Dark Justice

by William Bernhardt

  “Now,” Christina said, “if it’s all right with the rest of you, I’d like to get the hell out of here. Jails and I are … not bosom buddies.”

  Ben knew what she was talking about. Christina had spent a horrible period locked up in a tiny, dirty jail cell several years ago when she was falsely accused of murder. The incident had left emotional scars. She had nightmares about finding herself shut up behind bars again. Just the thought of it was enough to make her break down like a baby.

  Allen led the four of them down the corridor. Ben thought he detected a certain bounce in the man’s boots that hadn’t been there before. And they hadn’t even started the lunch date.

  “Welcome back to the free world,” he said, opening the outside door. “Now stay out of trouble, you hear?”

  Ben heard, all right. Loud and clear.

  Maureen started at Ben again the instant they stepped out of the jailhouse. “Seriously, Ben, think about my invitation. This could be a unique opportunity for you to be a potent force for good.”

  Ben waved his hands in the air. “I’m sorry, no. I’m not going to become known as the mouthpiece for terrorists.”

  “Then forget about the book idea. Just take Zak’s case. He needs a lawyer who knows the ropes. Who has experience with capital murder cases.”

  Christina’s ears pricked up. “A case? They’re offering us a case?” She grabbed Ben’s arm and lowered her voice. “Ben, this could be just what we need.”

  “Believe me, it isn’t.”

  “Ben, we haven’t had a paying case for months. We haven’t had a case that paid well since Wallace Barrett, and that money ran out a long time ago.”

  “Trust me, Christina. This isn’t the answer.”

  “Look, maybe you don’t need the cash, but I’m paying tuition at TU, and that bill is larger than the GNP of some industrialized nations.”

  “Christina, this wouldn’t be a moneymaker. More like a pro bono case. With some serious negative ramifications.” He turned back toward Maureen. “I’m sorry. I’d like to help. But it’s out of the question.” He extended his hand. “I just can’t do it.”

  Maureen took his hand and clasped it. Her eyes seemed much softer than they had before. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “I’m disappointed and—well, just very … sorry.” She turned quickly and headed down the sidewalk. Rick followed a beat behind her.

  Ben and Christina watched as the pair passed out of sight. “Are you sure about this?” Christina asked.

  “Absolutely,” Ben replied. “It’s for the best. Really.” He started walking in the opposite direction.

  Ben hadn’t moved ten feet when he heard a piercing shout from down the street. “Maureen!”

  “What’s that?” Christina asked.

  Ben whirled around. “Stay here.” He raced down the street and rounded the same corner he had seen Rick and Maureen take a few moments before. Following the sounds of struggle, he ducked into a side alley behind a closed dry cleaning store.

  There were three of them—big burly thugs, the kind you knew immediately couldn’t possibly be good for anything in the world except inflicting pain. One of them had a chain wrapped around his fist and was using it to pummel Rick. Another one had Maureen pinned against the wall, her face stricken with terror. The third seemed content to fold his arms, supervise, and sneer.

  “Well, now,” the third man said. “Let’s show these two tree huggers what rage really is, whaddaya say, boys?”

  Chapter 7

  BEFORE BEN HAD A CHANCE to think, much less act, the metal chain whipped around in a deadly spiral. Rick turned away, but had no room to maneuver. The chain crashed down on his back. He cried out as he fell to his knees. His assailant grinned and brought the chain around again.

  Maureen was struggling for all she was worth, but her attacker had her pinned against a brick wall, his arms on either side and beneath hers, leaving her nowhere to go. The man outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds and was much stronger. He snapped his hand back for a sudden slap across the side of her face. Maureen’s head banged against the brick wall, then went limp.

  “Stop!” Ben shouted. He knew that probably sounded incredibly unthreatening to these toughs, but he hoped it might slow them down a few beats. He had to think of something. But what could he do?

  “Lookee here,” said the man with the folded arms. “Another tree hugger. Looks like I’m gonna get to do some poundin’ myself.” He started toward Ben, not in a hurry, making it all the more frightening. There was something about the man, something in his calm, powerful manner, that made him absolutely terrifying.

  “I’ve called the sheriff’s office,” Ben said, trying to suppress the stutter in his voice. “They’re on their way.”

  The man shook his head, still moving toward Ben. “There’s no pay phone on this block. You haven’t had time.”

  Without thinking, Ben whipped his checkbook out of his back pocket. He just hoped it was dark enough back here to get away with this. “I used my cell phone. They’re on their way. Won’t take them a minute to get here.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “It’s true,” Maureen said, bringing as much strength to her voice as she could muster. “It’s standard Green Rage operating procedure. First sign of trouble, call the cops.”

  “Listen!” Ben said. “I hear them coming.”

  Somewhere in the distance, they heard the sound of a door slamming, followed by the sound of feet moving quickly on the pavement.

  “Damn it all to hell,” the man swore, throwing down his big muscled arms. “Let’s get out of here, boys.”

  The man with the chain stopped in mid-swing. The brute hovering over Maureen stepped away, but not before cracking her one more time across the jaw.

  “We’ll be back,” the leader said. “This is just a reprieve.” He started to go, then whipped around suddenly, lurched forward, and drove his fist deep into the soft part of Ben’s stomach. Ben doubled over and fell to the pavement.

  “That’s to remember me by,” the man growled. He and his two accomplices disappeared in the darkness of the alleyway.

  “Are you all right?” Maureen said, rushing toward Ben. Her eyes were full of concern.

  Ben wasn’t entirely sure. His gut felt like it was on fire; he couldn’t seem to stand up straight. “Am I all right? What about you? And Rick?”

  “Rick!” She ran back the other way, then knelt by her friend. Ben could see that he was conscious, although he seemed to be having a hard time moving.

  He was suddenly aware that Christina was standing behind him. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put?” he asked.

  “What of it?”

  Ben smirked. “I assume you provided the sound effects—the slamming door, the rushing feet.”

  “Seemed like the least I could do. Nice bluff about the cell phone. Who knows? If you’d take more cases maybe you could afford a real one.”

  Ben tried to push himself to his feet, but every time he moved, his stomach felt as if stitches were being ripped out.

  “I think Rick’s okay,” Maureen said. She sat on the ground beside Ben. “At least in the sense that he’s not going to die. But I want him to go to the hospital.”

  “No hospitals,” Rick said emphatically. “Doc can take a look at me when we get back to camp.”

  “Doc’s our medic,” Maureen explained. “A member of our group. We’ve been trying to make ourselves self-sufficient by recruiting people with professional training. You know, so they can help out when the need arises, without our having to bankrupt ourselves hiring outside assistance. We’ve covered most of the major fields, except of course …”

  “Law,” Ben said, finishing her sentence.

  “Yeah. Most of the lawyers we’ve talked to seem more interested in summer cottages on Puget Sound than helping a group of …”

  “Eco-terrorists,” Ben said, filling in the blanks.

  “Environmental warriors,” she replied, then all at on
ce broke out in a grin. “Anyway, we’ve got to run before more of these hoods appear. You can see what we’re up against. Like I told you, they’re everywhere. It’s not even safe for us to walk the streets.” She turned suddenly; Ben realized she was fighting back tears. “Thanks for the help. You’re pretty quick on your feet, and if you don’t mind me saying so, and I—well, never mind. I hope we see you again sometime.”

  “I’m in,” Ben said.

  Maureen stopped short. “You’re—I’m sorry?”

  “I’m in. I’ll help.”

  “Do you mean—”

  “I mean, you need a lawyer. Well, here I am.”

  Maureen grasped both his arms. “That’s wonderful. That’s—”

  Ben cut in. “But I won’t do anything illegal. So don’t ask.”

  “No, of course not. Are—are you sure about this?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Overcome with enthusiasm, Maureen threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. Ben felt a sudden rush that he knew had nothing to do with the acquisition of a new client. “That’s so wonderful! This is the biggest break we’ve had in months!” She hugged him again, overcome with enthusiasm. “Mr. Kincaid, I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

  Two

  Counter Friction

  Chapter 8

  TESS PARKED HER JEEP CHEROKEE in the only opening in the gravel-covered parking area. The place was packed—by Magic Valley standards, anyway.

  She wasn’t surprised. There were only two bars in Magic Valley, and this one—Bunyan’s—was the only one that stayed open after midnight. For the crowd that wanted to drink into the wee hours of the morning, this was the place to be.

  She crossed the parking lot, passing between two rows of pickups, mostly red, a few blue or green. A bumper sticker caught her eye: KILL AN OWL, SAVE A LOGGER.

  She shook her head. Those Green Ragers had to be crazy to hang out here. Not that there were a lot of choices.

  She opened the front door of Bunyan’s. A thick cloud of smoke hit her so hard she almost choked. Her eyes stung; it was several seconds before she could see anything. When she could, she didn’t see much she liked.

  The place was filled with men, most of them tough, bearded, and sizable. Not the kind you’d expect to see at the Friday-night poetry reading. Excepting the waitresses, she saw only a couple of women. The place was decorated with logging memorabilia—rusted hacksaws and chain saws, sepia-toned photos of logging operations throughout the century. One wall displayed a huge neon image of Paul Bunyan—one hand on his trusty axe, the other on Babe the blue ox.

  She scanned the bar till she found the guys she was looking for. There were two of them, both seated at the bar. They both had long hair; one of them wore an earring, although these days that wasn’t uncommon even with the loggers. They were younger than most of the rest of the men in the bar.

  She knew one of them—Rick Collier. He was one of the top men in the local Green Rage hierarchy, second in command to George Zakin, the man currently under lock and key. She didn’t know the other man, but since he was deep in an animated conversation with Rick, she thought it a good bet that he was also a member of Green Rage.

  And as luck would have it, there was an empty barstool beside Rick. Although, upon reflection, she thought it probably was not luck but the fact that no one else in the bar wanted anything to do with them.

  She sashayed up to the empty bar stool, consciously ignoring the leers she received from the men she passed. Most of them probably thought they were giving her a compliment, but from her perspective, all they were giving her was the creeps.

  She took the empty stool and ordered a gin and tonic. While she waited, she tried to eavesdrop on the discussion to her immediate right.

  “Can we trust him?” the man she didn’t know asked Rick.

  “I think so,” Rick answered. “To a point, anyway. He’s probably at the dilettante stage. He’d like to think of himself as an activist, committed to the cause. But he’s probably not ready to take any risks.”

  “How much can we tell him? How much should he know?”

  “Nothing about anything illegal, that’s for sure. He’s still processing. Let’s not get his panties in a twist over some penny-ante act of ecotage.”

  There was a pause before the other man asked the next question. “Do you think he suspects?”

  “Naw,” Rick said confidently. “Not a chance. He’s clueless.”

  The two men fell silent. Tess supposed this was her opening. She took a cigarette out of her purse, pressed it to her lips, and tapped Rick lightly on the shoulder. “Do you know if smoking is permitted?”

  He peered at her through the smoke-filled air. “If it isn’t, you’d better run, ’cause this shack must be on fire.”

  She smiled seductively. “Got a light?”

  Rick shook his head. “Sorry. I’m not into self-destruction.”

  She set the cigarette on the counter and leaned closer to him. “What are you into?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Tsk, tsk. Answering a question with a question. That’s a bit defensive.”

  “I’ve learned to be.” He started to turn back to his companion. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Tess laid her hand on his shoulder and gently brought him back around. “Please don’t. I’m all alone here, I don’t know anyone, and I’d really like some company.”

  Rick’s expression was decidedly unsympathetic.

  “My name is Tess. What’s yours?”

  “Rick. But then, you knew that already, didn’t you?”

  Tess pulled up, startled. “Wha—what do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean. Who sent you?”

  “Sent me? I just—this was the only place open—”

  “Uh-huh. Right. Look, if you’re snooping for information, just ask. Chances are I won’t tell you squat, but at least we’ll save time and you won’t have to demean yourself by pretending to come on to me.”

  Tess pressed her lips together. Some investigative reporter—it hadn’t taken him two seconds to make her. It was time to retrench.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” she said. She cast her eyes downward. “I didn’t know how to approach you. I just … wanted to talk.”

  “On whose behalf?”

  “Just—for me. I wanted to get to know you.”

  “Like I said, if you’ll excuse me—”

  “Please wait.” She held up her hands and put on her most pathetic expression. “I want to help you.” She glanced at his companion. “All of you.”

  Rick let out a guffaw. “I’m sure. Now I’ve heard everything.”

  “It’s true.” She glanced around the bar, as if checking for spies, then lowered her voice. “I know about the Cabal.”

  Rick’s eyebrows formed a broad ridge over his eyes. “What are you babbling about?”

  “You heard me. I know about them. And I think I have information you could use.”

  “And just what is it you think this Cabal is?”

  “The Cabal is a secret organization formed and funded by a consortium of major logging companies. From what I understand, each of the eight largest companies kicked in a million dollars. They hired a man to lead it, a former CIA operative experienced with dirty tricks. His name is Amos Slade.” She paused. “Although those who know him call him the Prince of Darkness.”

  “And what is it you think this so-called Cabal is supposed to do?”

  “The Cabal was formed for one reason and one reason only—to screw the environmental groups, particularly the so-called eco-terrorists like Green Rage.”

  “And why would they want to do that? We haven’t stopped the logging, as any fool can see.”

  “No, but you have made it more expensive. Most analysts estimate that eco-terrorism costs the logging industry about twenty million a year in lost equipment, derailed plans, overtime, and other related costs. I suppose compared with that, the cost of funding t
he Cabal seemed pretty minor.”

  “So far you haven’t told me anything I don’t already know.”

  “Do you know they’re planning to strike? Strike and strike hard.” Tess tried to keep her eyes locked firmly on his, tried not to give any hint that she had segued from known fact to pure fiction. She had learned about the Cabal, or at least heard rumors about it, during her preliminary research before coming out here. What she didn’t know—had no way of knowing—was what the Cabal planned to do next. Although any educated guesser could anticipate that a strike against Green Rage was imminent.

  Rick was obviously unconvinced. “Lots of people have heard about the Cabal. That doesn’t prove you have any inside information. How do I know this isn’t all some fantasy you’ve cooked up?”

  “They’ve already hit you, haven’t they? Twice, from what I heard.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I know what I’m talking about. Don’t I?”

  Rick hesitated before speaking. “There have been two raids on our camp out in the forest. Minor property damage. No one was hurt.”

  “Those were just warnings—warnings you didn’t heed. The next attack will hurt.”

  Rick batted a finger against his lips. “When will they strike?”

  “I can’t say exactly. But I know it will be soon.”

  “And how do you know all this?”

  Tess lowered her head. If ever in her life she was going to give an Oscar-quality performance, it had better be now. “I—I’m having a relationship with a man in Slade’s organization. One of his most trusted advisers.”

  “A relationship?”

  “An … intimate relationship.”

  “You’re sleeping with someone in the Cabal? And you’re talking to me?”

  “Please try to understand. I’m not a bad person. At least I don’t think I am. I want to do the right thing. And I’m sympathetic to your cause.”

  “I’m supposed to believe that some Cabal piece of ass is a secret environmentalist?”

  “It’s true! I mean—” She paused, trying to create the right effect. “I suppose I wasn’t at first. I’d never really thought about it—forests, trees, nature. Truth is, I never spent much time outdoors. But then when I got involved with John and started seeing what those loggers are doing, I was horrified! They’re just destroying everything. At the rate they’re going, soon there won’t be anything left. And they know that! But they don’t care.”