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No
packs of lawyers. Gods be praised that ‘breed’s bitch of a mother hadn’t
been able to afford the luxury. Someone had the foresight to close every
account of her whole dammed tribe. Where that stoke of luck came from, he had
no desire to pry. Ah, but that brother of hers. Frigging redniggers. The
Natives were growing restless. No matter, Pennsylvania knew how to deal with
them.
Sweat
quivered on Wilson’s bloated face to soak in a chilling circle around his
neck. He clenched his eyes against the DA’s diatribe.
Shut
up, you idiot,
he demanded, wishing he could shout it. Shut
the hell up, O’Brian. You’ve already ruined your chances of re-election.
Don’t fry mine, as well.
Opening
his eyes, silence greeted him. O’Brian stood before the jury with his face
composed, an avenging angel pleading before God. The courtroom hung on every
word. The sheep always liked a good show, and there had been talk of a
position on a national level. O’Brian should have been an actor. The worse
was over. Now he was going to have to tell O’Brian he wasn’t going to get
what he wanted. Specifically, the kid’s balls on a platter to show that wife
of his.
Wilson
wished he had the guts to laugh. Mrs. O’Brian was a dear lady with an ass
for a mate. Who did her child resemble more, her or the child’s father? He
studied Benny for a moment. The child was dark. Far darker than a pure son of
the god Aryan should be. No wonder O’Brian was so filled with rage. The
little bastard endangered his career, if he still had any.
Wilson
gave his instructions to the jury. They were back almost before he could gulp
his ulcer medicine.
The
jury shifted and glanced in wary fear at O’Brian. The foreman cleared his
throat.
“We
find the . . . .” He looked at the DA, and averted his eyes. One of the jury
muttered something. He turned to glare at the woman. “ . . . The defendant .
. . .” There was a rustle of cloth and low voices as reports held up
camcorders and microphones through the courtroom. He closed his eyes and
blurted it out.
“We
find the defendant - Benjamin Wya Grey - innocent of all charges.”
“You
friggin bastards.”
The
foreman shrank away and dropped in his seat. O’Brian screamed a denial. He
spun to see Benny jump into his mother’s arms.
He
snatched at Benny and dragged him over the table backward and swung.
“Watch
out, Mom.” Benny twisted in the DA’s hand, ducked to one side and rammed a
heel into O’Brian’s stomach. The man’s lips tightened in a bone white ‘O’
and he sank to his knees.
One
hand tangling in the DA hair, Benny drew back to put the hammer of his fist
between O’Brian’s protruding, bloodshot eyes. Wilson smashed his gavel on
the bench. It shattered. Something deadly, cold with rage, hovered just beyond
Wilson’s sight. A screaming sword hissed through the air and he whimpered in
horror. The bailiff’s shout snapped him back to his courtroom.
“Stop
this,” he screamed. “I demand you cease this at once, Grey.” He glanced
at where the Spider sat. The old pervert was gone. Fear wormed through him.
The old man was deadly, a murderer of the first degree. Wilson began to have
doubts. It would be easy enough to over-ride the jury. Unconstitutional, but
Pennsylvania was ruled long and hard by the Party. There was enough
precedence.
Animals
appeared in every empty space of the court. Ravens flocked in distant corners.
Walls disappeared, only to be replaced by ancient, mossy trees. Sunlight
glinted off of maple leaves and laurel blossoms. In the distance was the song
of a meadowlark. Giant and black, a wolf rose on hind legs. From amber eyes it
studied Wilson the way it might a mouse. Gently, softly, it reached down to
give him a small lick on the nose.
Tasted
him. A very real terror shook Wilson.
“You.
Grey, this is all your doing.” He looked again and the thing
was gone. An eagle took its place. Beak opened, she reached down to kill.
Wilson
shrieked, “Stop it.” He threw the pieces of the gavel at Benny.
Teeth
bared in disdain, Benny gave O’Brian a wolfish grin, all teeth and a feral
humor. His hand came down, the dirty, work broken nails gently scratched the
DA under the chin.
“‘Scuse
me, lady.” A crooked grin grew on Benny’s face. He drawled, “Itchy
balls.”
In the back of his mind,
Grampa Waya was rocking with laughter.
©2002 StoriesByEmail.com
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