The Boy Who Appeared from the Rain
Page 83
Thin gloves, clean and black, knotted themselves into angry fists, but were helpless to intervene. Albert K. was making an arrest halfway across the factory parking lot, his badge in one hand and handcuffs in the other. He whirled his victim—Belinda, the young woman from Ditch's cellar—in a tight circle and shoved her face-first across the hood of her rickety sedan. She protested, but could offer no real resistance. Furious, the figure could only watch from his crouch behind a trash dumpster in the night's darkness. This wasn't right.
"I didn't do nothing!" she yelled in vain. "It was Ditch! He made me do it!" She yelped as Albert K. forced her arms behind her. "I was gonna turn him in. I have evidence! You gotta let me go!"
Her pleas rang futilely into the dark sky. The gloved figure cringed; her story was true. Ditch had betrayed her; her birthday had come and gone, and he had refused to release her from his cadre of delivery personnel as he had promised. The young woman, as she had predicted, had made overtures to the FBI to help them collect evidence on Ditch. Unfortunately, the FBI had assigned the wrong agent to her case. Albert K., though in the employ of the Bureau, was no longer their man. As a favor to Ditch he had framed the poor woman and was now arresting her for what were in fact his own crimes.
The whole situation made the gloved figure want to vomit. For the past two months he had tracked Albert K., always at a respectful distance to avoid detection—and any more shooting. Yet over that time, even from a distance, he had gathered information on the double-agent, enough that soon, perhaps, he could slip some of it to the authorities and have justice executed on the duplicitous man. But how could he do so without involving himself? He had no desire to bring himself to the attention of the authorities; like Albert K., he had much to hide.
Albert K. cuffed Belinda's right wrist. She might deserve to be taken into custody, but not by this man, who had betrayed his oath to the Bureau and committed worse crimes than she. She, at least, had been trying to do the right thing and leave Ditch's employ. And she hadn't told Ditch about the man who was hiding in his cellar. The figure raged inside, but there was nothing he could do for her.
She, however, acted on her own behalf, rolling suddenly and slipping out of Albert K.'s grasp. She darted away, but he chased her down and threw her roughly to the pavement. As he reached down to restrain her again, she cried out and swung her right arm at him; the cuffs struck him across the face, and for a moment he fell behind her, stunned. He recovered and grabbed her before she could flee, pulling her to the ground face-down long enough to cuff her other wrist. Then he maneuvered her to her feet and forced her roughly to his unmarked car. He pressed her into the back seat and drove away.
The figure watched them go, then stepped out from the shadow of the dumpster and made his way to where she had struggled with Albert K. He groped about in his mind for a way to bring her assailant to justice, but what could he do? Belinda deserved better; she had been ready to turn Ditch in to the Bureau. She reminded the figure of another woman a few years ago who had sought justice, only to be rejected and ruined.
The unbidden thought of that other woman made the figure wince. Almost unconsciously, he reached into a pocket, drew out his wallet, and located an old photograph inside it. He held the photo up in the orange light of the parking lot lamps. The woman in the picture was unmistakably Rhonda Lerwick in her prime—no longer young, but mature and capable. Like Belinda, she had chosen to pursue justice, eventually, but had not achieved it. The memory of her failure roused old emotions inside the figure: anger, bitterness, and also, paradoxically, a certain pride.
But the past was done, and Rhonda was no more. The figure slipped the photograph back into his wallet and put it away. There was no point in dwelling on the past. He had tasks to accomplish in the present—the boy, and that task was still proceeding well; and now Albert K., a villain no true Robin Hood could abide. He would bring Albert K. to justice, if there was any way to do it…without being brought to justice himself.
A glint on the ground caught the figure's eye a few steps away. He moved to where he could discern its shape in the lamplight. It was Albert K.'s badge, knocked from his hand as he had struggled with the woman.
His gloved fingers picked up the badge. A touch of justice, the figure thought as he inspected it. He lost his badge. How ironic that the figure—no entirely law-abiding citizen himself—would be troubled by the sins of an officer of the law. But to Robin Hood, justice meant something, and those who enforced the law were expected to abide by it themselves for the good of society. Albert K. did not live up to that expectation.
The figure considered retaining the badge; he might like to have it as a keepsake. But he didn't deserve a badge either, he reasoned, not even one tarnished by the sins of its owner. So he retraced his path back to the dumpster and threw it in, then turned his back on it and walked away.
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