Silver Justice

by Russell Blake

  Rob blinked at him without expression. The man nodded at his fellow guards, who jerked him into motion.

  A solitary figure in a suit stood watching the procession at the far end of the receiving facility and nodded when the head of the day shift approached him.

  “If there’s anything you can do to make his life worse than it will be just by virtue of being here, think of it as my special request for you to do so. He put out a contract on an FBI agent. We’ll keep him here until that works its way through the system, or until he dies — whichever occurs first,” Agent Heron said.

  “People die all the time. He doesn’t look particularly healthy.”

  “No, I suspect he isn’t.”

  “Consider it my pleasure, then. You need an escort out?”

  “I was never here.”

  Silver adjusted the cushion at the base of her spine and swiveled the chair a little as she tried to get comfortable. The headaches had receded over the last three days, but the back was still prone to aching. Her doctors had assured her that in time it, too, would fade; as far as she was concerned, it couldn’t happen fast enough.

  This was her first full day back at work, and she studied the pile of paperwork with loathing. A week off and she’d accumulated enough on her desk to require a month of her time just to get even. The good news was that she didn’t have much else to do — with Howard in custody, the task force had wound down, so she was between assignments at present.

  Sam avoided her as much as possible, which was fine. If she never had to deal with him again that would be too soon. He’d taken her success in apprehending Howard almost personally, as a deliberately contrived sleight, and had been moping all morning after coming in and giving her a desultory, obligatory congratulation.

  Some people were just magnets for bad karma. Sam was clearly one of those.

  Whatever — it wasn’t her problem.

  Dendt had died the prior morning from radiation poisoning. She’d deliberately avoided paying too much attention to the descriptions of his decline. Perhaps he was a malignancy, as Howard had posited, but still, nobody deserved to go that way.

  Seth knocked lightly on her door jamb. She looked up from her pile with relief.

  “How does it feel to be back in the saddle?” he asked with a smile.

  “Like being a third grade teacher with five hundred homework assignments to grade.” She gestured at the mounds of reports.

  “Hey, at least it’s over, and the good guys won again,” he said as he sat down. “And you’re now an official legend in Bureau history. I think taking a serial into custody while flat on your back and on leave is a first. I’m not sure how you top that.”

  “I’m not planning to. Besides, that was mostly luck.”

  Seth gave her a disbelieving look. “I sort of figured.”

  “Sam doesn’t look too happy about it,” Silver observed.

  “Yeah, well, he was gearing up to hang the whole thing on a Muslim fundamentalist terror cell, or the mob, or both, and you spoiled his party. It would have made quite a name for him if that had turned out to be right.”

  “I was thinking exactly the same thing when I didn’t win The Big Spin again last night. If only…”

  They both chuckled, then Silver raised an eyebrow in warning.

  Brett’s suited form filled the doorway, causing Seth to jump to his feet.

  “I was just leaving,” he said.

  Brett nodded.

  Once Seth had departed, Brett closed the door behind him and took a seat in front of her desk.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Not bad. Tough to get back into the swing of things, but then again, I was never much for pushing a pencil.”

  “I know the feeling. I’ve put you in for a commendation, by the way. I’m pretty sure it will be a laydown.”

  “Thank you for that. It means a lot to me.” Which was true. Recognition of her excellence on the job was one of the ways she measured herself, and it never hurt to hear you were doing a good job.

  “I read the interrogation transcript. Pretty heavy stuff. Anything you want to talk about?”

  Silver considered her words carefully. “What did you think about it?”

  Brett leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. “We live by rules and conventions, Silver. You know that. They aren’t perfect, and God knows we’ve all had moments where we wish we could take matters into our own hands. But what keeps everything from breaking down is that we don’t. As flawed as things are, they’re better than a lot of other places in the world, so even if I conceded that he has some valid points, which I’m not saying he does, what are the alternatives? In the end, he got what he wanted, which is notoriety, and you did what you had to do, which is your job. That’s why you show up here every day.”

  “I suppose so. But would it be stupid or naive for me to ask whether anything will ever come of his claims? If he’s even half right this was the crime of the century.”

  “I’ll run it up the flagpole, but I don’t expect much. You know how things work. We’re very good at tracking a bank robber or a killer. Not so great at trying to build a case against, well, most of the big names in the world of high finance. Where do you even start?” Brett shook his head.

  “With most crimes, you start at the beginning.”

  “I know. But white collar crime isn’t the same. It’s frustrating for that reason. There are a lot of gray areas…”

  “And a lot of very powerful people with their congressman’s home phone numbers on speed dial. I get it. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it’s one of the more frustrating cases I’ve had.”

  Brett nodded as he got to his feet. “No disagreement there. But all we can do is mush on and live to fight another day. Right?” He walked to her door and opened it.

  “That will have to do.”

  Ben welcomed Silver into his office and gestured at his receptionist to bring her a bottle of water. He beamed at her as she sat down.

  Once the woman had returned with the drink, he motioned for her to shut the door.

  Silver gave him a quizzical look. “What’s the news?” she asked.

  “Do you believe in Santa Claus?”

  “Not since I was eight. Why?”

  “Because from where I’m sitting, it’s Christmas in April.”

  “Spit it out, Ben. I don’t think I can afford the humor. You’re too expensive by the joke.”

  “Well, I can give you the long version or the short version. Seeing as you’re so testy, I’ll stick with the short. Your ex is no longer a problem. He’s pulled his motion, and I can’t see him being an issue for you anytime soon.”

  “What? You’re kidding!” she exclaimed. “Tell me you’re not kidding, Ben.”

  “You’re not kidding, Ben.”

  Silver winced at the lame joke. “What happened?”

  “Ah, so the longer version is suddenly of interest? Fine. Remember all those expensive private detectives you’ve been paying for? Well, they’re worth it. One of them was able to find a twenty-year-old intern who claims that your ex forced her to perform a whole slew of deplorable sexual acts while she was working for him, and that she ultimately quit because of the constant harassment. Apparently some money changed hands, so she never filed any charges, but she still holds a grudge. To make a long story short, even a hint of that would kill Eric’s chances of running for public office, so when we approached him for a friendly chat about it, he suddenly expressed fatigue over the toll that his custody battle was taking on everyone.”

  “Yes, I imagine that signing the complaint was exhausting.”

  “I commiserated with him and pointed out that we could probably make the entire thing go away without raising any problems with the current arrangement if he was willing to cover your accumulated legal expenses to date. That seemed fair to him.”

  Silver nodded. “I hope you triple-billed him.”

  “That wouldn’t be ethical. But there were
quite a few items that I’d somehow omitted from our calculations for your fee the last time we spoke. That’s why I’m an attorney, not an accountant.” Ben’s face could have been carved from granite. He opened a highly-polished burled walnut box on his desk and withdrew a rectangular slip of paper, then handed it to her. She took it, and her eyes got large when she read the script.

  “That’s a hundred percent of your retainer back, plus a little to help compensate for the fees you must have incurred when looking at selling the flat. It’s not my place to probe too deeply, but I hope that will be satisfactory?”

  Silver folded the paper and put it into her purse. “More than satisfactory, Ben. You do great work. As always.”

  “Just trying to keep the world safe for single mothers, Silver. Today I did my small part.”

  “On behalf of single mothers everywhere, I thank you.”

  “I saw you in the paper yesterday, by the way. Congratulations. That’s a big achievement. You must be very excited.”

  “I thought the photo made me look kind of…heavy.”

  “Nonsense. You’re perfect. The camera always adds fifteen pounds. You looked stunning.”

  “You’re very kind. So what now? Do I need to do anything more?”

  “I’ll ask you to stop on the way out and sign a few documents putting this episode behind us. Beyond that, you’re done.”

  Silver stood and extended her hand. “Thanks for everything, Ben. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I never have to see you again.”

  He nodded and smiled as he shook her hand. “Believe it or not, I get that a lot.”

  The sommelier brought the bottle of wine to the table and presented the label for Richard’s inspection. He nodded his approval, and the man made a big show of opening it and pouring a little for him to taste. He swirled it around in his mouth, then made an approving noise and gestured to Silver’s glass. She watched as the deep purple liquid filled the bottom fifth of the goblet. Once the man had left, they raised their glasses in a toast.

  “All’s well that ends well,” she said.

  “Bottoms up,” he suggested, then took a sip.

  “Mmm. This is really good,” Silver enthused. “Better than the one we had the last time we were here.”

  “I agree. Australian Shiraz. Big, bold bruiser of a mouthful.”

  “G’day, mate,” she intoned in an exaggerated accent.

  They bantered easily as they enjoyed each other’s company. Richard was sliding his hand over to hold hers on the tabletop when they were interrupted by the waiter’s arrival with their entrees — they had both ordered the ostrich special.

  She took another taste of the wine.

  “I really can’t believe how much I like this wine,” she said.

  “It will go well with your ostrich.”

  “Doesn’t everything go well with my ostrich?”

  “Why, Agent Cassidy. Are you flirting with me?” he asked in a low voice, fixing her with a troubled look.

  “It’s sexual harassment I was shooting for.”

  “You don’t have to threaten me to get me to admire your ostrich.”

  “Admiring it wasn’t what I had in mind, but it’s a start.”

  They sipped their wine contentedly. Silver stared off at a distant table, losing the moment for a split second, then she picked up her fork, as did Richard.

  “You still have him on the brain?” Richard asked.

  She returned her focus to him. “Hard not to, isn’t it?”

  “I’m with you there. But there’s no point in dwelling on all of it. We did our jobs. Our part is over.”

  “I know. But I can’t completely let go of it. Kind of like a fixation. Once you know a little, you want to know more. Pretty soon you’re spending a lot of your time doing research that doesn’t lead anywhere good.”

  Richard nodded. “I understand. In the end, though, it sort of is what it is. Neither you nor I can change the world. The best we can do is try to leave it safer for our stay on it. If I can manage that, it’s a good day.”

  “You ever wish you didn’t know some of the things you know?”

  It was Richard’s turn to stare off into the distance. “All the time, Silver. All the time.”

  “Kind of sucks, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s a highly imperfect world. Always has been. But yes, it does suck.” He took a large swallow of wine and then picked up his knife.

  Under the table, her foot traced along his calf, settling the matter for the moment.

  “You have a nice ostrich, too,” she purred.

  “Did you know that an ostrich can hit a top speed of over forty miles an hour?” Richard asked conversationally. “Compare that to a human, who in perfect shape might hit high twenties.”

  She took a bite and smiled. “Wanna race?”

  Chapter 28

  Silver sat at the window, waiting for the inmate to arrive. Howard moved slowly and appeared to have aged fifteen years in the last month. He seemed surprised to see her, and then his face composed itself into its customary tranquil expression. He picked up the telephone handset, and she did likewise.

  “Well, this is an unexpected surprise,” Howard said. His voice sounded strained, and something else. Thick.

  “I’m full of them, Howard.”

  “Yes, I suppose you are. How is Kennedy?”

  “You got her hooked on Sherlock Holmes. She spends half her time now either reading stories or reading about him on the web. I had no idea there were so many sites devoted to a fictional sleuth.”

  “He was always a favorite.”

  An uncomfortable pause stretched until she broke it.

  “How’s the writing coming?”

  “Good. I actually got an agent, and we have a book deal. Big advance, too. Quarter million bucks. Too bad I can’t spend it in here.”

  “That’s great, Howard. Sounds like you’ll get the word out.”

  “That is what I’m hoping. The agent says they don’t put up that kind of money these days unless they plan to push it.”

  “How far along are you?”

  “About three-quarters of the way through. I’m now tackling the Federal Reserve. Most people don’t know that it’s a privately-owned bank that was created by the most powerful bankers of the era in 1913. Rockefeller, J.P. Morgan, Warburg, Lehman…”

  She let that go by, preferring not to get into another disturbing discussion about the financial system.

  “How are you doing, Howard?”

  “I better write the last quarter fast.”

  There wasn’t much more to say to that. They both knew he’d never stand trial for the killings.

  “At least you have three squares a day.”

  “If I wasn’t dying, the food would do it. It’s a really cruel and unusual punishment.”

  They bantered a little more, and then the guard approached on Howard’s side of the glass, signaling that the visit was over.

  That was the only time she ever went to see him. Silver had been hoping for some kind of closure, but in the end, she was only left with more questions.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kennedy gripped Silver’s hand as they got out of the taxi, the anticipation palpable in her excited gaze at the grounds of the Metropolitan Opera House. Outside, huge banners celebrated the spring season of American Ballet Theater, including a full-length version of Giselle, which was their destination tonight.

  They were half an hour early and already had their tickets, so as they watched the crowd of festively-dressed urbanites make their way to the theater, they played one of their favorite games, which involved guessing the story of a randomly selected person and then describing in great detail the specifics of their life.

  Kennedy nudged Silver and gestured discreetly at a young woman with a dramatic, long, black dress, dyed black hair cut in a rough shag and full-sleeve tattoos on both arms proudly displayed as she walked with a young man wearing a stylish brown velvet suit cut in a zoot fashion.


  “Her name is Alexandria. Alex for short,” Kennedy started.

  “She’s a pitcher for the Yankees, but she-”

  “Mom!” Kennedy protested.

  “Sorry. Alex is an international spy working for the Bolivian secret police, who’s used her fame as a Latin pop singer and soap opera star to gain access to her real target, Antoine Duperry, the world famous clothes designer who is a favorite of the president’s wife, as well as a frequent guest judge on a number of second-rate talent shows.”

  “Antoine, who moonlights as an usher for off-Broadway plays, uses performances of ABT as his launching point for his more wild designs,” Kennedy continued without missing a beat.

  “Alex knows that Antoine has grown suspicious of her, but she is committed to gathering intelligence for the top secret Bolivian takeover plans of North America.”

  Kennedy paused, pulling Silver to a stop next to her. “Time out. Where is Bolivia? Are you making that up?”

  “No, Bolivia is where bowls come from. Hence the name. Bowlivia.”

  “Like Latvia. Where lattes come from?”

  “No, that’s Starbucks. Don’t you know anything?”

  They exploded into giggles, both feeling more than slightly silly.

  “Here, honey, let me straighten your outfit. It looks kind of like you fought your way out of the closet by putting on clothes. Did you even brush your hair?” Silver kneeled down in front of her, adjusting her top, which had shifted in the cab.

  A shadow swept over them, created by the spotlights mounted on the front of the theater as they pointed down at the crowd. Kennedy’s eyes moved over Silver’s head, and Silver finished her emergency fix, ending by smoothing Kennedy’s hair with one hand before standing and facing the new arrival.

  “Took you long enough,” Silver said to Richard, who was wearing a tuxedo in honor of the special occasion. “Although you’re forgiven because the penguin suit shows special creativity and effort.”

  “Could I have the check, please?” Kennedy added helpfully.

  “Be careful when you’re parking my car,” Silver added.

  Richard smiled good-naturedly and took them both by the hand. “At these prices, it better be the best basketball game I’ve ever seen, or I want my money back.”