by K E Lanning
She stopped and gripped the rail. “Mr. Halder talks about doing what is right, but it is the government of the United States of Amerada who should be on trial today—on trial for allowing people to squat on lands within the Eskimo reservations. In some extraordinary cases, the government has condemned homes and forced evacuations on Eskimo lands! All to further advance the homesteading tendencies of Ameradans pushing into the North as the waters rise in the coastal areas farther south.”
Pointing to Jean-Luc sitting stone-faced behind the defense table, Chavez said in a clear voice, “Without real evidence, you cannot convict my client, Mr. Kimalu; it would be a travesty of justice. The United States was built on the rule of law, not the rule of the strong.”
Then she turned to the judge. “Thank you, Your Honor.”
The judge said loudly, “This court is adjourned, and the verdict of the jury will be read after they complete their deliberations.” The boom of the gavel echoed through the courtroom as the judge ended the trial.
The crowd filtered out, but Lowry sat numbly, observing the actors in the play. The prosecution was huddled around their table while Chavez packed her briefcase. Sataa passed Lowry and went over to the defendant, placing his hand on Jean-Luc’s shoulder. The bailiff stood to the side, waiting to escort Jean-Luc back to his holding cell. Jean-Luc stood and turned to Sataa, and they clasped each other’s arms. Frozen for a few seconds, their profiles bespoke their wretchedness of being caught in a system not of their own making.
Lowry’s shoulders slumped at the ludicrous tragedy of it all.
CHAPTER 23
Dazed, Lowry stumbled from the courtroom and collapsed against the wall of the corridor. Her hand trembling, she touched her cheek and drew her fingers down her face, as if to reassure herself that she was a human being and not just a marionette in the surreal drama that had played out in the courtroom. An old saying throbbed into her mind: When corruption has its thumb on the scale, justice rarely has a chance to triumph.
Edward came out of the courtroom and passed her with a glance, and then he stopped in mid-stride just beyond her. She studied a smudge on the wall, hoping he would keep going, but he turned, taking a step toward her. She felt his hesitancy as he rocked back and forth on his feet, but she refused to look at him.
Finally, he leaned against the wall facing her, clearing his throat, while his fingers drummed against his legs. Biting his lip, he muttered. “I’m sorry, Lowry, but I had no choice.”
A white-hot anger rose in her, flushing out the muddle in her head. Lowry jerked her head up, and with a glare, she snapped, “Edward, you made love to me and then used my family’s personal information in a court case to sway a jury.” She jabbed her finger at him. “In life, you have to make the choice to be a man or someone’s bitch—you chose to be Halder’s bitch.”
Gazing down at his shoes, Edward sighed. “You’re right.” Then he shot her a glance, his clear blue eyes edged with despair. “But to paraphrase an old saying, I’d guess I’d rather be a live bitch than a dead lion.”
Blinking, Lowry studied him. He was still handsome and impeccably dressed, but the man who stood before her knew his soul was owned lock, stock, and barrel by Halder, yet he had willingly accepted his fate and the chains which accompanied his choice. Perfect on the outside—all that remained was this shell of a human being, a beautiful puppet for Halder’s theater.
Halder and Gerwin strolled out of the courtroom but paused near where Lowry and Edward faced each other. Edward glanced up at Halder’s face and then back down at his shoes, like a guilty cur.
Waving Gerwin on, Halder stepped toward them with a sliver of a smile, punctuated by a cock of his head. “Edward, I need you to catch up to Gerwin.”
An almost imperceptible spasm of pain rolled across Edward’s face. The muscles in his neck twitched as he swallowed hard. Nodding to Halder, he said, “Yes, sir.”
Then he turned back, meeting Lowry’s eyes with sad smile. He bent his head toward her, whispering, “Bye, Lowry.” He reached out and gripped her hand, squeezing it gently as if asking for forgiveness. Without a glance to Halder, Edward pivoted stiffly and walked toward Gerwin, who waited for him at the end of the corridor.
Lowry chewed the inside of her mouth, watching Edward stroll down the hall toward Gerwin until her view became obscured by Halder’s smug face leaning against the wall in the same spot Edward had vacated. With his head flung back, Halder stared down his nose at her. Pushing her nails into her palms, Lowry gazed coolly back at him, but her heartbeat matched the tempo of the click, click of wingtip shoes as Edward walked down the long corridor.
A court clerk led a family past Edward and down the hallway toward them. Halder’s demeanor changed as they approached, and he smiled to them. Then his smile faded into a smirk as he turned back to Lowry, murmuring, “Your testimony was most helpful today.”
After the group had passed, his brow furrowed, and he hissed under his breath, “I’m not one to waste energy on grudges, so just like Jean-Luc, your fate hangs on the verdict—if he’s found guilty, you are free, but if he’s found innocent”—a razor-edge smile flashed over his face—“my dear, you’ll wish you were never born.” Halder blinked, pausing to let his words sink in, and then continued smoothly. “And if you or Nick brings any new information on the Colombian absurdity, you may well land back in court. My suggestion is to let it go.” He pressed closer to her, bringing his penetrating gaze to bear, trying to dominate her spirit like he had done to Edward, by the sheer will of his personality.
Lowry thought back to Edward’s pitiful gaze, and she struggled to not spit into Halder’s face. She did not know Halder’s history. Perhaps this man went through hell when he was young, but no one had the right to own another human being—even if, by some misguided path, they acquiesced to that slavery.
She rode out a wave of rage, shoving it back down her throat. Giving in to her fury would only give him control. Clenching her hands, she breathed deep and met his gaze, smiling into his stony eyes. She said softly, “If you bring us to court, we might have another opportunity to flesh out alternative theories, possibly ruining your case against the Inuits.”
Halder threw his head back with a practiced laugh and then said, “Lowry, you are just delightful!” He continued with a slight shake of his head. “You are the opposite of my good friend Edward: too honest to be bought and too stubborn to be useful for a man such as me.”
Lowry could smell his musky cologne as he edged closer down the wall toward her. Nausea rose in her stomach, but she forced herself to stand her ground and not step backward.
“You are like Joan of Arc”—Halder’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper—“and may well end up like her.” Shaking his head, he whispered gleefully, “Would you like fries with that stake?”
His lips slowly dropped into a jagged sneer, and they glared at each other, neither willing to concede the battle of wills, until Chavez came out of the courtroom and approached them with a frown on her face.
Tilting her head, Chavez asked Halder, “I hope you’re not harassing a witness?”
The icy mask on Halder’s face broke into a grin as he shook his head. “Me? That would be illegal, Ms. Chavez.”
Chavez rolled her eyes. “Since when has that stopped you?”
Halder narrowed his eyes as he pivoted toward her. “I wouldn’t be too loose with your words, Ms. Chavez. You may find yourself drowning in them.”
“I have a good pair of water wings, Halder.” Then, with a jabbing finger, Chavez launched into a verbal assault. “Halder, you spend way too much time railroading innocents instead of protecting the people of this country. Perhaps instead of stealing native lands, your government could do something useful and reclaim poor neighborhoods in inner cities.” Waving her arms, she continued passionately. “You could use tax incentives to build assembly and distribution plants, utilizing vast acres of abandoned properties and employing those desperately needing jobs.”
Cha
vez pantomimed with her hand as if she held a sword. “Halder, you could be a modern King Arthur with his Excalibur in a world where might serves the people—a hero creating an economic renaissance out of urban blight.”
Halder rubbed his chin and raised an eyebrow. “If successful, it might be the ticket to the presidency.” Smiling, he raised his index finger. “Except my sword would be dubbed ‘Eminent Domain.’” With a nod, he said, “Good idea, Chavez, and if it doesn’t work, I’ll find some convenient scapegoat to blame for the failure—perhaps you? I would love to pop your water wings.” With a curt salute, he turned on his heel and walked down the hall.
Shaking her head, Chavez sighed. “Heaven help us if he gets the presidency.”
Halder disappeared around the corner, and Lowry exhaled. “Now that he’s gone, I can breathe.” She sniffed the air and said dramatically, “But the wizard’s scent remained . . . .” Lowry turned back to Chavez. “Edward mentioned that Halder had a tough beginning before he was adopted. Or maybe he rose from the dead.”
“I could honestly believe he’s a vampire.” Chavez exhaled and then pursed her lips. “Halder keeps his past to himself, but the rumor is that he was abandoned by his parents and homeless for months as a child before he was picked up by Child Protective Services. Eventually, after multiple foster homes, they placed him in a good family, but no doubt that early experience hardened him.”
With raised eyebrows and a wobble of her head, Chavez said, “Whatever his past, he’s a bona fide sociopath.” She gazed at Lowry. “It’s sad—Halder has a brilliant mind and is well-educated, but he uses his talents to further himself with no qualms about right or wrong.”
Chavez’s face softened, and she placed her hand on Lowry’s shoulder. “Despite what you’ve been through today, and I know it’s hard to believe, the assholes don’t always win.” With a sigh, she continued. “I keep reminding myself that no matter the current score, there is a balance to life, and we must focus on the big picture. Evil eventually runs out of steam.”
“I’m not sure about that last bit.” Lowry chewed her lip. “I just wish that my testimony hadn’t hurt more than it helped.”
“The morsel of information on your uncle’s connection with a tribe of Eskimos was unfortunate,” Chavez replied, nodding.
“I had mentioned it to Edward, but just . . . .” Lowry raised an eyebrow with a shrug. “Uh, casually—not during the deposition.” Brushing her hair back, she stuttered, “He was simply asking how my uncle and I came to be on Antarctica. Just an off-the-cuff conversation. I can’t believe he used it in the trial.”
Chavez sighed, touching Lowry’s arm. “I can. My dear, at Yale, Edward was known as a mega-partier and ladies’ man. He cleaned up his penchant for drugs once he was hired by the DOJ, but Halder designed a particular role for him, and Edward has become known as the Gigolo, Lowry. Halder sends him to ferret out seemingly innocuous information—by any means necessary.”
“Bastard,” Lowry snapped, clenching her teeth as she stared at the floor. Then she glanced up and saw the impish twinkle in Chavez’s eyes. Lowry’s anger evaporated in the absurdity of it all, and slumping against the wall, she laughed until her sides hurt. In the midst of this maelstrom, being made a fool of by Edward was the least of her worries.
Exhaling, she wiped the tears from her eyes. Edward may have felt compelled to go to the dark side to survive, but betrayal creates its own noose, tightening its grip around the neck of those who partake of its power.
She glanced down the vacant hallway. Poor bastard.
CHAPTER 24
Lowry shuffled into her room at the hotel. Emotionally drained, she changed out of her clothes and collapsed onto the bed. She wasn’t a particularly religious person, but staring up at the ceiling, she floated a prayer to the heavens for Jean-Luc. She shuttered her mind away from the idea of blowback from Halder. She had done the will of her conscience, and that was all she could do.
Her eyes fluttered as the tension of the day fell away, but the swirling faces haunted her as she drifted into a restless sleep. She fell into a dream, a twisted version of the dancing monkeys fable that Adam had told in the Garden.
The curtain rose on a dark stage, and then a spotlight shone on a single figure standing at center stage dressed in a dazzling prince’s regalia. The light moved upward to the prince’s face, revealing Elliot Halder playing the role. He smiled and raised his arm to cue the start of the play. The lights and music rose as a horde of masked monkeys in fantastical costumes appeared from the wings of the stage, dancing and twirling to the delight of the faceless audience. The prince brandished his sword, saluting the crowd as the monkeys cavorted around the prince. When the music paused, the troupe bowed to the cheers emanating from the shadows.
In the midst of the acclaim, Adam leapt from the wings, scattering peanuts upon the stage, and the dream became a nightmare. The prince stepped back as the monkeys ripped their costumes away and tore off their masks, exposing the distorted faces of Gerwin and Edward. The prince laughed as the monkeys forgot their fine manners, racing to the peanuts strewn on the stage.
A spotlight beamed onto Adam, and a sinister melody rose in the hall. He waved his arms, and the peanuts lying on the stage morphed into tiny humans who leapt up and sprinted across the stage like mice. The savage monkeys chased the miniature people down, catching them in their hairy paws and devouring them whole.
Then the old shaman, Sataa, appeared beside her in the darkness. He spoke softly in his native language, but she could understand him. “The monkeys have not been taught how to be men but are only mad beasts who do not even respect themselves.”
The crowd was hushed at the tiny humans’ desperate cries but did nothing while the monkeys scrambled to catch them—brutally fighting amongst themselves over the last ones. The lights on the stage dimmed, and the monkeys gathered together, turning their greedy eyes toward Sataa and Lowry. Her heart beat a staccato at the look of hunger on their faces, and she grabbed Sataa’s arm.
He turned, gazing at her bleakly. “Do not worry; they won’t harm you. They have no interest in you.”
Led by the prince, the troupe of monkeys slunk down the steps from the stage and crept to where Sataa and Lowry stood. Sataa pushed Lowry away from him as the prince and the monkeys gathered near them. The prince stared at Sataa with a sneer and snapped his fingers. The monkeys jostled each other as they encircled the old man, the shreds of fabric from their costumes shimmering in the dim light. Quietly, they began to whine, baring their gleaming, blood-striped teeth.
Sataa said in a resigned voice, “Ah, you are still hungry. You monkeys are never sated, are you?”
The prince smiled coldly. “I’m afraid not—their appetite is quite limitless.”
“Prince, a day will come when it will be you they turn on to satisfy their cravings,” Sataa murmured. “And you and your offspring will be no more on this Earth.” In the dim light, he closed his eyes and began to shuffle his feet, chanting a tribal prayer.
The prince nodded to the monkeys. A drone rose from the hairy beasts, and they rocked back and forth around Sataa as if under a spell. With their steely eyes locked on their prey, the swaying became more intense, and the knot tightened.
Sataa tilted his head back, singing louder to shield his mind from the rising wails. He slowly spun in place, shadows and light shifting across his weathered face. He raised his hands to the heavens, his eyes tightly shut against his impending death.
Then the monkeys shrieked as one and attacked Sataa, leaping onto his head and back, forcing him to the ground. Sataa groaned as they ripped into his body with their sharp teeth and claws, shredding through the leather clothes, sending blood flying into the air. Monkey Gerwin bit into Sataa’s skull as Monkey Edward’s long teeth tore into his jugular, and the life of the gentle old man was gone, his body lying in a pool of blood. Screaming in victory, the monkeys dragged his dead body off into the darkness.
In her nightmare, Lowry stood
frozen in place, nauseated with shock and abhorrence at the scene before her. A breath tickled the hair on the back of her neck, and she flinched.
Then Adam whispered in her ear, “Not all is how it appears, is it?”
Lowry jerked toward him, but as she turned, he disappeared into the darkness. She turned back, and the prince was also gone. Only an empty gloom remained.
What crime had Sataa committed to warrant this sentence of death? Was it simply the beliefs that he held? Even within her dream, she knew it was neither. Greed had harnessed the power of fear, which, like horses whipped into a frenzy, drove over the old man with no real malice but killed him as sure as a bullet to the heart.
Lowry awoke, terrified and shaking, her arms clutching the covers now twisted around her body. Gasping, she became aware of her surroundings and realized she was in her hotel room.
Thank God, it was just a dream.
Untangling herself from the sheets, she looked at the clock and realized she had slept through the night. Trembling, she got out of bed, went to the sink, and splashed water on her face, hoping to shake off her nightmare. Exhaling, she started the coffee and took a shower while it brewed. The hot water streamed over her, washing the residue of the nightmare from her mind as she scrubbed her hair. She stepped out feeling more normal, rubbed down with the towel, and pulled on a robe. She grabbed the coffee and sat on the bed, sipping from the steaming cup.
