|
From Jahn’s, Tommy made a short trip to a more
powerful member of the coven. The driver of the taxi pressed his hands together,
and Tommy gave a blessing instead of a tip. The man bowed. Before the taxi was
gone, Tommy was standing before a set of imposing doors. They opened on
well-oiled hinges, and a tall, thin man wearing a collar like the one Benny used
to wear stood there.
Tommy moved by him. “I’m to see the judge.”
A silent butler ushered Tommy through the house.
Carpets deep enough to lose children in sank under his shoes. Tommy hid a smile
in the folds of the hood.
The man opened the door to the judge’s office,
closing it as the priest entered. The walls were lined with row after row of
books, ancient tomes that would be considered works of art by any literary
critic. Between them, wide windows let in a flood of watery light and showed
gardens that even this time of year were immaculate.
Even here the ghosts of victims past and present
clamored for attention. Tommy listened and smiled. Harrison was going over
papers on his desk. He glanced up, and his mouth snapped shut. Tommy took a chair
near the desk.
“Nice. Red teak?” Waving away an answer, he lay a
picture of Benny on the desk. “Time to ante up, Judge.”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
Harrison rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, leaned back from Tommy, and
touched the tips of his fingers together.
Tommy gave him a warm smile.
“Play fair, fruit. Or maybe I won’t.”
Harrison’s eyes flicked at the picture. With the tip
of one finger he pushed it towards Tommy.
“Please remove yourself –“
“Or what? I go to the right cops and tell them where
so many runaways wind up?” One foot stomped on the floor. “How many escape
the garbage recycler? Most? Some? Not all wind up the city cloaca. I know
because you’ve supplied a few to me. A hundred K each.” One scarred finger
touched the paper, and it slid back towards a scowling Harrison.
“I want this. I want it safe and virginal, not like
you would do him.” Tommy gave a droll smirk and studied his fingernails. Each
was black with the blood of the woman that entertained him last night. His back
was well clawed and the woman smiling when he left her for the rest.
Tommy glanced up at Harrison. “Yeah, you remember
him.”
Voice faint, Harrison muttered, “The Janissary
Project has a warrant out for him.”
Leaning a little closer, Tommy tapped the picture.
“You can find him, or you can take his place.”
Standing, Tommy let the chair move away, down into the floor.
“I have another case . . . I have to find another
child.” Harrison came close to pleading. “You know her. Sue Hannah. She
–“
“I don’t think you would care for Hell. Not a
fussy little prick like you. Ashes and pain. Tortured spirits and the rotting
dead. You. A definite no-fun place, no
matter what we teach the plebes.”
Harrison crashed through the door and into Sue’s
home. He screamed, throwing himself at a hulking, hung-over JJ, slapping the man
and clawing.
“Judge, what? No, please.” Tumbling from a kitchen
chair, JJ cowered on the floor with his face covered.
“Where is she?” Harrison shrieked. Well-manicured
hands raked at JJ. “I need her, you moron.” For that admission of weakness,
he attacked JJ again, beating on the heaving back till his hands were swollen
and aching.
“I don’t know. Swear I don’t.” Weeping a flood
of tears, JJ managed to claw a few feet away, but Harrison attacked him again. He
ripped a quirt from his underwear, lashing at the man. The pain in his groin
added to Harrison’s frenzy. In moments thin lines of blood cut through the
dirty tee shirt, but JJ remained huddled, moaning into the ratty linoleum.
Panting for air, Harrison slowed the attack, then,
finally, stopped.
He pulled a small Browning.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice choked and filed
with the pain of losing Sue, sweet, delicate Sue.
In a slow move, JJ’s arms came away from his face.
Glancing up at the gun, his eyes bulged. He screamed, begging, but unable to
move.
“She isn’t here,” JJ muttered, his breath
thick, the hand trembling as the quirt stole down to the crotch of his pants.
“Then you . . ." With the gun, he motioned JJ towards the dark hall and a
bedroom.
“No,” JJ whispered, his eyes wide and horrified.
“I ain’t one o’ them SS men. I ain’t.”
“But, the president personally trains the new one on
the joy of brotherhood. Come, now, JJ. You wouldn’t want him to hear of you
denigrating his methods.”
Smiling, Harrison aimed the Browning and JJ scurried
into the hall.
Slipping Safe Side guards a few hundred credits to
keep their mouths shut, Jahn let his car haul him out of the city and away. Safe
Side was dangerous, right now crawling with both the covens and the Project. He
stroked the plump cheeks of a girl that somewhat resembled Sue but was from one
of the poverty-filled countries under the European Union-led-part of the United
Nations.
Werdismach
boomed out of the radio, the mellow tones of the French horn weaving in and
around the rest of the orchestra. Under it was the thunder of thousands
goose-stepping, and in his mind’s eye Jahn could see the god, the Feurer,
watching with pride. He moved the woman’s head towards his crotch.
A car started to pass, then slowed, the occupants
grinning and watching while Jahn gave them a languid wave of his hand.
Laughing, the other driver pulled ahead and was
gone.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
|
