by Derek Blass
“We are going to get you out of here Shaver. I need you to cooperate though.”
“What the hell do you think I'm doing?”
“I consider appreciation to be a part of cooperation, so start there.”
“Fuck you! Appreciation? You'll sap every dime I have defending me. You should fucking appreciate me!”
“That's where you've got it wrong Shaver. I'm the best defense attorney in this state and you're lucky to have me helping. Who gives a shit about your money. Without me you'll spend the rest of your already wasted life in a cell. You have no family, no friends to speak of, not even fucking pets. Your money is useless except if I get you out. So, from this goddamn moment, you have a choice. Start to fucking appreciate me, or get a new lawyer.”
Shaver glared through the glass at Sphinx. He had really reached the point of not giving a shit. Even if he got out, there was no guarantee that he would ever be allowed to rejoin the force. Working security at a mall wasn't going to cut it. On the other hand, thirty more years or so in some dump of a prison didn't sound that enticing to him either. He decided to stroke Sphinx's ego, because that's all this was about.
“I'll appreciate you, you man-baby. If that's what you need. I'll never kiss your sandy, Persian ass though, so get that shit out of your head.” Sphinx stared back at Shaver. He already hated this man, but the case was too juicy for him to abandon. Fame was Sphinx's primary motivation, with money a very close second. He could take some verbal abuse from Shaver to further those two motivations.
“Good, glad we got that straightened out. You'll recall that the judge denied your bail...”
“Yeah, that was a good start for you, huh?”
“It was completely a product of what you're accused of. I had nothing to do with the outcome.”
“That's convenient.”
“You mean the truth, Shaver? It sure is. Moving on, the judge also found that there was probable cause for your arrest at the preliminary hearing. The next step is your arraignment at the end of this week.”
“Not guilty.”
“Right, good. We'll get a trial date then too. Listen, this is going to be your word against Officer Martinez's.”
“What about the video?”
“It'll never see the light of day in court.” Sphinx's assertiveness was enough to give Shaver pause.
“From what I've heard, that video shows everything that happened.”
“Nah, won't get in. It was never checked into evidence, who knows if it's even the actual video. Martinez or anyone else could have doctored the thing. It's not coming in. You let me worry about that part. That's the legal part. Start to prepare yourself for court. You have to be remorseful looking, but credibly. No one wanted this to happen, but you were acting in self-defense. Attentive. Alert. Don't make faces, don't react to testimony you hear. I'll give you a pad of paper and a pen, all you do is take notes. Like when you were a good student in school, remember that?”
“Fuck you.”
Sphinx let out a hearty laugh. “That reminds me,” he said as he stood up, “clean out your fucking mouth. I'll see you in a few days.” A corrections officer put her hand on Shaver's shoulder, signaling the return to his cell.
* * * *
Mason pushed open the big, oak doors to the courtroom. The courthouse was situated near the center of the city, set above the buildings around it. Eight columns supported the front porch of the building where people gathered to smoke and meet their attorneys. The inside of the courthouse was semi-illuminated. The lighting that existed was high up in vaulted ceilings and spaced sparingly in meager wall fixtures. Marble floors butted up against old, handcrafted woodwork. There were sixteen courtrooms, eight on each floor.
Some of the most notorious judges in the state presided in this courthouse. They were old judges, screamers. Mason landed one of these cantankerous judges, Judge Melburn.
Judge Melburn had to be in his eighties, Mason thought to himself. In fact, Mason was afraid that the old guy would die any time he was in the courtroom. The judge was a public defender for twenty-two years before winning an election to preside in the city's district court. He was a merciless jurist and engaged in conduct all attorneys despised—yelling at them in front of their clients and in front of the jury. While any attorney could expect to be grilled by a judge, getting screamed at was unanimously considered unprofessional. Didn't stop it from happening.
Unfortunately for Mason, Judge Melburn was also known to be bent against prosecutors. That bias could exist may seem implausible, especially from the only person in the courtroom who should be as unbiased as possible. Again, didn't stop it from happening. To Mason's dismay, Judge Melburn was sitting at the bench when he entered the courtroom. Judge Melburn looked up and then back down without any sign of acknowledgment.
He was a small, Napoleonic man. Mason surmised he was an abused child, picked on by other children growing up, who now had the luxury and the forum to forever turn the tables. It was strange for the judge to be in his courtroom before the hearing started. Usually judges stayed in their chambers until it was time to appear. Nothing was normal with Judge Melburn, though.
Mason opened up his briefcase and pulled out a pad of legal paper and several folders. He sat down in the plush leather chair on the prosecution's side of the courtroom and flipped through his documents. The flipping was a time-passer. Mason knew what he wanted to say, what he would argue.
A cool draft flew into the room. Mason looked behind him and saw Sphinx enter, two associates in tow.
“Sphinx.”
“Mason. How have you been?”
Mason set his documents down, “Getting old, Sphinx. Too old for any of your games. You gonna play this one by the book?”
Sphinx smiled as he set his briefcase on the defendant's table. “You know me too well to think I play games, Mason. Everything is legal, within legal bounds. I'm just creative.”
Creative at figuring out how to skirt the law, Mason thought. “Your client going to plead guilty and get this over with?”
“Is the State going to drop its charges on account of a lack of evidence?” Both of them focused on their documents, acting busy and contemplative although the time for preparation was long passed.
Sphinx looked up and said, “Hello, Judge Melburn.”
“Mr. Sphinx.”
“Mason, you got a moment to step outside of the courtroom?”
Mason pursed his lips as if to say “sure” and walked out with Sphinx.
“What do you want?”
“We haven't talked plea bargain yet.”
“No need to, I've got a rock solid case against your client.”
Sphinx crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Listen, Mason, I'm going to try to spare you here. You've got no case against my client. All of the witnesses are dead except for Officer Martinez.”
“We're working on that.”
“What, to bring them back like Lazarus?”
“I'll find where you've hidden the daughter. Besides, Officer Martinez has been an honorable and accountable officer on the force for six years. He'll be enough.”
“You mean the officer that went ape-shit, stole evidence, and performed an illegal arrest of my client? Is that really what you're pinning this on, Mason?”
“Spin it all you want, Sphinx. I'm confident that Officer Martinez will be a credible witness, especially in comparison to your client. In any event, there were exigent circumstances warranting the arrest.”
Sphinx bellowed, “Exigent circumstances?! You mean my client holed up and afraid for his life because of Officer Martinez's lynch mob?”
“Spin, spin. Your client had a man with him that he was holding hostage. Your client demonstrated that he was willing to kill witnesses to save his own life. Exigent, actionable circumstances.”
“Whatever, Mason.” Both men had their arms crossed now, faced off. Sphinx's face contorted with frustration. Mason started to turn away. “You know you can't pin secon
d degree on him though. We'll take criminal negligence and five years.”
“You're nuts. I'd like to kill someone and only get five years.”
“Take it Mason, or you're going to be embarrassed. You don't have the strength for this anymore.”
“The hell I don't,” Mason said, as much to himself as to Sphinx, as he walked back into the courtroom. Judge Melburn watched both men return to their respective tables.
“Did you reach an agreement?”
“No,” Sphinx answered.
The judge shook his head while he chewed on a pen. “Don't turn this into a cockfight and waste my time, gentlemen. This courtroom has no place for your egos.” He whispered something to his clerk, who left the courtroom. When the clerk returned, she was with the bailiff and Sergeant Shaver. Mason noted that the coldness in Shaver's eyes remained intact. It was something Mason analyzed every time he saw the man. There wasn't a shred of remorse in him. Mason figured this would help with the jury. Shaver took his place next to Sphinx silently except for the clanking of his leg chains.
“Enter your appearances and we will get started,” Judge Melburn said.
“Mason West for the state Your Honor.”
“Sphinx for the defendant Your Honor.” Mason bristled at the familiarity and slack Sphinx was afforded.
“Simple arraignment here gentlemen. How does your client plead, Mr. Sphinx?”
“Not guilty,” Shaver answered.
“So he has a voice...” the judge said. A cell phone rang at the end of his sentence. Mason froze, mortified it was his. But the “Oh my God,” from behind him and to his right allayed that fear. He glanced up at the judge, whose face was blood-red.
“Just who's...just who's damn phone is that?” One of Sphinx's associates stood up slowly. Mason turned around to look at the associate, both out of curiosity and to deflect the ensuing barrage. “This is a courtroom, not a goddamn lobby! You turn your cell phone off and if I hear another cell phone ring, from any of you,” the judge said as he looked at everyone, “I'll hold you in contempt of court. Do you understand me?” The associate nodded but dropped a redwell while trying to stuff the phone into her briefcase.
Judge Melburn shuffled paper around on his desk to regroup. “Now, I'm going to set this for trial in March, or about two months from now. I think three days will be sufficient. Your motions date will be in the middle of February. Have the parties reached a plea deal?”
Mason stood up and answered, “No, Your Honor.”
“So noted. Is there anything else, counsel?”
This time Sphinx stood up, “Your Honor, I foresee a substantial evidentiary issue, related to a video allegedly capturing what occurred in this case. The video was never...”
Mason shot up and interrupted, “Your Honor! This is not the time or place for oral arguments related to exclusion of evidence. This is the arraignment, not a motions hearing.” Adrenaline coursed through Mason and he felt his temper start to flare.
“I agree, Mr. West. Mr. Sphinx, you will save your arguments for hearings on the matter.” Mason knew Sphinx got what he wanted. The issue was now on Judge Melburn's radar. The judge banged his gavel and ended the arraignment.
Mason waited for him to leave the courtroom before admonishing Sphinx, “No games?? You're a loose cannon, Sphinx, and it's gonna bite you soon.”
Sphinx shrugged his shoulders. “I got what I wanted.”
“I know you did,” Mason answered as he hurriedly gathered his documents and walked out of the courtroom. He strode through the courthouse and through the front doors. His phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Mason?”
“Him. Who is this?”
“Mason, it's Cruz Marquez.”
“Hi, Cruz. Did you make a decision?”
“Yeah … I'll help.”
“Good to hear. I just got a taste of why I'll be happy to have you on this case.”
“I've got some information for you. Startling information. Let's meet.”
“Name the time and place and I'll be there.” Mason took down the information and shot down the courthouse stairs.
T H I R T Y-F I V E
__________________________________________________
Tyler walked out to his mailbox, one in a group of over fifty. He watched two men exit their car and head up to an apartment. He was always watching people—out of fear, desire to learn, and readiness. He sorted through a hefty stack of mail while heading back to his apartment. After getting through the usual junk, he came to a piece of mail with no return address. He pushed open his apartment door and set the rest of the mail down.
“Tyler:
It's Shaver. I'm not sure what happened to you after they caught us in my house. A couple bullet wounds screwed up my ability to figure out what was up and what was down. I think one of the cops that ultimately booked me said you were booked too, but released. Would make sense, since they've got nothing to pin on you—yet. I've got something that you may want unless those asses ransacked my apartment and took it. It's a loose end someone like you should take care of. Come see me, you know where I'm at.”
“Fuck you, Shaver, coming at me from the grave like this.”
The Chief's death, the capture by the cops, it was all enough to put a scare into Tyler. A lonely, usually quiet part of himself wanted to end the killing. It wanted some peace. How could you change a monster though? Tyler was no Hannah-fucking-Montana. He'd killed thirty-eight people. A murderer, cold, disconnected and dissociated from society. Violence, especially death, aroused him. A sociopath, as one shrink told him. There comes a point in life where change is not only extremely difficult, but probably not worth the effort. Whether you're a fifty-year-old book salesman or a thirty-something-year-old assassin, some things can't be changed. Tyler was sick, and he knew it. His options were to keep killing, commit suicide in some grandiose but hopelessly alone fashion, or check into an insane asylum.
In the few short weeks since Martinez captured them, the lust to kill resurfaced with vigor. Every day was worse. He just wanted to straddle someone's body, knees on their arms, his hands around their neck, slowly constricting, the familiar smells, the veins bursting, blood in their eyes.
Tyler shook his head. When he was released Tyler thought this may all be over. Shaver implied the opposite. He knew what Shaver wanted. Blackmail was a familiar friend and foe in Tyler's line of business. Shaver had something Tyler needed. A message. A phone call. Something to tie him to something he'd done. So he jumped into his car and headed to the prison. He was just an eventuality, why fight the force?
The prison guard told him to wait in stall number eight. He tapped his fingers and played with the cord on the phone. After thirty minutes of waiting he looked around, wondering if this was some sort of joke. Then a door on the other side of his stall opened and Shaver shuffled through. Even after a short time in jail, Shaver looked tired, a bit emaciated.
“That didn't take you long,” Shaver said.
“Not like I'm up to much. My employer is otherwise indisposed.”
“Yeah, what was the final verdict on him?
“I guess you could say verdicts. He stepped on a mine, ka-boom. Nothing to bring back really. There was a little bit left of that kid who was following him, but not much more.”
“Now you're out of work.”
“You can say that. We had a plant closure,” Tyler said with a mechanical chuckle.
“That's not natural for you, is it?”
“Laughing? No, not really.”
“Me neither.”
“I smile, but usually at the wrong moments, or at things that disgust people. I'm all fucked in the head.”
“Aren't we all...”
“Not that spending time with you in this shit hole isn't scintillating, but what did you want from me? What do you have that I so desperately need?”
“Your former employer was a busy man. His doctor, Dr. Xavier Kastenoff, especially. Perhaps busier than even you in th
e same profession.”
Tyler raised his eyebrows. “You don't say?”
“I do, I do. This doctor was quite active, for a long time.”
“Good for him...why do I care?”
“Getting there. Remember that journal I told you about? This doctor kept an accounting of his...patients.”
“Okay, again, what's that got to do with me?”
“This list makes several references to you, as an alternative source of patient care.” There it was. A list, with him in it.
“Shaver, why should I trust you? You've got nothing to lose and a real craving to get out of here. This list could have nothing related to me. Hell, it may not even exist.”
Shaver had prepared for this. He wasn't book smart, but his upbringing taught him to be cunning. Persuasion and manipulation included. Shaver pulled a torn piece of graph paper from his pocket and held it up to the glass. Tyler started to read the meticulous handwriting. “The Chief declined my services for Lucy Hahn, stating that he would use Mr. Smith instead. Disappointing, as the Chief is using Mr. Smith more and more.”
“Hey! You! What the hell do you think you're doing?!” a guard screamed as he came over and wrenched the piece of paper out of Shaver's hand. The guard then grabbed Shaver by the shoulder and started to pull him away.
“All right, all right, I shouldn't have done it.” The guard relaxed his grip on Shaver, seemed to contemplate his next move, and finally decided on letting Shaver get away with the transgression. Shaver put the phone back to his ear. “Was that glimpse enough?”
“Enough for what?”
“Enough to know that I'm not bullshitting you and to get you to do me some favors?”
“I'm not in a position to do favors, Shaver.”
“Well, then how about no favors, but just do the only thing you know how to do. There's nothing else out there for you Tyler. No better life. No flipping burgers at a restaurant. The sickness will drive you forever. I'm just helping you release it. Plus, if you don't, that list is sure to get leaked. You'll end up spending more time in here than Charlie Manson.”
