Ben rose, clutching his aching stomach. “Nice work with the chair, Marshall. You really know how to make that thing move.”
He smiled a little. “It’s my legs that are shot, not my arms. Who is this creep, anyway?”
Ben took a long look. “Darrin Cooper. We met at a restaurant a few nights ago.”
“Is he…?”
“Yeah. Veronica Cooper’s father.”
“Oh.” Much of the anger drained from Bressler’s face. “Well, that’s different.”
“Yeah.”
One of the security guards addressed Ben. “We’ll take him to our holding cell, sir. But we’ll need you to come in and sign a complaint.”
Ben waved his hand in the air. “I don’t want to press charges.”
The guard stiffened. “Sir, this is a federal courthouse. We take any threat to security very seriously. We can’t allow-”
“I’m not pressing charges,” Ben said firmly. “Just don’t let the man in again, okay?”
The guard frowned, obviously not happy. “As you wish, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“This isn’t over, Kincaid,” Cooper snarled, glaring with his weird walleyed expression. “You can’t go on working for the devil forever. There will be a reckoning!”
“With all due respect,” Ben replied, “I think you need some grief counseling. In the worst possible way. I hope you’ll take this chance I’ve given you to get some.”
“Don’t pretend kindness to me. You’re doing Satan’s work. Helping the man who butchered my little girl!”
Eventually the guards hauled Cooper out of earshot.
“Is that smart?” Bressler asked. “Not preferring charges? He doesn’t have to get into the courtroom to get to you. How long till he shows up again to deliver another fist-o-gram?”
“The man lost his daughter,” Ben said simply.
“The man barely knew his daughter,” Christina interjected.
Ben nodded. “And that probably makes it worse.”
Although there were several people in the private apartment, none of them looked up when Lucille entered, Loving and Daily close behind. In fact, no one even seemed to notice. They were in worlds of their own.
Loving heard a stream of air escape from Daily’s lips. “Amber,” he whispered.
There was a long sofa in the center of the room, parallel to a glass-topped coffee table littered with spoons and bongs and all kinds of drug paraphernalia. Various overstuffed chairs seemed randomly scattered throughout the room, most of them bearing men or mostly naked women-correction: girls-sprawled across them, all of the girls bearing heavy-lidded expressions, focused intently on some far-off place. One of them was bent forward over the back of a chair; the man standing behind had her hair in his fist and was pounding her with a steady, nauseating rhythm.
On the sofa, a thin, ashen-complexioned man sat with his legs crossed, a relaxed smile on his face, staring at nothing. Lying beside him, with her head buried in his lap, was a young woman wearing a man’s shirt, naked from the waist down. Loving recognized her from the pictures he’d seen. It was Amber.
“My God,” Daily whispered. He seemed unable to move, barely able to speak.
“It’s like goddamn Reefer Madness,” Lucille said under her breath.
Loving peered across the room, sickened, stunned, wondering what to do first, or next, or at all. The guards posted on the inside of the room were ignoring them, just as they no doubt had been trained to ignore everything that went on in here. But he didn’t kid himself that he could get Amber out. He’d never make it to the stairs.
And the other problem was that Amber so clearly did not want out.
“Goddammit!” shouted the man behind the chair. Apparently he’d finished. “God, Vicky, that’s good. You want some of this, Randy?”
The man on the sofa did not alter his placid expression. “Been there, done that.”
“How ’bout yours? She ready to go again?”
“What do you think, my darling?” He put his finger under Amber’s chin and turned her head to face him. “Ready for some sloppy seconds?”
Loving held Daily back with the flat of his hand.
She squirmed and stretched like a kitten, her eyes barely open. “Don’t… know…”
“Daddy’ll give you a little something more. Just to help you along.”
“Yeah?” She slid off the sofa, curled up at his feet, and began to lick his hand. “Love Daddy.” Chest extended, she shoved her tongue into his mouth. The kiss, if you could call it that, lasted for an eternity. Loving restrained Daily for the duration.
With a twitchy abruptness that made Loving’s heart jump, the man on the sofa adjusted his gaze, apparently noticing the newcomers for the first time. He scanned Lucille, top to bottom, then smiled. “Want some X?” he slurred.
Lucille got her game together quick. She moved forward with an unsubtle body language that made it clear she had come to join the party. “You talkin’ Ecstasy?”
He shook his head. “That’s for the losers out there. We got the real X. The good stuff. Oxy.”
OxyContin, Loving thought silently. A prescription pain reliever, basically morphine. And creeps like this one often mixed it with Spanish fly or other date rape drugs to make sure their prey got high and happy and submissive.
The man on the sofa rolled his hazy eyes. “So you want some or what?”
“I guess I could take a hit,” Lucille answered.
“Hey!” Amber said. She sat upright, exposing herself. “I thought it wasss for me!” Apparently she was so far gone she didn’t even recognize Lucille.
“There’s plenty for everyone,” the man on the sofa assured her.
“Cool,” Lucille said. “Hit me.”
“All you got to do is join the party. Come sit in my lap, beautiful.”
Lucille did as she was told. Loving cringed, but he tried to comfort himself with the thought that she was used to doing disgusting things she didn’t much like. The man on the sofa poured a white powder out of a vial into a spoon, then held the flame of a lighter beneath the spoon. As he stared at the flame, his pupils dilated. “Doin’ a little cookin’, bitchcakes. Gonna let you lick the spoon.”
“You sshould let me go firsst!” Amber said, sounding like a petulant drunk.
The man set down the spoon for a moment and brought the flame next to her face. She screamed.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he said flatly. “Just keep your ass on the floor and lick my hand.”
Again, Loving kept Daily in check. The man on the sofa returned to his chemistry.
“What’s with your friends?” the man asked Lucille, glancing toward Loving and Daily.
She tried to smile. “They’re just looking for a good time.”
“Are they cops?” He turned slightly toward Loving. “Are you cops?”
Loving took the succinct route. “No.”
“You have to tell me if you are. Otherwise I can get you for entrapment.”
Loving remained stone-faced. Bless television for the stupid ideas it put into the heads of slugs like him.
The man turned his bleary gaze back to Lucille. “Little old for you, aren’t they?”
“I… think they like younger action,” she replied.
He grinned. “Then they’ve come to the right place.” He looked up, his eyes barely focused. “I can give you some X, for yourself or whoever, but it’ll cost you. I don’t get this stuff for free, you know.”
“How do you get it?” Lucille asked. “You got a doctor?”
“Sweetheart-I am a doctor. I can get all I want.” He handed Lucille the spoon.
Amber was too stoned to be smart. “I sssaid, I want to go first!” She reached for the spoon, but the man grabbed her arm, then slapped her across the face, so hard she fell on top of the coffee table. The glass cracked.
Loving wasn’t fast enough this time. Daily tore across the room. “You son of a bitch. I’m taking my daughter out of
here, and if you try to stop me I’ll tear you apart!”
The two bodyguards were on him in a heartbeat. Damn! Loving swore silently. This is wrong, all wrong. But he had no choice. He rushed forward just in time to trip one of the guards before he got to Daily. While he was down, Loving stomped on the nerve center of the back of his neck. One down. The other one, unfortunately landed a roundhouse punch to the back of Daily’s head.
All hell broke loose. The orgy was over; everyone moved at once. Even though most of them were dulled by drugs, they could turn into feral beasts with astonishing rapidity. Daily moved toward Amber, but the remaining guard blocked his way. Lucille tried to help him, but one of the other men swatted her with the flat of his hand. She tumbled to the floor. Then the two bodyguards from outside the door came racing inside.
Loving knew he had to hurry. He jumped over the coffee table and, before the guard pummeling Daily could react, thrust a fist square onto his nose. Blood spurted everywhere. The guard dropped to the floor like an anvil.
The man on the sofa wrapped his arm around Amber’s neck. Loving gave him a chop just below the ribs; as soon as he loosened his grip Loving grabbed Amber by the arm and pulled her up to her shaky feet.
“Run,” he said. “Understand me? Get out of here. Fast!”
He wanted to say more, but was interrupted by a chair busted across his back. Loving fell across the table and onto the sofa, knocking drug paraphernalia everywhere.
His back ached as if it were broken. He could see that Daily had clocked the creep who was doing Vicky, but two of the bodyguards were converging on him, one on each side of the overstuffed chair. Loving forced himself up, his back screaming in pain. He stumbled across the room, grabbed one of the men by the arm, and gave him a quick jab to the solar plexus. While he was doubled over, Loving kneed him in the chin. He went tumbling backward and smashed into the wall.
One left. Loving was in such pain it hurt to move, but he knew Daily wouldn’t be able to take the man out himself. While Daily kept him occupied, mostly by acting as a punching bag, Loving raced behind him. Not very sporting, hitting a man from behind, but at the moment Loving didn’t care. There was no telling how long it would be before one of the goons on the floor got up or more arrived. Loving swiveled his foot around and knocked the man’s knees out from under him. Another blow to the front of the knees and he was down, howling in agony.
Loving leaned against the big overstuffed chair, heaving, gasping for air. He hadn’t fought like that in ages, and for a reason. He didn’t like to fight, didn’t like to put himself into situations where it was necessary. A smart man always has an alternative, that’s what Ben said. But when you’re traveling with an idiot who’s worried about his daughter, all bets are off.
Amber cowered beside the sofa. “Get your daughter,” Loving huffed. “Get her out of here before it’s too late.”
But Daily didn’t move. What the hell-? Loving pushed himself up, his back complaining bitterly.
Daily was pointing behind him.
He’d forgotten about the stonehead jerkoff on the sofa, dammit. He seemed so drugged and weak-
But even drugged and weak can be dangerous when it’s holding a gun.
“Put that away,” Loving bellowed. “You’ll miss, and after you do I’ll rip your throat out.”
The man’s hyperdilated eyes didn’t blink. “Die,” he said simply.
“Randy, no!” Amber threw herself across the sofa and grabbed the gun. “No!”
When the gun fired, her scream was like an ice pick piercing Loving’s brain.
12
W ith about half an hour to go before the trial resumed, Ben motioned Christina into an empty jury room. She wasn’t surprised. Even though they had been over everything a thousand times, she knew his personal insecurity levels were riding so high that he had an intense need to run through it again-not so much for her benefit as for his own peace of mind. As if there were such a thing as peace of mind when a trial was in progress, much less one of this magnitude.
“We couldn’t just whisper in the hallway?” Christina asked. She had gone the extra mile this morning, perfecting her makeup, her hair, selecting her clothes. The cerulean blue of her jacket matched her vivid eyes and contrasted perfectly with her radiant red hair. No doubt about it-thanks to time, observation, and the Yoda-like influence of Ben’s mother, she had learned how to dress herself up. When she wanted to.
“Did you see how many reporters are in the corridor? Those high-powered microphones can pick up anything. And Marshall told me that Amanda was on the warpath. Apparently she disagrees with our decision not to cross yesterday’s witness.”
“How can we conduct a defense when we have a spin doctor analyzing every decision based upon how it will play on the evening news?”
“By avoiding her as much as possible. I’ve asked the appeals expert Glancy hired to babysit her. It’s not like he has anything else to do.” Ben placed his hand firmly on her shoulder. “So, you understand what you need to do next?”
“Perfectly. Are you ready to cross the distinguished senator for the opposition?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be. There’s not that much I can accomplish.”
“You can prevent it from becoming any more lurid than necessary. This case has already had enough luridage. The courtroom should be declared a lurid-free zone.”
“We’re down on lurid.”
“Very.” She paused. “I mean, in the courtroom. In real life, between consenting adults, that’s a different matter.”
She leaned a little closer. Just before her lips reached his, Ben raised his hand. “Christina, we have to stay focused.”
“I am focused,” she said, her lips still hovering a breath away from his. “Oh-you mean on the trial.”
“Yes, I mean on the trial. We have to be at peak efficiency, free of distractions. A well-oiled litigating machine.”
“Right.” She sighed, then drew away. “That’s always been my dream.”
“You know the plan. Let’s get out there and make it happen.”
She nodded, gathering her briefcase and following him out of the jury room. It was just dandy, she thought, that he’d mapped out this wonderful master plan for the case. But what was his plan for her?
Marie Glancy sat in the backseat of the limousine, her hand covering her eyes. Christina climbed in beside her, although given the size of the car they could be two feet apart and still both be in the backseat. Fortunately, the windows were tinted black so none of the countless onlookers staked out in Glancy’s Glen could see inside. Only the chauffeur was in visual range, and Christina could see he had been trained to be discreet. More than discreet, in fact. Invisible.
“I just can’t do it,” Marie said, her voice quavering. “I thought I could. I got dressed and came out here, fully prepared to march into that courtroom and do what you want me to do. But when I arrived, when I saw all those people lined up on the steps, all those cameras circling like vultures, ready to pounce on the slightest sign of weakness-I lost it.”
“Marie,” Christina said, “this is really not a matter that’s open to debate. You have to go back into the courtroom. It’s important that the jury see that you still support your husband.”
“The jury saw me running out of the room in tears.”
“And they will understand that. Any one of them might have done the same. When you return, it will be a sign that you’ve forgiven your husband’s indiscretion. That you’ve reconciled. That you’re still behind him one hundred and ten percent.”
“Which is hogwash. All of it.” Christina noted that the woman was able to cry, even to dab her tears, without ever once smudging her makeup. “There’s been no reconciliation. We haven’t even talked about it.”
“If I may be blunt, Marie, I don’t care about the reality of the situation. All I care about is what those jurors see. And what I want them to see is you, back there, in that courtroom.”
The woman’s eyes were misti
ng. “You don’t understand. You just don’t understand.”
Christina reached out and touched her hand. “I want to.”
Marie shook her head, brushing away the tears. “Did you listen to the news reports last night? Did you hear what they were saying about me? About Todd’s political future?”
“Sorry, I had work to do. But if you don’t come back into the courtroom, I can’t imagine that he has any political future.”
“Maybe that’s for the best,” she said quietly. “Maybe we’d all be happier.”
“Marie, I’m sorry, but we just don’t have time for this speculation and hand-wringing. Court will be back in session in less than ten minutes. And you have to be there.”
“No. I’m sorry. I understand what you’re saying and I’m sure you’re right. But I just can’t do it.”
“Do you want your husband to be convicted?” Christina hadn’t meant to shout, but her voice came out much louder than she had intended. The question hung in the cold air between them like a poisonous balloon.
“Of course I don’t.”
“Then get over it already and get in there. Because if you don’t, you’ll do him more damage than any witness the prosecution has put on the stand or ever will.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not. As strong as the prosecution’s case may seem, they don’t have an eyewitness. They have to rely on circumstantial evidence and character testimony. But they couldn’t buy character testimony any more damning than what you’ll deliver if you don’t appear in court today. That’s the bottom line, Marie.” She leaned forward, eliminating the possibility of Marie averting her eyes. “If you don’t want your husband to die, you’ll march your fanny back into that courtroom. Pronto.”
“Get an ambulance!” Loving screamed, but no one was moving fast enough for him. He rammed the cell phone into Daily’s hand and punched 9-1-1 for him. After that, he grabbed the gun from where it had fallen, ran out to the top of the stairs, and fired three shots into the ceiling. The crowd panicked; everyone ran for the door. Good. Loving wanted the place clear when the ambulance made the scene. There was a small risk of someone being trampled in the rush to get out the doors, but at this point he couldn’t get too worked up about a decrease in the global Goth population.
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