of your sour cream.”
And for some reason, that was the straw that broke my camel’s back. I think the poor bastard would have seen it in my eyes, but he was too stupid to look.
“It won’t be the last thing of yours I take,” he added, just sealing his fate.
“Yes it will,” I answered. I didn’t yell it. I didn’t need to.
I yanked open my desk drawer. The gun was right where I had told Danielle to put it. Loyal Danielle. Poor, stupid, loyal Danielle.
I pulled it out of the holster and aimed it right at Fletcher’s chest. “Go to hell, Fletcher.”
Two shots, center mass. He didn’t even have time to scream.
Johnson did though. He screamed like a girl. I turned and shot at him too. He was already running for the door. He almost made it. Almost.
Danielle ran into the office. The gun was in still in my hand. Johnson was on the floor, holding his gut and moaning. We could all hear Fletcher drowning in his own blood.
“Mike!” shrieked Danielle. “What the hell are you doing?!”
I ignored her and stepped over to Johnson. He was helpless on the floor. I stood over him, straddling his shoulders, and aimed the gun at his head. He looked up at me out of the corner of his eye, then looked away again.
“Mike! Stop!” Danielle grabbed my arm. “Don’t do it!”
I shoved her away. “Don’t tell me what to do! No one’s gonna tell me what to do any more!”
She grabbed my arm again. “I’m not going to let you do this!”
I shoved her away again. Hard. She stumbled against the wall as I raised the gun. I was angry. Really, really angry. I only pulled the trigger once���one moment of blind rage���but the bullet went straight through her heart. She was dead before she hit the floor.
That almost shook me out of it. Almost.
I looked down again at Johnson.
“Please, Mike,” he rasped. “Please don’t.”
I smiled and pointed the gun at his temple. “Go to hell, ‘Mr. Johnson.’”
Then my phone rang. And for some reason, that did it.
I relaxed my aim at Johnson’s head and pulled the phone from my pocket. It was Janie. Of course.
I stepped over Johnson. I set the phone on my desk. I pressed the green button to answer the call, speaker mode.
“Mike?”
Then I put the gun to my head and pulled the trigger.
But the clip was empty.
I almost laughed. Almost.
Janie was still calling my name as Johnson groaned and Fletcher stopped gurgling. I let the gun drop from my hand. Then I slid to the floor and, for the third time that day, I waited for the cops to arrive.
I’d finished my story, but I still didn’t look over at the chaplain.
He didn’t say anything for a minute, then he asked, “Is that what you told the police?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“They said I was under arrest.”
I could see him nodding out of the corner of my eye. “Is that what you told your attorneys?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“They said I was fucked.”
Another nod. “And is that what you told the jury?”
“Yes.”
“And what did they say?”
“They said I was guilty.”
I finally rolled my head over to look over at him. He was hunched over, hands clasped. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then stood up and nodded to the others in the room.
“Do you know what your sin was, Michael?” this man of God asked me as the guards tightened the straps on my arms.
“I killed someone.”
“No, that’s not it, Michael,” he answered. “Not all killing is sinful.”
The prison nurse stepped forward and injected the drug cocktail into my I.V. I’d be unconscious within seconds; my heart would stop beating within minutes.
“Your sin was that you acted in anger.” He crossed himself over me. “May the Lord have mercy on your soul.”
END
About the Author
Stephen Penner is an author and artist from Seattle. He writes a variety of fiction, including thrillers, science fiction, and children’s books.
His David Brunelle Legal Thrillers include the novel Presumption of Innocence and the short stories Case Theory and Beyond a Reasonable Doubt.
Other works include the paranormal mystery Scottish Rite, the science fiction thriller Mars Station Alpha, and a paranormal young adult adventure titled The Godling Club. In addition, he both writes and illustrates the children’s books Katie Carpenter, Fourth Grade Genius and Professor Barrister’s Dinosaur Mysteries.
For more information about his writing and art, visit www.stephenpenner.com
www.ringoffirebooks.com