“Of course, your honor, but may I ask what they’ve done?” Stroller asked wanting to know, for his own mind if nothing else.
“Done I hear you say, my friend?” Kent looked sad. He took off his glasses and poured them both a scotch. After handing it to the sweating glass Stroller, he made a show of rapping the glass on the desk between them. “Where do I start? They have killed a Frenchman who worked for his local community. They have kidnapped at least three, maybe four, other upstanding members of our fair city and now—” He paused with a faux tremble in his voice “—they have apparently kidnapped one of this state’s best and brightest minds and a great friend to this very bar.”
“Why though?” asked an overly confused Stroller.
“Retaliation! These two so called police officers were demoted. None of us is safe as long as these two thugs with or without their flaming badges are still on the lose. Putting ordinary citizens at risk with their violent antics. It will cut this threat down if you and I are equal and stand side by side on this.” A happy thought crept into the judges calculating mind so he quickly added, “Any one of us could be next, even me or you, my friend, Stroller. Think of that.”
Alan Stroller did just that and he didn't like the image it painted in his mind.
“I'll attend to it personally first thing in the morning,” he assured his mentor. “We'll put through a detailed and concise indictment at once.”
He scooped up his trilby and carefully placed it on his head and then offered his hand.
“Good night, your honor.”
Kent heaved his bulk from his chair, yet still rose with fake dignity and grasped the man’s horrid sweat covered hand. He put his other hand on Stroller's shoulder. “It's only by standing shoulder to shoulder in our efforts can we make this city great again.”
The foreman of the jury nodded. He was noticeably impressed with the man he was in the company of. Kent held onto his hand a while longer, holding back the urge to gag as the man’s sweat began to run down his own arm.
“Goodnight, Stroller,” he said and closed the door. The bent judge smiled, then turned and he made for the stairs. He was exhausted and wanted to get into the bed where barely legal call girl was all tied up, blind folded and waiting for him to pass a verdict of his own. But halfway down hall, he heard a hesitant knock on the door.
He frowned impulsively. The verdict would have to wait a bit longer. He about faced and walked back. Stroller had probably forgotten something, he told himself. By the time he got to the door and wrapped his hand around the knob, his face was set in a benign smile.
He opened the door and the smile died. Captain Harry Morgan's imposing bulk filled the door frame. Without pausing for an invitation, he pushed the judge back into the house planting the man hard in the face, feeling an unneeded yet satisfying crunch in his palm, the judges face now, bloody and nose broken, then entered and slammed the door.
“You're invited to a little shin-dig, judge,” Morgan leered. “You don't even have to dress up, but I’d get the call girl gone if I was you. But let’s go into your office and grab some little papers and play some fun games.”
Kent felt his anger boil. “This is a god damn outrage you bastard, sir! I'll have you arrested.”
Morgan gut punched him, sending him to the floor hard taking an overly gaudy chair with him.
“Now, Judge,” he suggested slyly, “fill a briefcase with a lot of printed forms, writs, warrants, complaints, search-warrants, forthwith subpoenas and all the other guff you like to hand out all the time. Oh, and don't forget all your seals and other such bits. Throw in a bottle of scotch too. All that paperwork will make me and the boys, a tad parched.”
“Why, you jumped up little prick! This is ridiculous,” protested Kent, really selling the act of outraged dignity. Morgan sighed, fished a small night stick from the recesses of his cream trench coat and dangled it off his right thumb. Some of the color left Kent's face fast. He tightened the cord of his bathrobe, grabbed a large black briefcase from a nearby desk and rammed it full of papers with all the speed he could muster. His chubby fingers trembled as he struggled to fasten the straps.
“Now, your honor,” said Morgan, “you'll come for a nice little drive with me...quietly.”
Kent hesitated. “And if I refuse?”
Morgan shrugged and hit the judge against the thigh hard with the night stick. The middle-aged man shrieked in pain. “Pal, you will come in any case. It’s either your choice or I batter you out cold and lug your sorry ass with me. What’s it to be?”
“May I at least get changed, officer?”
“That's Detective Morgan, and no you don't need any more clothes,” Morgan mocked dryly as he opened the hall door. “You look funny enough the way you are”
A muted sob crept out from between Kent's lips, but he did as he was told and took the lead down the dark corridor. At a nod from the detective, he opened the door and stepped barefoot out into the night. Morgan fell in step beside him as a car pulled up. Kent recognized Doakes behind the wheel straight away. He muttered some profanity and stumbled into the sleek crimson sedan borrowed from Kent's own carpool. Half-in, he suddenly saw the figure huddled in a pool of his own mess in a corner of the seat.
It was Alan Stroller.
The cold bitter night wind whipped up the Judge's flimsy silk garment, but the judge was not cold.
He was terrified.
In all of legal history, it was the strangest court proceedings ever held! Perhaps the most amazing part of it was that it wasn't the brainchild of a collection of brilliant legal minds. Instead, it was held by a group of hardworking, honest cops with more than just one foot in the past. They didn't mind getting their hands dirty. The courtroom was in the sewers beneath the corrupted Central City streets. Costner sat in the middle of a long, improvised table, a door of some sort. At one end was Judge Kent dressed in his bathrobe and pajamas, and at the other was poor Alan Stroller, who was sat on an upturned box, terrified and cold. The courtroom was more like a dungeon, and the mix of crude lighting, beer bottles and an odd pool of blood in the center of the room didn't help the feeling of fear. The bottles sent strange shadows flickering through the room and woke the bats that were nestled in the ceiling. The flicker of their wings broke the tense silence now and again. The small courtroom only had one door: a broken brick arch capped with bat feces and mold. On either side of this stood Morgan and Doakes. Booth was down with the prisoners, acquainting them with his method of interrogation courtesy of a night stick and knuckle duster. Captain Sean Costner began to speak and the court case really began.
“My dear Stroller,” he said, his tone mixed with sarcasm and understanding. He then put on his most official-sounding voice, a mix of actor Gregory Peck, and his farther back east.
“The officers and myself truly believe that you’re a God damn fool, a lapdog to an even bigger fool with ideas above his pay-grade, but you’re not a dishonest man. Like most business types above us, you think you can mix it up with the politicians and the like with no clue and little experience, hoping your limited judgment will carry you in the shark infested waters that is the power game. Be that as it may, we brought you here Mr. Stroller for two reasons. First, to use you as a piece of fundamental evidence.”
“Hope you don't mind,” Doakes joked from his corner of the court.
“Enough Doakes. Now, where was I? Oh yes. Evidence and as a means for justice. And two, we think if our roles were reversed you would do the same as we are planning. When all the evidence and knowledge is laid in front of you, we think you'd think it even if you didn't have the strength to act on it. So, my good man, there is to be no judgment or punishment to be handed to you this day. Instead, keep your eyes open and your lugs pinned back. You'll learn more about real city politics in the next thirty minutes than you ever dreamed of knowing. If you play it smart and I think you can you, Stroller, can have the credit for this clean up. Who knows? Maybe you can get to be governor or whatever on the
strength of it. However you pipe up and speak in the next thirty minutes, well you can hear what Booth is doing in his little corner of our precinct.” Costner’s eyes drilled in to Stroller’s thick skull of Stroller. Stroller looked back in the direction of muffled moan and thud coming from behind Morgan and Doakes. Whatever Booth was doing, he wanted no part of it. “I won’t interfere,” promised foreman Stroller.
Morgan suddenly swung for Kent, and if it wasn't for Doakes's quick reaction, it may have connected. “An' you Kent, you God damn bastard, you sleaze scoundrel, we ought to shop you to Pen State. Or better yet, if they wouldn't have you, the state pen. We got enough evidence and hot dirt on your sorry ass to put you down for life, and it would be skin off my nose. But my partner here thinks otherwise. Doakes thinks you’re worth more to us as our lap dog for a bit. Guess the luck train just pulled in for you, eh your honor? So just obey and follow orders like a good boy. Just like Stroller the credit will be all yours at the end of this, a real civic hero to the good old Central City people.”
“What do you want?” Kent shivered and not from the cold.
“In the first place,” Doakes said his voice low but to the point, “we want to make this here court, legit if you get me and before you say it Kent, we know this kangaroo court isn’t going to make it easy. But if you want your hind kept out of the grinder. Make it happen, now Kent, are we on the same page here?”
“But...but jurisdiction,” protested Kent.
“Here's the clever bit. And it wasn't any of us that thought of it. It was Booth. He may be good at the old pain dealing, but he said a city goes down as well as up. You following so far? So you follow orders and declare this a totally legal court and then make sure it follows all the right laws and rules, like the rest of the courts do. Then, we would like you to sit where Costner is and hear testimony and admit evidence. You know the drill. But before you take the job we want about nine or ten subpoenas and a dozen or so blank arrest warrants, and before you say you can’t. Everyone here knows you have done it for your former boss Allegra Renetti. So bend as many rules you have to and do whatever you did to make it legit. That will erase any possible charges biting us later. Well, Kent you best get to it.”
“You bunch of cheap grifters! You’re just a bunch of crooked cops turned con-men,” choked Kent. “I refuse!”
Costner sighed. He glanced at Doakes. “Detective, will you take the defendant to Booth in the next chamber? Get officer Booth to make him comfortable, and we shall talk privately to him later.”
Doakes sighed heavily. He glanced at Morgan. From inside Doakes jacket, he brought out a length of rubber-hose and took a step forward with a dark glint in his eye. The judge shuddered stepped back and sat down. It was Stroller who made him stop and pause. Doakes grinned as the little foreman rocked on the edge of his chair, eyes bulging. “Just...just wait a minute please!” he begged through sobs.He found a strange courage that must have surprised even himself; it would have defiantly shaken his wife. “Just what are you so-called mn trying to do?”
Morgan frowned, then squinted with one eye. He stopped Doakes's advance with just the wave of his finger. Morgan studied the sweaty foreman for three minutes. As he did, the court was deathly silent.
“Pipe down, Stroller and listen up. You’ve got a fair question there. This city has gone to tin town. The city above ours was conned a long time ago into work for the grifters, thugs, dealers and killers, not to mention the elite. They’re worse than all the other crooks. Frankly, this city is on its knees and has a dark hand around its throat. We have Police Commissioner O'Donnell and our Chief Banner as prisoners, by the way. It’s their painful howls you can hear, I imagine. Well both are in the pocket and on the lead of our own kingpin of crime. Unlike many, this one wears a dress and heels. Kent here plays the courts a tune, tells you what song sheet to sing from, see. But our Judge Kent is just following orders like the rest of the sheep!
“The whole mess stinks, plain and simple, it’s rotten to the core. Yet this racket is made up. There's no way of finding either end without cleaning it out wholesale. Thanks to the laws of this fair and amazing country, we've had to go off book. So, we have improved the system somewhat, made it more direct and finite.
We've got every man from the Tanneries to the docks, and anywhere else these rats peddled. We have them all locked up, chained together, where my close friend Booth is keeping them comfortable and entertained. Christ, we've even got Marcus Collins, the crooked mouthpiece of Allegra and her father, not to mention all the other mobs in this town. Just before we picked you up, my friend, we brought in about six more key players, and guess what? The people didn't bat an eyelid. They knew we were finally doing something. Cleaning house.”
Stroller just looked at Morgan. “I think I understand, but I have a question. What good will all of it do in the end?” His tone was slightly awed.
“It will do plenty, and more when our pal, Kent, declares all this legal, a real court of law. The second he does, we will issue a truck load of I hope by then legal search-warrants, hitting the homes and workplaces and, more importantly, the safety deposit boxes of every two bit cockroach in this town. Maybe then we can start to fix this town. We'll get enough evidence to the courts above. We have to send each and every one of them down the river, even if it’s just to save face. Either way, the end result is still the same. Here's the kicker. If they refuse, we'll just casually walk to our pals in the FDA building and see what they think of a federal court indictment falling on their laps.”
Stroller was pale. “Detective Morgan, tell me is what you just said on the level? You know the true state our fair city is in.” He looked at the grim faces of the officers and detectives around him. His shoulders and soul dropped.
“I can see in your faces it is, I've been a complete fool. A damn' fool! You show me a few good examples of solid proof, gained in manner of a true law enforcement officer, with no shortcuts, and I tell you now, you won’t need to go to the God damn federal grand jury, you get me proof and I will back you with all the authority or influence I have.”
Costner just grinned. “I take it we're partners now, Stroller?” Stroller put out a handshake by way of a promise. He was in.
“Don't worry, Stroller. We'll show you,” Costner promised, but both Costner and Morgan knew that, without Kent, they couldn't even begin to get what they needed. Stroller could read Costner’s face they were thinking what he was. Spinning on his heel, Stroller faced Kent. The sweaty little man now had the temper of a raging bull in him and Kent was the hapless matador.
“Judge Kent, as foreman of the jury in the greatest city in this fair county, I demand that you and only you sift through every shred of evidence these fine, upstanding and brave C.C.P.D officers produce you hear me, or so help me God, I will make it my mission to get the bar stripe you from ever practicing law in this county again. I'm sure these officers will make sure you have a police escort all the time, morning noon and night. Do you hear me?” Everyone in the room was stunned at Stroller’s outburst, none more so than the victim who had turned on odd shade of yellow.
“Do you know who you’re talking to, you idiot? I'm Joseph B. Kent of Virginia and I will not let you, you pathetic waster, talk to me like that. These men are renegades, don't you see that? They are no longer officers of the law!”
In the commotion, Doakes had slipped away to return with Booth and a cuffed Chief Banner in tow. Banner wasn't letting Booth's beating or the detective’s power play faze him. He was indignant through and through.
“Banner, the way I see it boss, you have three choices. One, you either give us all back our badges, reinstate all of us with a nice little pay bump as a thank you. Two, we get the contents of your safety deposit box and hand it over to the federal district attorney and let them deal with you. Finally, three, we get Booth to keep you company for a bit longer, but this time, he can just have fun. We will let him have free reign to do whatever, then come back and ask you again. So, boss what
you going to say to that?”
Banner tensed himself. “What...what do you know about my safety deposit box?”
Booth grinned. “Well, laddie, what one will it be? Please choose the third option. Make this paddy a happy man.”
Banner glanced at Stroller, winced painfully, and then looked at Kent. The look on Kent's face failed to bolster him. “Okay,” he agreed reluctantly.
Booth shoved him over a table. “Put it in writing, friend.” As Banner reached for a pen, Doakes gripped his shoulder hard, making the chief brace due to the pain. “Oh, and be a good team player, pal, and put down that this here is a special investigation, into… Umm, let’s think. Yes, I know. Municipal graft at the instigation of the grand jury and the upstanding Judge Kent.” Doakes turned to Stroller and Kent. “How about that? As we said, you pair get the glory and the headlines.”
“Excellent,” snapped Stroller, wiping away a steady stream of sweat from his face. “If only you can prove...” His voice trialed, the raging bull was now a timid mouse once more.
Kent swallowed, tightened the cord of his pajamas and ran a hand through is hair, trying the best he could to gain back some self respect from the jaws of the night’s events.
“You can use my name, Captain Morgan,” he agreed with a pained sigh.
Banner glanced over at the grim faces of the people around him looking deep into each, his eyes moving from one face to another. He'd get the last word one day, he told himself. Then he bent over the crisp piece of paper that Kent had hurriedly packed and wrote as quick as his hands would allow.
When the tired chief finished, Doakes planted a hay-maker to the side of Banner's head, putting him out cold on the gritted floor. Morgan picked up the piece of paper and read it to himself, passing it to Costner who read it aloud.
“I hereby reinstate the following officers: Morgan, Doakes, Booth and Costner effective immediately. I also attach them to the services of the grand jury under the supervision of Judge Kent of Central City working directly on a multi-tasking investigation that will stretch the breadth of the city. This will combat directly and without hesitation the corruption and organized crime that has tainted the city in recent years. Signed, Chief A. T. Banner.”Costner folded the piece of paper and placed it in his pocket.
Welcome To Central City Page 18
