Something Stinks in Deep Cove (The Vellian Books Book 4)

by Reed, Grant T.

  5

  The Dragon Behind The Sword

  “Look buddy, you’re free to go, but the golem stays.” P.C. whirred softly in the corner of the cell, his one good eye flashing an unhealthy purple glow. “You can exit the cell or stay in there with your pal; it’s your choice, but I’m closing this door in three seconds.” Officer Waters held the cell door open, a scowl on his unshaven face.

  “Alright, I’m coming,” conceded Merle. “But if any of your hooligan cop buddies try and beat a confession out of him, I’ll have a lawsuit down on this precinct faster…”

  “Save your threats,” growled Waters. “I’m in no mood this morning. Court hearing is this afternoon. I suggest you go home and clean up, if you plan on attending.” He slammed the cell door behind Merle, making as if to shoo the dragon off with his foot. Merle hissed at the moody cop and gathered what remained of his dignity.

  “You’ll be hearing from our lawyer,” said Merle haughtily.

  “Don’t bet on it,” snickered Waters.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” snapped Merle, glancing over his shoulder.

  “Nothing. I’m sure old man Kretchel will take care of your golem just fine.”

  “Who the hell is old man Kretchel?”

  “He’s the tin man’s public defender,” replied Waters. He locked the cell door, tested it with a quick pull, and then marched past Merle. “Hope you’re not fond of the metal guy.” Water’s laughter followed him down the hall and around a bend in the corridor.

  Merle grumbled to himself and took one last look at the cells. He had thought about asking P.C. straight up about his involvement in the murder, but there were other detainees present, and you could never guess what P.C. might come out with. ‘Better off to play it safe,’ he reminded himself, and turned for the exit.

  He was greeted on the street by a chill wind and a milling group of cops, all of whom looked at him with distaste. Suddenly, a shrill “Hey,” echoed off the precinct walls, and the group of officers split apart as Vic shouldered his way through, followed by Frank. Merle watched in delight as most of the officers averted their eyes or nodded at the notorious gangster’s son. Mr. Kline might be doing hard time, but his reputation held enough power to keep the local authorities at bay. Merle puffed out his chest and sauntered up to Vic. He smiled at the officers as they reformed their henpeck circle. All of them avoided eye contact.

  Merle’s smile disappeared the moment his back was to the circle of cops. “What the hell is your problem, Victor?” hissed Merle. “You couldn’t pull me out sooner than this?”

  “I gots no problem,” said Vic dumbfounded. He looked to Frank, confusion evident on his face.

  “We’re real sorry about that,” admitted Frank as the trio began the long walk to Merle and Garrett’s place. “We thought we should get your lady friend out first. They detain the ladies a few streets over, and it took some time to go through the paperwork. We came back for you as quick as we could.”

  Merle thought about making light of Vic’s reading skills, but he wasn’t in the mood. “You did the right thing,” was all he said. He too had been worried about Coral. “How’d she take it?” he asked.

  “Surprisingly well,” Frank informed him. “She seemed to think the whole thing was some grand adventure. She didn’t seem upset, at all.”

  “I like dat lady,” chirped in Vic. “She bought us breafkast and eben give me extra pancakes.” He grinned from ear to ear.

  “Came back for me as quick as you could, eh?” snapped Merle. Frank hummed to himself and became interested in a cluster of pigeons on the street in front of them. “Never mind,” continued Merle. “I suppose you heard about P.C.?”

  “Yes, the talk is all over the city. It was all anyone was discussing at the pancake house,” said Frank. Merle thumped along the roadway lost in thought and not saying anything, until Vic cut in.

  “We heard dem say your golem speared a man through de chest wif his plunger. De lady at de counter say she bet P.C. blinded him wif bleach. Anudder man say P.C. a real killer, and take no crap from anyone in or out of de arena.”

  Merle growled. “Preposterous. P.C. is mouthy, and he can fly off the handle, but his protocol will not allow him to attack humans.”

  “What about at that interview the other day, when he attacked the old man in front of all those board members?” asked Frank. “And he’s always threatening people. I heard some of your neighbors don’t like to go out for a walk when P.C. is out and about. He scares the old ladies!”

  “He’s harmless,” insisted Merle. When Frank rolled his eyes the little dragon exhaled loudly. “Okay, so sometimes he goes overboard and wants to wash someone’s mouth out with soap. To be honest, most of the time they could use it. Garrett knows he’s a quirky hunk of tin, but do you think he would keep P.C. around if he thought he presented a real danger to anyone? A little soap in the mouth is a far cry from murder!”

  “Well this time, he crossed the line.”

  “He bedder not try and wash my mouff out wif soap or I’ll call de police,” piped up Vic. Frank scowled at his ward and shoved the smaller man from behind. “Hey,” snapped Vic. Then seeing Frank glaring at him, he rubbed his shoulder. “I was joking, Frank.” Two cops rounded an outbuilding and Vic waved to them. The officers returned the gesture.

  Merle shook his head and motioned for his friends to take a small footpath leading across an open field the kid’s used for sports. “I have to be at the courthouse this afternoon,” he said to the minotaur. “I was hoping you could make an appearance. It might go a little way toward aiding P.C.’s cause if the judge knows the Kline family is in our corner.”

  “I dunno,” said Vic. “Dey say P.C. reached down inside dat man and pulled his guts out. I don’t tink I wants to help him get out. I mean dat’s pretty gross.”

  Frank waved a hoof behind Vic’s back, negating what the smaller man was saying. “Don’t you worry about it,” said Frank “we’ll be there for you.”

  “Wait!” snapped Vic. “I’m a Kline, you a nobody. He say he wants de Kline family in his corner.”

  “Victor,” said Frank in a low rumble.

  “Yes?”

  “Where are we?”

  “Outside.”

  “And who’s the boss outside?”

  Victor’s shoulders slumped, and he stared at his shoes. “You de boss,” he said, barely above a whisper.

  “Good,” agreed Frank. “Now, as I was saying, we wouldn’t miss it. Apparently, they’re going to throw the book at him. Probably break him down into spare parts or melt him into a chain link fence, or something.” Seeing the horrified look on Merle’s face, he quickly added “but we’ll be there to support you throughout it!”

  “Awesome!” screamed Vic. “I want to see him get shredded. You de best friend eber Frank!”

  “I know,” agreed the minotaur with a satisfied grin.

  * * * *

  The exterior of the courthouse was swarming with anxious onlookers as Merle climbed the stone steps of the building. Many of the citizens recognised the dragon from his short stint of commanding P.C. in the golem wars last spring and hushed conversations sprang up at his passing. No one bothered to shout encouragement to him, though. After all, it was likely that his golem had gone berserk and killed the businessman. Anyone who had witnessed P.C. in the arena could have no doubts about the robot’s guile.

  A boy stood on the steps, an armful of papers tucked under his elbow. “Golem goes bonkers, kills one armed man! Read all about it,” he shouted, waving a paper in his free hand. The young crier raced down two steps and exchanged a paper for a gon from one of the citizens before yelling at the top of his lungs. “Bionic Butcher beats businessman. Read all about it!”

  Merle pretended to ignore the crowd and flew up the stairs to latch onto the polished door handle. Inside, the courthouse was packed with more Deep Cove citizens. The murmur of heated conversation rose and fell around the dragon, and then quieted when folks re
alised he had arrived. The crowd parted to let him through. Merle traversed the central aisle with head held high and his eyes locked on the large frame of Frank’s back. The minotaur had secured a bench in the first row. Despite Merle’s outward lack of acknowledgement, the stares were getting to him and he could feel sweat beading on his brow.

  Arriving at their seats, Merle took up position beside Frank and nodded to Vic when the young man smiled and waved at him. The gangster’s son was greedily munching a great puff of candy on a stick, and the corners of his mouth were stained with blue dye. Merle cast his gaze to the indifferent figure of P.C. The robot stood beside the defendant’s desk with his back to the crowd. Merle could see a length of chain binding the automaton’s feet, and surmised P.C.’s wrists were likewise secured. Seated at the desk to the robot’s left, a bent backed little man was furiously scribbling on a large pad of paper. ‘At least he’s organised,’ thought Merle. Seeing the old man’s dedication made him feel better about the defense’s situation. His stomach had been in knots ever since Waters implied the counselor would be ineffectual.

  Mr. Kretchel looked positively ancient, his thin skinned, blue veined hand shaking with the effort of holding his pencil. A boy appeared at the old man’s side, and waited patiently while the old man continued to write. At last, the little man turned to P.C. and waved his pencil in the robot’s direction. “You want something?” he asked in a scratchy thin voice that Merle could barely make out above the crowd. P.C. ignored the man. “Hey you,” wheezed the oldster, “I said, do you want to order something for lunch?”

  “I don’t think he eats,” said the boy, tapping the counselor on the arm.

  “Eh?” hollered the white haired man. “He likes meat? Fine, order him a roast beef sandwich.” He tore his lunch order from the notepad and passed it to the boy who nodded and raced off. Merle winced, feeling his stomach tighten again.

  From a side entrance, a uniformed man made his way into the room to stand before the judge’s podium. “All rise for the honorable Judge Perew,” he bellowed. The crowd went silent, and rose in unison. From the same entrance, a tall man in a black robe walked purposefully to his bench. Judge Perew looked to be in his late fifties, with steel grey hair and unflinching blue eyes. Every line in his face warned that you should not cross him.

  The judge took his seat, slamming the gavel into the sound block. “Court is now in session,” he said. “You may be seated.”

  “Case three-zero-four-four,” said the bailiff approaching the bench and passing the judge a folder, “the crown versus Mr. P.C.”

  “Charge?” asked the judge, flipping the dossier open.

  “Mr. Thompson for the crown, Your Honour,” replied a young man in a grey suit. “And that will be a charge of murder one.” Merle glanced to the prosecutor’s bench, but had never seen the man before now.

  “And how does the defense plead,” asked the judge, without looking up. He flipped a page and kept reading. When there was no response, his eyes flicked up to take in the defense counselor, who had fallen asleep at his desk.

  “Mr. Kretchel,” bellowed the judge. “I asked how your party pleads.”

  “Greens?” stuttered Mr. Kretchel, shuddering awake. “No just the sandwich, thank you.”

  Judge Perew scowled as a woman in the crowd giggled in delight. “Bailiff Oppie, remove that woman.” The judge’s finger signaled out a woman in the third row, and the crowd gasped. “She’s barred for the duration of this case.”

  “I’ll be good,” whined the old lady.

  “I warned you before, mother,” said the judge as the bailiff lifted the old gal by an arm. “I’ll see you at supper.” His cold eyes went back to Mr. Kretchel as Bailiff Oppie escorted Mrs. Perew from the courthouse. “How do you plead, Kretchel?”

  The old man scratched at his turkey neck and swung around to take in P.C. “He looks guilty to me, Your Honour,” said Kretchel, with a nod.

  “That’s a lot of hardware, he’s carrying,” agreed the Judge. “What’s with the double chains on his feet and arms?”

  The bailiff approached P.C. and removed a plunger from the desk in front of him. “He attacked the arresting officers with this, Your Honour.”

  “What is it?” asked the judge, squinting in P.C.’s direction.

  “I dunno,” shrugged Bailiff Oppie, “Some kind of club?”

  Merle groaned. The judge was silent for a moment, considering. “You wish to enter a plea of guilty?” asked judge Perew.

  P.C. did not move.

  “Now hold on a minute,” piped up Merle. The dragon jumped to his feet on the bench. “He’s not guilty of anything other than insubordination.”

  “Bailiff!” shrieked the judge.

  “Wait,” cried Merle, his anxiety raising another notch when all eyes fell on him. “The defendant belongs to me and my partner. I demand a say, as his owner. Mr. Kretchel here never even consulted me, and clearly P.C. is not capable of entering his own plea.”

  “What is going on here?” asked the judge angrily. “You, sir,” he said pointing at P.C. “remove that armor immediately so I may have a look at you.”

  “If I may, sir,” said Thompson, folding his hands behind his back. “He cannot remove his armor, as it is part of his exoskeleton. This is no man that stands before you, but the infamous golem gladiator P.C., aka ‘The Germinator’ or ‘the Pope of Soap’.” Thompson smirked before continuing. “This trained combatant has not only fought in the Coliseum, but also in the jungles of the eastern world while on crusade for our good King Renli. The crown will demonstrate how this killing machine does indeed have the wherewithal to govern himself.”

  “Preposterous,” stormed the judge. “You may be making a name for yourself in certain court circles, young Thompson, but common sense still rules while I’m behind this bench.”

  “Yes, Your Honour,” said Thompson, looking deflated.

  “You cannot charge a lifeless object with murder. Next thing you know, we’d have a sword or a hammer on trial. No boy, you need the man behind the sword.” Judge Perew pointed at Merle. “You there, Mr. Dragon, you said you own this piece of machinery?”

  “Well, he’s more Garrett’s than mine,” stammered Merle. “In fact, ask P.C., he’ll tell you, I’m not the boss of him.” Merle suddenly felt very hot and icky as the Judge scowled down at him. Beside him, Frank shuffled toward the opposite end of the bench, elbowing Vic to move over.

  “Where is this Garrett fellow?” asked the judge.

  Merle swallowed uncomfortably. “On vacation?” he offered.

  “Convenient,” mused Judge Perew. He shrugged and continued agreeably, “You can stand trial for the both of you.” Merle’s jaw dropped, but before he could even think of a response, Bailiff Oppie’s iron grip encircled his arm. The crowd erupted into hushed conversations.

  “I… am… free… to… go?” asked P.C. cheerfully. He stretched his hands, snapping the chain that encircled his wrists. “Good, … I… have… cleaning… to… do.”

  “Order,” stormed the judge, slamming his gavel down. “Contain that contraption. You are most certainly not free to go anywhere until we have gotten to the bottom of this.” He slammed his gavel down a second time to quiet the courtroom.

  Merle felt his heart sink as he took in the bewildered look on Mr. Kretchel’s face. “Who’s my defendant?” the old man called in a confused tone.

  “Take them away,” ordered Perew with a stroke of his gavel. “We’ll reconvene in two days, with the dragon here to enter his plea, unless, of course, someone can find this Garrett fellow.” Indicating P.C. he continued. “You can leave that contraption in the dungeon until a guilty verdict is reached. Then we’ll dispose of it properly.”

  “Hmmm, a dragon eh?” mused Kretchel, scratching at an age spot on the top of his head. “I never defended a dragon before.”

  * * * *

  “We need to work fast,” confided Merle, peeking through the bars of his cell at Frank. “This Judge Perew d
oesn’t mess around, and we go to trial tomorrow. Did you find out anything about this Thompson fellow?” Merle scratched at the neckline of his orange jumper, not used to wearing clothing.

  Outside his cell, a table had been set up in the hallway for Frank and Victor. The younger man looked very bored as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop, not paying any attention to Merle. Frank leaned forward in his chair and spoke in a hushed tone. “I spoke with a couple of associates who were prosecuted by this Wally Thompson, and the news is not good. Apparently, he’s relentless: one of the best and brightest prosecutors to come out of Cassadia in a decade. He hasn’t lost a case yet. Word is, he’s backed by daddy’s money, and making a run at the bench himself.” Frank sat back and nodded knowingly.

  “Why we here, again?” moaned Vic. “I could be at home watching G.V. or at Mardy’s playing cards.”

  “Merle needs our help,” chastised Frank.

  “Who cares?” argued Vic crankily. “Remember that time he tried to claw me, when he came wif Garredd to our front gate and he dint know de password?”

  “That was months ago,” said Frank. He turned to look at Vic. “Do you want to see the metal guy get shredded?”

  “Ya!” Vic’s face brightened immediately. “When’s that gonna happen?” he asked hopefully.

  “Soon enough,” hissed Merle. He got the minotaur’s attention by tapping on a bar of his cell. “We need to get the whole story from anyone who was there that night. Plant workers, security guards, Alex Junior and Azilda, the cops, and anyone else you can think of. I’ll have to ask the judge for an interview with P.C. as well.”

  “What if he did it?” asked Frank. “It looks pretty cut and dry.”

  “I refuse to believe that Metal Mouth is capable of murder. I’m positive his core programming prohibits it.”

  “Maybe he malfunctioned?” offered Frank. “You said it yourself, he’s a quirky fellow.”