Judgment

by Lee Goldberg

  There, like a gleaming diamond in a shitheap, was a crisp and clean McDonald's restaurant, resplendent in its bright red brick and golden arches. Unscratched and untarnished, it looked shockingly out of place. The decay that had fed on the neighborhood dared not touch the home of the Egg McMuffin. It was as if the McDonald's were a McHoly shrine on McSacred ground, supernaturally protected from the neighborhood's destructive elements.

  It gave Macklin the creeps.

  A foot away from the McDonald's parking lot, the supernatural forces ebbed to nothing and entropy began.

  The traffic light turned red at the next intersection and Macklin stopped beside a dental clinic that used to be a gas station. The pump islands, minus the pumps, were still there, and the sign that had once read "TEXACO" now lit Dr. Kelly Selvidge's name up in lights.

  Dr. Selvidge's neighbor was the green stucco of Christ's Community Church. Huge letters atop the building proclaimed, "GOD BLESS OUR COMMUNITY."

  He'd better, sport, Macklin thought, because nobody else will.

  The light turned green and the Batmobile surged into the intersection. Macklin glanced up at a lighted billboard that announced to the neighborhood that "AMERICA IS GOING TO EUROPE ON PAN AM."

  And you're not, the billboard seemed to tease. Your sorry ass is stuck here for good.

  Macklin sympathized with the people who had to look at that billboard, that sadistic taunt, every day. The hate Macklin had felt wasn't burning as strongly now. The neighborhood had had a cooling effect on him. The streets didn't radiate violence, as he had expected, as much as despair. He found it hard to resent the place or its people.

  But his father had died there in a sick, gruesome way. Somewhere on these hopeless streets walked the bastards that had struck the match.

  Macklin cruised down another street, looking for them.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The moment Teobaldo Villanueva came into the pool hall, people began to worry. Not because he was tall. Not because he was bald. Not because he was rumored to bend crowbars with his teeth. And certainly not because he was Chicano.

  Those qualities were nothing to fret about. Everyone in the room respected those. The clientele in Crazy Al's pool hall held Baldo in high regard, learning long ago to smile when Baldo was smiling and frown when Baldo was frowning. They knew how to handle it when Baldo was happy or unhappy—it was just a question of how best to avoid him without pissing him off.

  But tonight they knew they were in big trouble.

  They knew it when there was Hector Gomez buzzing around Baldo like some insane fly drawn to a can of Raid. Hector got that wired only on certain nights.

  The second clue was Baldo's eyes, eyes that were nearly pupil-less and seemed to recede into his head during those dreaded periods.

  The third clue came a few minutes later. It was his conversational technique: a grunt followed by his fist, or foot, smashing violently into something. That something usually resembled a human being at first.

  There was no doubt about it. That time of month again. Teobaldo "Baldo" Villanueva was horny. Hector Gomez knew his home might be an oxygen tent if he didn't find Baldo some pussy to chew on soon. Hector wasn't able to find any prospects in the pool hall so he opted for the easy way.

  Baldo was sitting still on a bar stool, drinking a beer and growling. Hector put his arm around Baldo. "Hey, man, let's blow this shithouse and get laid."

  Baldo nodded and stood up. To him, getting laid was like anything else—eating, drinking, shitting, and puking. You had to do it when you had to do it. Now he had to do it.

  "What'll we have tonight, man? A white momma with big tits, huh? Does that sound good?" Hector said excitedly, leading Baldo to the door. "How 'bout some ebony gold, man, some smooth black ass? Maybe a Jap lady, see if it's really sideways, huh?"

  Baldo stomped out the door and you could almost hear the people inside the pool hall sagging with relief.

  Hector opened the passenger door of the battered '73 Cutlass for Baldo.

  "Don't worry, Baldo, my man, tonight we're gonna send some lucky lady to Saturn."

  Macklin's black Cadillac pulled around the corner unnoticed as the two youths emerged from the pool hall. At first, in the dim light cast by the pool hall windows, their shapes meant nothing to him. But as he drew closer his mind returned to the courtroom. He eased his pressure on the gas pedal. The car glided slowly on the momentum from the turn.

  He had found his prey.

  Hector got behind the wheel of his Cutlass and sped into traffic with a lurch and a loud cough from his car's exhaust. Macklin's Batmobile stalked two car lengths behind him.

  Macklin followed the Cutlass through the neighborhood, unsure why he was or what he was planning to do. His father's .357 Magnum, an icy voice softly reminded him, rested in the glove compartment.

  Hector seemed to be driving aimlessly, suddenly and recklessly making turns at the last possible moment. Macklin was a safe distance behind them but still found himself screeching around corners at fifty miles per hour just to keep up with them.

  Lori Ann Bates heard Hector's Cutlass before she saw it fishtail onto the boulevard. She was worrying about tomorrow's anthropology exam and damning the terminally tardy bus line when the sound of tires scraping for a hold on the asphalt interrupted her thoughts.

  She watched the car with weary detachment. Just another jerk in a four-wheeled metal-shop project making a fool out of himself, she thought. But her offhand disregard began to ebb as the car's zigzagging motion brought it closer to her. She froze. This jerk isn't just going to speed by, she realized. He's coming for me!

  The car suddenly shot forward, as if Hector had heard her thoughts. Lori bolted down the street, looking over her shoulder at the car. To her it was a hungry animal, the headlights savage eyes promising death.

  Her conscious mind told her running was useless, but her legs kept straining forward. The car overtook her, skidding to a stop just ahead of her. Before she could stop herself, the passenger door swung open across her path. Jaws opening to greet the prey. A frustrated, defiant scream rose in her throat. Something rough sprung out, grabbed her tightly around the waist, and pulled her inside the car. The door slammed shut and the car roared down the street.

  Lori's face was pressed against the vinyl seat and she could smell the sharp odor of male sweat. She felt cold hands crawling up her thigh and quickly rolled over. Lying across Baldo's lap, she looked up into those empty eyes, seemingly devoid of any human feeling, and knew that there would be no mercy for her. She screamed with anger more than fear and reached out to rip them from their sockets.

  Baldo pushed her away. She bolted up again. The glare off the rearview mirror stung her eyes. She halted her attack on Baldo, deciding her only hope was to attract the attention of the following car.

  Lori tried to fling herself into the backseat. Baldo grabbed her by the hair and wrenched her head back. She held herself in place tightly with one hand and signaled madly with the other at the car behind them.

  Baldo reached around, grabbed her face, and pulled hard. Lori reeled back and then pushed forward defiantly, her arm stretching out as if trying to touch the car behind them.

  But Baldo was stronger. His suffocating grip hurled her backwards and she felt her head slam against the dashboard. The blow shocked her more than it hurt her, and she thrashed wildly against him. He pulled her forward by the face and then bashed her head against the dashboard again. Her head felt crushed and throbbed with pain. She refused to give in, weakly flailing her arms and struggling for breath. Hector laughed hysterically.

  "That ought to calm the bitch down," she heard Hector cackle. "My grandpa used to do that to bass—bash 'em in the head with a big old stick."

  Baldo grunted and Lori gritted her teeth to brace herself for the blow. The back of her head crashed against the dash and she stiffened, paralyzed by the dizzying pain. Baldo released her. The pressure on her face disappeared and she could breath.

  "Wooo
owweeeee!" she heard Hector shriek, taking a turn suddenly at high speed. She felt Baldo grab her by the breast to stop her from rolling onto the floor. The car fishtailed and the tires screamed. "Wooooweeee!"

  Baldo yanked her up onto his lap, her head lolling against the window. She couldn't see any headlights behind the car anymore. Her only hope was gone. She yelped as Baldo grabbed her right breast and twisted it towards Hector.

  "Want some?" Baldo whispered. The burning pain made Lori whimper.

  Hector howled. "Later, not while I'm driving."

  Baldo grunted deeply several times in a row, his version of laughter. Lori lashed out for his eyes again and he pulled her to him. She felt his hard lips grind against hers. She dug her nails into his neck, and could feel the spurt of blood as she pierced his skin.

  "Bitch!" Baldo grunted, grabbing her by the head and forcing her down to the floor. Her nose pressed into the dirty carpet beside Hector's leg. Baldo pounded his boot down on the small of her back, pinning her to the floor.

  She pushed Hector's foot against the gas pedal. Hector cried out with surprise, inadvertently twisting the wheel. She could feel the car veering uncontrollably. Lori was no longer thinking of freedom. This was an act of defiance.

  The car jumped the curb with a violent bounce. Baldo stomped on her back angrily. The air rushed out of her and pain coursed through her limbs. She held Hector's foot tightly. Baldo stomped again, the pain overriding her will and releasing her hold on Hector's foot. Breathless and dazed, she lay limp on the floor.

  "Shit, she's a feisty bitch," Hector spit, trying to catch his breath. Baldo nodded.

  Lori moaned, dizzy and weak, the pain rolling over her in waves. She could feel the car slowing, and then it stopped. She turned on her side.

  Lori could make out Hector leaning against the steering wheel above her. "I'm ready for some pussy. How 'bout you, Baldo?"

  Baldo grunted and opened the door. She felt the cool air rush into the car and then suddenly felt herself being dragged by the ankles through the open doorway. She frantically reached for some kind of solid hold. The carpet strands slipped from her fingers and she couldn't grasp the smooth vinyl seats. Her head banged against the floor as the bulk of her body fell onto the ground.

  She was dragged on the loose dirt, her blouse riding up around her shoulders, the sharp gravel scratching her exposed back.

  The motion stopped. Through the haze of semiconsciousness, she noticed the fresh, woodsy smell of trees, the absence of street noise, and the lack of light cast by passing cars, streetlamps, and illuminated signs. Then Lori felt Baldo yank down her jeans. The chill raised goose bumps on her skin and she involuntarily contracted her pelvic muscles.

  "Give it to her, Baldo, give it to her," Hector, crouched beside them, shrieked excitedly. Lori moaned, shaking her head back and forth, willing this awful nightmare to end.

  Her body buckled as Baldo rammed his penis between her legs. It felt like his penis was serrated, his thrusts tearing the flesh from the walls of her vagina. She could feel the warm blood oozing onto her thighs. Baldo grabbed her head tightly, rested his weight on her, and thrust hard.

  She cried in pain.

  "Tight bitch, huh, Baldo?"

  Baldo's weight seemed to crush Lori. The ground was hard and cold against her back and she could feel his hot breath on her face. He began to thrust faster now.

  Lori began to feel distant, separate from the abuse being inflicted on her body. She didn't care anymore. Lori looked into his eyes and this time was comforted by the violence she saw there. Death seemed to her like a welcome alternative to this, and she awaited it patiently.

  "She loves it, Baldo, they all do," Hector said.

  She heard an explosion. Something warm and wet splashed her and she saw Hector lifted off his feet and tossed backwards into a tree. Baldo stiffened above her and she heard the moist squish of his penis pulling out of her. Baldo stood up slowly and looked past her. She turned her head and followed his gaze. Hector lay crumpled against the tree, his chest a splash of red, his dumb, lifeless eyes staring back at her.

  Baldo grunted and she saw him turn, expressionless, in the direction of the explosion. A man holding a gun emerged from the darkness.

  "You," Baldo hissed, his bloody erection jutting out from between his legs.

  "Me," she heard the man say. Lori was jolted by the flash of his gun and another loud crack. She heard the bullet slap into Baldo, who took the impact with the subtle sway of a person slightly nudged by a passerby.

  Baldo growled, raised his hands like talons, and rushed the gunman.

  The man waited until Baldo was inches away and then fired again, point blank into Baldo's stomach.

  But Baldo kept coming, lumbering towards the man like an angered grizzly bear. The man fired again.

  Baldo froze, stumbled backwards, and pivoted towards Lori. His penis was gone. The big Chicano fell forward at her feet, raising a cloud of dirt.

  Lori closed her eyes, no longer able to disassociate herself from the nausea and pain wracking her body. She didn't hear the man walk over to her, but she felt him reach under her and lift her up.

  His arms felt strong and hard. She felt safe. In his arms, bobbing with each of his long strides, she felt herself unhinge. Closing her eyes tightly, her body convulsed with deep agonizing sobs. The tears burned her skin and rolled down her face onto his arms.

  She sensed herself being lowered to the ground. His arms slipped out from under her. Panic began to creep into her sobs.

  "Don't leave me now!"

  "Shh-h-h-h," he said, gently touching her cheek. "S-h-h-h."

  Then she heard the ring of a dime dropping into a pay phone, the clicking of the dial rolling, and the murmur of his voice, a few words.

  "Ambulance . . . rape . . . police . . . hurry.

  She strained to open her eyes. Tears and pain blurred her vision. As he walked away, she could barely see the man's dark shape blending into the night.

  "Who are you?" she called out shakily, unsure if the receding shape was a person or just a trick of the light.

  It could have been the wind, a whisper, or herself replying. But she could have sworn the shape said:

  "The jury."

  # # # # # #

  The story broke the next afternoon.

  "MR. JURY KILLS RAPISTS, SAVES WOMAN," the Herald Examiner touted in their evening edition, while the more sedate Los Angeles Times read, "TWO RAPISTS KILLED, MYSTERY GUNMAN SOUGHT."

  Shaw watched it on the evening news, his arm around Sunshine, Guess lying at his feet.

  "This is the park where a twenty-two-year-old UCLA student thought she would die at the hands of two vicious rapists who abducted her at a nearby bus stop late last night." The square-jawed reporter looked over the shoulder of his tailored suit into the clearing. "Then, out of those trees there, a man stepped out and gunned down her captors, who police have identified as twenty-four-year-old Hector Gomez and twenty-six-year-old Teobaldo Villanueva."

  The screen showed the bus stop where the girl was abducted. "Police say the victim had just visited her grandparents and was waiting here for her westbound bus when Gomez and Villanueva drove up and grabbed her, taking her to a secluded park a few miles away." The reporter's face now filled the screen. "There, police say, she was in the midst of being raped when this mystery man saved her, carried her to a phone booth, and placed an anonymous call to authorities. Who is this mystery man? He identified himself only as 'the jury' and disappeared."

  Shaw changed the channel.

  ". . . while Police Chief Jed Stocker urged the Good Samaritan to assist police in their investigation by making himself known."

  Frustrated, Shaw hit the remote control again.

  "The question remains: Who is Mr. Jury and will he strike again?"

  Shaw turned off the set. "Wonderful. That's all we need, some lunatic vigilante shooting up the streets. The news media has taken this thing and blown it all out of proportion."


  Sunshine stroked Shaw's thigh absently. "Lighten up, Ronny. So what's the big deal if people indulge their Superman fantasies a bit?"

  "Because it's liable to spur this guy on. Sunny, this Mr. Jury is nothing more than a killer."

  "A killer who saved that girl's life."

  "This time. Next time he decides to kill a couple of guys it may not be so clear-cut."

  They were silent for a moment. "Hey, Ronny, weren't those two of the guys who—"

  "Yep. I won't be sending a wreath to their funeral."

  As Brett Macklin watched the news in the garage, sitting on the hood of his Cadillac, he kept reliving the previous night. He couldn't dredge up any guilty feeling. They were animals, and if he hadn't stopped them, they would have ravaged the girl, possibly killing her. After what they had done to his father . . .

  Macklin leaned forward and changed the channel.

  An old man, with skin like a peanut shell, bent towards the newsman's microphone. "I think they should give this Mr. Jury guy a medal."

  Next up was a woman trying to balance her teething child in one hand and pull up her slipping bra strap with the other. "I'd sleep better at night knowing Mr. Jury was in my neighborhood. There just ain't enough cops out there."

  A man with "accountant" written all over his face was stopped on a busy street. "Mr. Jury? Just another maniac with a gun. He probably shot those guys because they didn't give him his turn with the girl."

  A crisp-looking businesswoman was quizzed in front of an impressive building. "I think it's great. We need a guy like him." She smiled into the camera. "I just hope Kryptonite doesn't bother him."

  Macklin snapped off the set and went to bed. He slept like a baby.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "A Job Well Done Means More Jobs to Come."

  Melody stared at the maxim, which she had needlepointed in a sampler and hung on the wall, and smiled to herself, patting the naked man atop her on the back.

  "Oh God, please don't stop!" she shrieked, faking an orgiastic squeal.

  The mattress creaked underneath her as the man quickened his pace. Business ain't bad today, she thought to herself, hoping she would handle three more guys before quitting time. Her body rocked under him. If she was real lucky, she could make it home in time to catch the nightly Hawaii Five-O reruns on Channel 13.