Phoenix

by Roy A. Teel, Jr.

  He opened the bottle of soda and said, “You’re right. I dispatched them quickly because someone else had been torturing them mentally and physically. Do you know anything about that?”

  Sara sipped her coffee and said, “Well … I did ask Barbara to help me out with the two of them. It seems Barb had a most unhappy situation with Mr. Koswick.”

  John took a drink of his soda and said, “You don’t say. I got some of that from him as I was ‘drilling’ home my point about mistreating his female clients.”

  “And Ms. Hyde?”

  John sat back and said, “Well, Ms. Hyde … that was a whole other issue. I ground and ground on her over Howard and the notes that he left about how she was blackmailing him with his past.”

  Sara finished off her coffee and asked, “So, the Eagle was able to make his point with those two?”

  John smiled and said, “Oh yes … in the end it was a really, really hot experience for the two of them. They won’t be joining us on the barge.”

  She nodded and said, “Well, it’s nearly eight a.m. If you want to get those other folks offloaded, you need to do it fast. It’s smells like shit out by the boat house.”

  It was the day before Thanksgiving, and Judge Larry Robinson had slammed down his gavel to adjourn for the long weekend. He called to his bailiff and asked for the docket for Monday. He took the documents back to his office, and after throwing his robe on the couch, sat down in his leather chair when he heard Jim O’Brian’s voice from behind him.

  “So … you want to tell me about the dead bailiff at Judge Walker’s courtroom and the attempt on Judge Walker’s life?” Larry held the docket papers up to his face as he responded to Jim.

  “I was wondering when someone was going to ask about that.”

  Jim laughed and pulled a cigarette he had behind his ear out and lit it and then snapped his Zippo shut and said, “The fact that you mentioned the bailiff’s murder to me when I first came to see you told me everything. So, you were trying to get rid of Alice the whole time?”

  Larry put down the papers and took a cigarette out of a pack he had sitting on his desk and said, “With the releases of information that have been coming out through anonymous sources about ALL KINDS OF SHIT going on in the Los Angeles and country’s legal world, I figured I would just lay low, Jimmy. No sense in rocking the boat now, is there?”

  Jim took a deep drag off his cigarette and said, “I guess not. In the end, Alice Walker got what she deserved. The Iron fuckin’ Eagle uncovered a hornet’s nest of corruption, and Howard Cohen is the man we have to thank for a suitcase full of documents that are being leaked out slowly and steadily, taking down lawyer after lawyer and law firm after law firm.”

  Larry lit his cigarette and took a deep drag off of it and laughed and said blowing smoke out his nose, “Yeah, I guess we have old Howard to thank for uncovering and shedding light on the corruption of the judiciary and the fuckin’ blood-sucking lawyers who make up its backbone.”

  Jim finished off his cigarette and asked Larry, “Did you enjoy that little fishing trip that the Eagle took us out on?”

  Larry laughed and said, “There is nothing like the smell of the sea in the air and the sound of corrupt lawyers heading down into the deep.”

  Jim started laughing and said, “I also understand that congratulations are in order. You got Alice’s appointment to the ninth circuit court.”

  “Well, ain’t that the damnedest thing, Jimmy? I was getting ready to retire, and I get a damn call out of the blue letting me know that I have confirmation hearings the beginning of December … if I accept the president’s appointment.”

  Jim held his cigarette between his teeth as he fidgeted with his shoe on Larry’s desk. “Are you thinking of refusing the appointment?”

  “Now, I ask you, Jimmy. What type of litigator and judge would I be if I turned down the President of these United States?”

  Jim stubbed out his cigarette and said, “A piss fuckin’ poor one, Larry, a piss fuckin’ poor one. Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

  “What?”

  “There’s going to be an honest fuckin’ judge in the federal judiciary! Do you think it’s a first?”

  Larry laughed and said, “I don’t know, Jimmy. You know what they say … power corrupts.”

  Jim nodded his head and asked, “What are you doing for turkey day?”

  “Well, I picked me up one of those special turkey TV dinners and was going to enjoy it with my cat.”

  Jim stood up and said, “You’re eating with Barb and me tomorrow night. Be at my place at three.” Jim turned to walk away but stopped and said, “I have two questions and a comment for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “What did you do with the bailiff?”

  Larry sat back in his chair and said, “I can tell you, Jimmy, but then I would have to kill you.”

  Jim laughed, and asked, “White meat or dark?”

  “Dark meat; what else?”

  Jim leaned down on Larry’s desk and said, “I have an old friend of ours staying with me and Barbara for a few days. You might remember her. Violet Harper?”

  Larry nodded slowly with a smile on his face, “I remember Violet. Does she still have a thing for John?”

  Jim shook his head and said, “That’s old news. She just gave her resignation at Koswick, Harold, Parody, and Swan and has an application in with the FBI.”

  “No fuckin’ shit. Do you think John has room for yet another greenhorn agent?”

  Jim was putting his jacket on as he answered, “Not my problem, Larry. I’m so out of here the end of January.”

  “Rumor has it Sam Pritchard roped you into a six-month consulting deal.”

  “Yeah, well, she’ll be at dinner tomorrow night. Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”

  Larry laughed as Jim opened the door to his chambers and was walking out. He called to him and said, “You know what they call a hundred lawyers at the bottom of the sea?”

  Jim let out a laugh and said, “Yeah … a good start!”

  Larry laughed out loud and said, “Nope. Fish food!” Larry could hear Jim laughing as he walked down and out of the hall.

  Pray

  The Iron Eagle Series: Book Thirteen

  Prologue

  It was just after three a.m. when the blue Suburban pulled on to Dominica Avenue in Lake View Terrace. The SUV passed several houses and a large well known horse stable before turning at a fork in the road and heading in the direction of some local hiking trails in the Los Angeles suburb. The SUV was raised up, which allowed it to cover rugged terrain as it climbed several steep embankments off road before stopping with its high beams on on a desolate trail far away from any lights or population. The driver walked to the back of the vehicle and pulled open the rear door. Hal Styles lie nude on the carpet of the SUV, his feet and wrists wrapped in duct tape. His mouth was duct taped as well, and his muffled screams could be heard as his sedative was wearing off.

  His eyes were wide when the flashlight of his assailant met his face in the blackness of the truck. He tried to kick his legs and feet, but they were taped as well, and the more he strained the more pain he felt as the tape tore the hair off his nude skin. His assailant put down the flashlight and grabbed him by the back of the head and pulled him out of the vehicle and dropped his body on the hard, cold ground. Hal stared up at the flashlight moving around the back of the SUV and heard the sound of chains and steel striking the ground.

  The moon was full and high in the sky, and Hal watched as his captor walked out into the blackness. He watched the shadowed figure and flashlight until they disappeared together over a small hill, and he heard the faint sound of coyotes in the distance calling out to one another. He struggled against the tape and the drugs in his body until his captor returned, grabbed his short black hair, and started to drag him through the dark
ness.

  His struggles only made things worse, and he felt his body lift off the December ground and then felt it smash down again on a thorny, harsh surface. Quietly, his captor moved around, and Hal felt his wrists release from the tape. He tried to lash out, only to be kicked in the head as his right arm was pulled out of its socket, and he felt cold steel around his wrist. He screamed through the tape in pain and fear as his captor systematically pulled each arm and leg in different directions until all he felt was the ground and the cold steel on his wrists and ankles. His captor moved over him with his flashlight and pulled the tape off his mouth.

  “Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing? Please. I’m begging you. Let me go!” The sound of the coyotes and their calls drew closer, and Hal smelled a rotten odor and then felt a cold splash on his torso. “Oh God … Oh God … help ME. Someone, anyone, please help me!”

  “You can call all you like, Mr. Styles. No one can hear you scream out here.”

  Hal lifted his head and pulled against the chains that were now restraining him to the ground and asked, “Who the hell are you? I answered your ad in the paper. I gave you the sex you wanted. Why are you doing this to me?” The smell was horrific, and Hal asked, “What the hell is all over my stomach?”

  “A mixture of things, Mr. Styles. Beef and hog blood that has been in the sun for some days along with livestock innards to give you that just right smell.”

  Hal screamed out, “Right smell for WHAT?” The coyotes were even closer now, and he saw movement in the shadows of the full moon’s light just a few feet away.

  “I will shine the light around, so you can see what’s out there, Hal. I think you’re really going to love it. It’s the majesty of nature.” The shadowy figure shined the light into the black, and Hal could see the eyes of the coyotes shining back at him. His captor said, “The shine you see in those eyes is called tapetum lucidum in veterinary circles. You see, dog’s eyes, much like a cat’s, reflect light, so they can see better in darkness. Aren’t they magnificent creatures?”

  Hal looked into the hungry and ravenous eyes of the animals who were starting to gather near him and said, “No … dear God! They are not beautiful. You’re scaring the hell out of me. Please. In the name of all that is holy, let me go!” His captor laughed and moved several feet away and sat down on a small rock outcropping as Hal asked, “For God’s sake, what are you doing?”

  “Feeding the local wildlife, Mr. Styles. Well … you’re going to do that, but I get to sit here and watch. Don’t worry. They will be timid at first because I am sitting so close, and I, of course, have this light and a camera, so I can film the events. They will settle in and start eating in a few minutes.”

  Hal let out a yell as one of the animals came near him and nipped his left side below the ribs. He called out again to God.

  “You call out to a deity. This God person. Is he/she supposed to help you?”

  Hal continued to cry out as two more animals emerged from the darkness and bit deeply into his sides. “I pray … Jesus, save me.”

  His captor looked around and said, “I don’t see anyone but you and me. I don’t see anyone coming down out of the sky. Maybe you should pray harder.”

  No sooner had his attacker said it then three coyotes jumped onto his chest, and two started tearing at his midsection as the third stood staring down into his terrified eyes. Hal was screaming, and his captor said, “You see, Hal. I told you it might take a moment or two, but they are settling in. Now they can eat. You’re going to love it. They start eating you from the soft belly and then work their way out. You’re probably going to feel a bit of pain for a while until they get a major artery or organ.”

  Hal’s screams and pleading went unheeded. Flesh was flying, and his captor was laughing as more and more coyotes joined in the kill. Hal was screaming through blood and saliva that was rising up in his throat. His abdomen was ripped wide open, and his intestines were being drug off while others were standing on or around him eating his internal organs. His cries became weaker and weaker as the growls and snarls of the animals began to drown out his screams and his life.

  His captor sat back laughing and watching as chunks of Hal’s abdomen were ripped out in a feeding frenzy. Once or twice, the animals moved in the direction of his abductor, but a shot of pepper spray stopped them in their tracks, and they want back to their feast. Hal let out a loud howl as one of the animals ripped into his liver, and his captor said, “There it is. I was waiting for your death howl. Twenty minutes. It took them twenty minutes to get deep enough into you, Hal. Wow! I bet that hurts like hell.”

  Hal’s eyes were dilating as his lips moved and one of the larger coyotes put his teeth around Hal’s throat and began to rip it out. His captor stood up and drove the animals back with pepper spray and a taser. When the dogs were clear of Hal’s body, his captor looked into his dead eyes and said, “I don’t know about you, Hal, but this has been a most entertaining night and morning. Well, it’s half past four. I need to be getting home.” There was a step back and then a laugh. “Oh, don’t get up. I will see myself back to my truck. Thank you for a wonderful time. The sex was great, and the feeding made the whole night one hell of a climax.”

  Hal’s captor pulled up the steel stakes and removed the restraints from his wrists and ankles while speaking to his lifeless body. Once the steel was back in the captor’s hands, the flashlight probed the darkness heading back to the SUV. And as the engine started and the vehicle drove off, the animals came back in to feed, tearing and ripping at Hal’s flesh. The only sound was the growling of the animals over the carcass on the ground.

  Jim O’Brian was standing on top of the small hill several feet from where a hiker out for an afternoon run had found the mutilated remains of Hal Styles. Two of his deputies were interviewing the distraught young woman. Jim stood smoking a cigarette while Sam, Jade, and Jessica worked the crime scene. There was no media. No onlookers or gawkers. Just a few CSI team members from the Sheriff’s office taking pictures and making notes.

  Jade pulled out a small tablet from her blue smock and put Hal’s remaining fingertips onto the screen and pressed them down firmly. His face was unrecognizable as was the rest of what remained. Jade pressed a button, and in a matter of seconds, she called out to Jim and asked, “Have you called John?”

  Jim took a deep hit off the cigarette and asked, “Why the fuck would I call John? This is my jurisdiction for just a little more than a month then its Sam’s problem. This is not a federal problem.”

  Jade lifted the small tablet in her hand and said, “Well, it is now. This guy’s name is Hal Styles, and he’s an agent with the U.S. Marshals Service.”

  Jim threw the cigarette on the ground and walked over to Jade, blowing the smoke from his lungs and said, “Hal Styles? Fuckin’ Hal Styles? Jesus Christ! You put a call in to John. I have to call Barbara. This situation just went from interesting to one fucked up mess.”

  Sam looked at Jim as he held the cell phone to his ear waiting for Barbara to answer and asked, “Who the hell is Hal Styles?”

  Jim was about to respond when Barbara answered the phone. “Good morning, Jimmy. Only a few short weeks and we will be able to have breakfast together in the middle of the week.”

  Jim was quiet for a moment then said, “Yes, Barb, that’s true. I have some devastating news, and I wanted you to hear it from me.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m on a murder scene, and the victim is Hal Styles.” Jim heard Barbara’s cell phone hit the kitchen floor, and he called out to dead air. Jade was on her cell phone, and Jim asked, “Are you talking to John?” Jade nodded, and Jim said, “Tell him to get over to my house right away. I think Barbara just passed out.” Jim called once or twice into the cell phone, and he could hear crying in the distance. He hung up the phone and said, “Barb will be coming to the scene with John, so get a tarp over what’s left of H
al.”

  Sam looked at Jim and asked, “Did you know him?”

  Jim pulled a cigarette from his top left pocket while nodding his head. He lit the cigarette and took a few deep hits off of it and said, “Yes and no. Not really. Only by name and reputation. But Barbara knew him very, very well.”

  “How well?”

  Jim took another hit off the cigarette and said, “He was her boss for twenty years … so, pretty fuckin’ well.”

  About the Author

  Roy A Teel Jr. is the author of several books, both nonfiction and fiction. He became disabled due to Progressive Multiple Sclerosis in 2011 and lives in Lake Arrowhead, CA with his wife, Tracy, their tabby cat, Oscar, and their Springer Spaniel, Sandy.