Dark Justice bk-8

by William Bernhardt

  “Pleasure talkin’ to you boys.” He slid out of the bar just a few seconds after his quarry.

  The night air seemed cool and bracing-a delight after the smoky, dirty interior of the bar. Loving drank in several good deep swallows, purging his brain. He’d need a clear head if he was going to follow this goon without being spotted.

  The man was heading east, back toward the heart of town. Fortunately, Loving had already learned the lay of the town, a task that took about ten minutes. He stayed on the opposite side of the street and held way back, staying as far away as possible without altogether losing the man.

  Loving’s quarry seemed to be heading somewhere in particular, somewhere in a hurry. Could be any of a million things, Loving realized. But if he could catch this clown making a drug sale, or better yet, making a drug sale to a logger, maybe someone Gardiner knew … well, he might be able to make the Skipper very happy indeed.

  The burly man with the long black hair turned left, heading north. Loving waited until he was entirely out of sight, then crossed the street. He quickened his pace, not making a show of it, until his prey was back where he could see him. Once he had the man in sight, he slowed.

  The man paused at a street corner, looking all ways at once, as if he expected to meet someone but didn’t know which way he might be coming from.

  That could be a problem. Loving started scanning the streets himself. If the man’s rendezvous was coming from the same direction as Loving, or anywhere close, he’d be spotted. He’d have to pretend to be tying his shoe or waiting for a taxi-and hope they bought it.

  Hard as he looked, though, Loving didn’t see anyone. Even drug lords get stood up sometimes, Loving supposed. He turned back toward the street corner where his quarry was waiting.

  The man was gone. Somehow, while Loving had been distracted, he’d disappeared.

  Loving put his feet into first gear and began chugging across the street and down the sidewalk. Had the man spotted him? He didn’t see how it was possible. Maybe he was just always careful. Maybe that was a smart way to be when your chief occupation in life was peddling illegal designer drugs.

  Loving raced down the sidewalk, feeling the weight of every downed beer sloshing in his stomach. He was huffing more than he cared to admit, but he made it in less than thirty seconds.

  Not that it mattered. There was no trace of the man. Not on this street corner, not on any street corner. Not that he could see, anyway.

  He was about to turn away when he heard the sound. It was a tiny sound, an almost inaudible squeaking, like a door hinge turning, or a sneaker pivoting on pavement. Loving whirled, but he was way too late. Something long and hard came crashing down on his head.

  Loving gritted his teeth together, wincing. He fell to his knees, trying to absorb the pain. He raised his hands, trying to stop the follow-up blow he knew would be coming.

  But he was not successful. He cracked his eyes open just enough to see what looked very much like a baseball bat crashing down between his arms and cracking ominously against his shoulder at the base of his neck.

  He cried out, then fell forward on all fours. He hated just sitting here like some lame animal, not trying to escape, but he couldn’t muster the energy to move. He had to concentrate just to clear away the pain, just to think straight.

  Which in the long run didn’t matter at all. The bat came crashing down again, this time square on the back of his head, and after that everything, both inside his brain and out, turned to black.

  Chapter 26

  When Ben climbed the fire escape and entered his office the next morning, he was surprised to find Christina-and Sheriff Allen-already there.

  As soon as he passed through the door, the two of them jumped upright. Had they been holding hands? Ben wondered. Surely not. But they were both acting as if they’d been caught in the middle of something.

  “Morning, Ben,” Christina said, blowing her hair out of her eyes. “Didn’t expect to see you this early.”

  Evidently not, Ben thought. “Did we get the rest of the paper discovery from the prosecutor’s office?”

  “Oh. We got it all right. But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

  She pointed toward the opposite wall. Seven near-ceiling-high stacks of bound papers occupied almost a third of the tiny office.

  “She’s trying to bury us,” Ben murmured. “Give us more than we can possibly sort through before the trial begins.”

  “Right. Probably fifty pages of good stuff, buried somewhere in a morass of garbage. But what can you do about it? Complain that the prosecution has given you too much?”

  “I could complain that it came too late and ask for a continuance. But from what I hear, Judge Pickens would be unlikely to grant it.” Ben scrutinized the tall stacks of paper. “Any rhyme or reason here?”

  “None. Documents aren’t organized or categorized in any useful fashion. Not even numbered. In fact, the pages of a particular document are often scattered through several piles.”

  Ben’s lips pressed tightly together. “Granny really outdid herself here.”

  “You haven’t seen the half of it yet.”

  Ben frowned; that sounded ominous. He took the top document off the stack closest to him. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust before he realized what Granny had done to him.

  “Red,” Ben said, throwing down the paper bitterly. “It’s all been color-copied in red ink.”

  Sheriff Allen looked a bit perplexed. “You defense types got something against red?”

  “It won’t photocopy,” Christina explained. “At least not on your garden-variety copier. Some of the newer color copiers can do it, but of course we don’t have anything like that at our disposal.”

  “Which,” Ben added, “since we’ll need at least three copies of any exhibit we plan to use at trial, makes this tower of trash absolutely worthless to us.”

  Allen whistled appreciatively. “That Granny. She sure knows her business.”

  “That would be one way of putting it.” Ben grabbed his windbreaker. “I’m going to talk to her. Right now.”

  “Is there any point?” Christina asked.

  “Probably not. But I’ll feel better if I’ve tried. I don’t guess I need to tell you …

  Christina nodded. “Start wading through the paper.”

  “Roger.”

  Allen turned toward Christina, a stricken expression on his face. “You mean you’re not going to be free at lunchtime?”

  “Sorry, Doug. Work calls. Have a double helping of our usual for me, okay?”

  Ben frowned. Doug? Our usual?

  “I’m available for dinner, though,” Christina added. “What do you say we go back to Mabel’s? Try some more chutney.”

  Allen’s face brightened. “That sounds great.”

  Ben tried to suppress his annoyance. “Look, Christina, I don’t mean to interfere with your social calendar, but we’ve obviously got a ton of work-”

  “Oh, of course.” The sheriff straightened. “Anything I can do?”

  “You? I meant-” Ben stopped himself. Now that the man mentioned it, there probably was. “Have you heard anything about a major-league thug called Alberto Vincenzo?”

  Allen grunted. “Drug pusher. Yeah, I’ve read the reports. The DEA seems to think he’s in our area. How did you know?”

  Ben thought about telling him, but he knew it might get back to Granny, which would be fatal to Peggy. “Well, I’ve got a lot of sources. My question is whether he might have anything to do with the murder of Dwayne Gardiner.”

  “I don’t even know for sure that he’s here,” Allen said. “That’s just what I’ve heard. Although it makes sense. This new drug didn’t come to Magic Valley by itself.”

  “Any reason to think Vincenzo is connected to the murder?” Christina asked.

  “There are reports that Gardiner was behaving erratically shortly before he was killed,” Ben replied. “Like maybe he was sampling a little Venom himself.
”

  “I can do you one better than that,” Allen offered. “I had reports from some of my deputies that Gardiner had been prowling the streets of the city late at night, something he’d never done before.”

  “Like maybe he was trying to score some drugs?” Christina asked.

  “Or even maybe was helping push the junk. This new drug has really blitzed through this town. No one man could have done that alone.”

  There was a knock on the door. A moment later, Tess poked her head through. “Is this a private party?”

  Ben grinned. “Yes. But you’re invited.”

  She stepped inside. With four bodies inside, a desk, and seven skyscraperlike stacks of paper, there was barely enough room to move. “You guys like to keep things cozy, don’t you?”

  Ben saw Christina and Allen glance at one another. “Helps forge close working relations.”

  Tess laughed. “No doubt.” She glanced up at the wall. “That must be the suit?

  Ben followed her gaze. The famed Sasquatch suit-black mask and all-was on a coat hanger dangling from a nail on the wall. “That it is. We probably need to get that back to Granny.”

  “I’d be happy to swap her for a few documents printed in conventional black ink,” Christina said.

  “You’re right,” Ben grunted. “Let her pick it up herself.” He turned toward Tess. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “I just wondered if anyone’d heard anything about Al,” she answered. “I went by the hospital, but they wouldn’t let me in to see him. Wouldn’t tell me anything, either.”

  “That’s my fault,” Allen said. “I put a tight security net around him.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, ma’am, it’s pretty well known that your pal Al is one of the leading monkeywrenchers. Responsible for a hell of a lot of property damage, from what I hear. It’s best that he’s kept well away from some of the folks in this town.”

  “Would that include you?” Ben asked pointedly.

  Allen shook his head. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea about me. I don’t bear any grudge against these Green Rage people-as long as they don’t break the law. I think everyone’s entitled to speak their mind. That’s what this country is all about.”

  “You’re saying you don’t favor one side over the other.”

  “The only thing I favor is peace,” Allen said with conviction. “All I want is for this unrest and unhappiness to go away.” He fingered the brim of his hat. “Anyway, I just wanted to make sure your friend Al was safe while he recuperates.”

  “I appreciate that,” Tess said. “Thank you.” She turned and started for the door. The instant she opened it, a man stumbled through, collapsing into her arms.

  Tess took a step back, trying to brace herself and to keep the man from slipping to the floor.

  “Loving!” Ben raced forward, taking one arm and helping lead him over to the chair.

  It was Loving all right, but he was not the stalwart tower of a man he usually seemed. His whole posture was hunched and bent. His T-shirt and jeans were smudged and grimy. Blood was caked around his mouth.

  Christina threw her arm around him. “Are you all right? What happened?”

  Loving opened his mouth several seconds before he actually spoke. Ben could tell he was having trouble making the words emerge. “I’m … not … sure.

  Christina ran her hands over his face, his head. “Someone hit you. Who was it?”

  Loving slowly shook his head. “Don’t … know that, either.”

  Eventually Loving pulled himself together enough to tell them the story of the night before. How he had followed the man with the scar out of Bunyan’s. How he had lost him, chased after him. How he had been clubbed from behind. Repeatedly.

  “Guess they figured they couldn’t leave me on the street corner,” Loving said. His voice was a jagged whisper. “Woke up in an alley behind some trash cans. With the worst headache I ever had in my life. And that’s includin’ a few nights I shot tequila till the sun came up.”

  “We need to get you to the hospital,” Christina said. “You might have been seriously hurt.”

  “Aw, I don’t think-”

  “Just the same, you’re going.” She helped Loving to his feet. “You’re in no condition to walk. I’ll call a cab.”

  Transportation was arranged, and Christina took Loving away to be examined by an ER doc. Tess went with them, this time taking a note from the sheriff that would guarantee her entry to Al’s room. Which left Ben alone with Sheriff Allen.

  “I think you can confirm those DEA reports,” Ben said. “Sounds like Loving found Alberto Vincenzo.”

  “Or Vincenzo found him. I don’t know what’s happening to this town. People getting hurt, beat up.” He shook his head. “It’s not like it used to be. Do you think-”

  “Think what?” Ben asked.

  “Oh, I hate to meddle but-well, you do seem to be in the eye of the hurricane here. And it’s clear that we’ve got some bad eggs who are willing to do just about anything-including hurting other people. Do you think it’s safe?”

  “You’re worried about me?”

  “I’m worried about your legal assistant.”

  Ben rolled his eyes. Of course.

  “She’s tough, spunky, pushy. Mind you, I love all that. But it’s exactly the kind of stuff that might get her hurt.”

  “Christina can take care of herself.”

  “Yeah. So could your investigator. And that Al fella. Except they’re both in the hospital now. I sure wouldn’t want-” He lowered his eyes, pressed his lips together. “Well, hell. I guess it’s obvious by now. I’m pretty sweet on that little lady of yours.”

  Ben was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable.

  “I think she’s something special. But I guess you already know that.” Allen paused. “Do you think she and I–I mean, is it possible we could-” He muttered something under his breath. “Oh, damnation!”

  “If you have something to ask Christina,” Ben said, “just ask her.”

  “Maybe I will at that.” He gave Ben a quick nod. “Guess I’ll be seeing you.

  And then Ben was alone. Alone with two tons of red-inked paper, a Sasquatch suit, and his thoughts. Some of which were pretty unpleasant.

  Chapter 27

  Ben knew he should probably check first with her receptionist, but he wasn’t in the mood. He darted past the woman before she could stop him and zipped into Granny’s office.

  Granny was concentrating on the pile of papers on her desk. Apparently she sensed his presence; she looked up abruptly and cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t folks back in Oklahoma know it’s polite to knock?”

  “We know,” Ben answered, “but politeness is a courtesy that has to be earned.”

  “I see.” She leaned back in her chair, a playful smile on her lips. The top two buttons on her blouse were unbuttoned, which, when she stretched back like that, became impossible to ignore. “What can I do for you, Mr. Kincaid?”

  “I just came by to drop off my preliminary exhibit list.” He opened his briefcase and withdrew a piece of paper.

  Granny took it greedily. “Hope there are no big surprises here. I really hate surprises-” She stopped. “I think you’ve made a mistake, Kincaid. There’s nothing written on this paper.”

  “Of course there is.”

  “I’m looking at it, Kincaid. It’s blank.”

  “Nope. I wrote down my exhibit list right there.”

  “I telling you, there’s nothing-”

  “It’s written in invisible ink.”

  Granny blinked. “Invisible ink?”

  “Sure. You know, lemon juice. Didn’t you have a childhood? Wait, don’t answer that. I probably don’t want to know.”

  A wry, not very amused smile played on her lips. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

  “Nope. Just my way of fulfilling my legal obligations. In conformity with the customs and procedures of Magic Valley County. At least as they appea
r to me.”

  “Kincaid, everything I gave you was perfectly readable-”

  “So is that. You have to hold it close to a lightbulb.”

  “A lightbulb?”

  “Right. Let it get hot, but not hot enough to burn. The words will emerge. Of course you won’t be able to photocopy it. But I gather that’s not a problem here in beautiful downtown Magic Valley.”

  Granny pushed herself to her feet. “All right, Kincaid, let’s stop pussyfooting around. What is it you want?”

  “You know what I want. I want all the documents you’re obliged to produce-you can keep the decoys-in normal photocopyable black ink. Not red, not green, not purple. Black.”

  “If you want black ink, you could have them retyped.”

  “I could if I had the time, which I don’t, or the money, which I don’t.”

  “Life’s tough all around, Kincaid.”

  “Especially when your opponent doesn’t play fair.”

  “Now wait just a minute. There’s no obligation to produce photocopyable documents in the Rules of Criminal Procedure.”

  “I’m not talking so much about the rules of criminal procedure as the rules of common decency.”

  She wrinkled her forehead and moved toward him with a look that, if Ben hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought was almost flirtatious. “That’s an oxymoron, Mr. Kincaid. There’s nothing common about decency.”

  Especially in this town, he thought, but managed to restrain from saying. “If you don’t give me copies I can use, there will be consequences.”

  She pushed out her lower lip. “Aww. Are you gonna tell on me to the judge?”

  “No, I think that would be a waste of time. I’m going to tell on you to the reporters.”

  “The-what?”

  “I thought I’d start at the Magic Valley Herald. I’ve already made contact with a fellow there who’s very interested in this case. I’ll tell him what you’ve done and let him spread it to his readers-you know, all those people who elected you to office.”

  She snorted. “No one in this town will be remotely sympathetic to you or your client, Kincaid.”