"Your Honor?" said Swope.
"Just a minute." Judge Bartlebaugh looked across the courtroom at the table where the sketch artist sat. "Ishiko, would you mind sketching a big white whale sitting beside Mr. Shaw at the defense table?"
The artist, a pretty young Japanese woman, glanced up from her work and smiled. "I'll see what I can do." Simon thought her high-pitched voice sounded like the chiming of a bell. She shook wispy black bangs out of her dark eyes and returned her gaze to the sketch pad in front of her.
Simon, however, couldn't look away. He hadn't noticed her much before, but now she made a strong impression. As he watched, she tucked a lock of glossy hair behind her ear, exposing the pale curve of her right cheek and the rose red bud of her lips.
Suddenly, she looked in Simon's direction and met his gaze. Simon's heart raced...and then she looked back down at her work. But as she straightened her top, a floral chiffon blouse with lots of deep blue and indigo, he thought he caught her glancing his way again for a split-second.
Ishiko. The name sifted through his mind like gold dust in a stream. Ishiko.
Judge Bartlebaugh allowed himself a last chuckle and leaned back in his chair. "Greenpeace." He shook his head and cracked his gum. "I can't wait to see what's next."
*****
Chapter 11
130 Million Years Ago
China
The sun was lower in the sky when Grip the dog-thing trudged home, but the wind was still blisteringly hot. Wilted ferns slumped along his rough, dusty path. The usual riot of bugs in the air had calmed to a lazy trickle. The usual cacophony of wailing, shrieking, singing, whistling cries from the forest all around had dropped off to the sluggish croak of a few fading voices. Even the flurry of wild scents always swirling in the air had thinned to a dry, smoky haze. The heat was too much for the lush forest and its countless plant and animal denizens.
After a few more staggering steps through the crackling brush, Grip let go of the dead dinosaur's leg. He hunched for a moment, panting for breath in the heat, the salty, metallic taste of the dino's blood still fresh in his mouth.
Grip's mottled brown and white fur felt heavy against his skin. The journey had taken longer than he'd expected, and he was exhausted...but that wasn't why he let go of the dino. It was something in the air. A scent both familiar and strange, punching through the smoky haze.
Danger.
Crouching low, Grip padded through the ferns and moist loam. Ahead, he could see the mound of his family's den, tucked between the roots of a thick-trunked fir tree.
With every breath, he caught the scent of his beloved mate and pups. He knew them so well, he could single out the scent of each of the six pups and the slightest changes in their furry little bodies.
And the nature of those changes made him shiver.
The truth was, he knew the full story from the first whiffs carried his way on the hot breeze. The picture leaped into his mind in high relief; he could have learned all he needed to know from a distance, sparing himself the sight of it.
But of course he had to see it with his eyes.
There was no longer anything to fear, and Grip knew it, but still he didn't approach the den head-on. He stalked in a rough circle, staying well back, confirming the first readings of his keen senses.
And then he wound his way closer in a tightening spiral.
His lips peeled back, and a low growl rumbled in his throat. The growl stopped when he saw the first of his pups.
It was one of the males. Grip recognized its scent and the light brown fur of its hind legs curled among the ferns. When he parted the green fronds with his muzzle, he saw the rest of it.
The pup's body was torn apart, strewn over a bloody patch of forest litter like a smashed piece of fruit. The meat had been stripped from his bones, the guts scooped out of his ribcage. Tufts of fur wobbled in the breeze, dipped in blood and clinging to the feathery combs of ferns. His little jaws were locked open, as if he'd been screaming for his life at the moment of his death.
The other five pups were the same. Grip found them, one after another, among the wilted ferns--all bloody, all ruptured, all silent.
All dead.
But he didn't start howling until he got to his mate. He didn't throw his head back and cry out his loss and loneliness until he saw her mutilated carcass.
That was when the weight of the day collapsed on top of him. As he sniffed her dry, black nose and nudged her snout with no response, he felt the full force of the change in his life. The sheer feeling of it, all sorrow and fear, finally overtook the facts of what had happened.
And he howled.
The dinosaur he'd killed and dragged home to feed his family lay forgotten in the weeds, crawling with insects. The sun dropped lower in the sky, casting shadows in the brush...throwing the tracks of his family's killers into sharp relief, the signs of the crime.
And the killers' scents flickered into the distance, mocking his grief, calling to him.
Calling as he howled alone until twilight fell, pacing circles around the cold, stiff body of his mate.
*****
Chapter 12
130 Million Years Later
In Court
It was an unusually warm afternoon for mid-April in the mountains of western Pennsylvania, and the heat was rising fast in the Tucker County courthouse. The combined body heat of two hundred or so spectators was filling the vast space of the main courtroom, forcing people to take off jackets, roll up sleeves, and fan themselves with newspapers.
For his part, Simon was sweating as he watched Shaw in action on the witness stand...but Shaw was sweating more. His rough, florid face had a sheen, and his dark hair stuck to his scalp as he answered questions from his attorney, Swope.
Jowls swaying, Swope placed a hand on the edge of the witness stand. Strangely, as overweight as he was, Simon couldn't see a drop of sweat on him. "Would you say, Mr. Shaw, that you were acting out some personal vendetta against Mr. Bellerophon?"
"No way." Horne shook his head, dead serious. "I followed company policy in denying his claim."
Simon squirmed at Horne's show of false sincerity. He heard no sarcasm in Horne's voice and saw no trace of the usual vindictive nastiness on his pockmarked face.
"So you didn't personally know him," said Swope, "and you didn't treat his case as a special exception in any way. You did not single him out for unusual cruelty."
"Correct," said Horne. "He was just another customer. I reviewed his case like I would any other."
Swope clasped his hands over his huge potato sack of a belly. "Is it unusual to deny a claim like that?"
"No," said Horne. "It happens all the time."
"All the time?" said Swope. "Would you say you're inclined or encouraged to deny claims, then?"
"Not at all." Horne scrubbed his fingers through the curly black Brillo pad of his hair. "I look at the evidence carefully each time. More often than not, it supports denying payment."
"And this is your personal judgment?" said Swope.
"It's company policy," said Horne.
"Company policy not to pay?" said Swope.
"We will pay any legitimate claim," said Horne. "It's company policy to minimize claims, however, through a combination of proper delivery techniques and customer acknowledgement."
"'Customer acknowledgement?'" said Judge Bartlebaugh.
Horne shrugged. "We get them to sign releases."
"Would you say that's a sound business practice?" said Swope.
Horne nodded. "Otherwise, our company would be crippled by endless litigation."
"So." Swope cleared his throat. "When Zeke Cutler obtained Mr. Bellerophon's signature on a release, it was company policy. Nothing personal."
"Yes," said Horne.
"And would you say, Mr. Shaw," said Swope, "that you treated Mr. Bellerophon in an abusive manner?"
"The opposite," said Horne. "I don't think I could've been more polite."
"And would yo
u say," said Swope, "that customers sometimes react negatively, without provocation, when their claims are denied?"
Horne nodded. "It's fair to say."
Swope gave Simon a sideways look. "And how would you characterize Mr. Bellerophon's reaction to your denial of his claim? Did he react in a positive manner?"
"No sir," said Horne. "He was pissed."
At that, Quinn shot to his feet. "Objection! Mr. Shaw is not qualified to assess my client's state of mind."
Swope ignored him. "And did Mr. Bellerophon make any threats to your well-being, Mr. Shaw?"
"Not in so many words, no," said Horne.
"Objection!" said Quinn.
Simon shot to his feet beside Quinn. "I never made any threats!"
"Never?" said Judge Bartlebaugh.
"Never!" said Simon.
"That's too bad." Judge Bartlebaugh sighed. "It would've spiced up the story, don't you think?"
Most of the two hundred spectators in the courtroom laughed out loud. So did the court stenographer and bailiff.
"Well?" Judge Bartlebaugh looked around at his audience and twirled a finger in the air. "What happened next?"
"Right, right." Swope shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs, then turned to Horne. "One more question. Why 'dick?' Why you?"
Horne drew an arm across his forehead, wiping off sweat, and shifted in his chair. "I think he blames me for the company's policies. For denying his claim. It gives him someone to take out his frustrations on." Horne shrugged. "It wouldn't be the first time it's happened. I'm used to taking the blame...but I'm not a dick."
"Objection!" said Quinn. "Mr. Shaw is not a mind-reader. He can't testify to my client's intent!"
"Objection sustained," said Judge Bartlebaugh. "But he raises an interesting point. If things don't go your way, do you tend to blame someone else, Mr. Bellerophon?"
"Not as a rule, no," said Simon.
Judge Bartlebaugh blew a pink bubble with his gum and winked. "So if I don't rule in your favor, you're not going to turn around and sue me for being a dick?"
"Absolutely not." Simon shook his head emphatically.
"Wouldn't that be ironic?" Judge Bartlebaugh laughed and got up. "I love this case!"
"Your Honor?" said Swope.
Judge Bartlebaugh walked down the steps and pushed open the door to his chambers. "Court is in recess! Please don't be late coming back from lunch, as I can't wait to see where this trial leads next!"
*****
Chapter 13
In the Courthouse Lunchroom
"Could you turn your head just a little that way?" Simon waved his pencil toward the left. "That'd be awesome, thanks."
Ishiko the courtroom artist, who sat across from him at a table in the basement lunchroom at the courthouse, giggled and turned her head. "Is this better?"
Simon smiled and sketched more lines on the legal pad he'd borrowed from Quinn. He kept it propped against the edge of the table so Ishiko couldn't see his drawing. "Much better." His improvised introduction to her--plopping himself down at her lunchroom table and offering to sketch her--had been a hit so far.
"I kind of like this," said Ishiko. "Being the subject instead of the artist for a change."
"Please don't break your pose." Just as Simon said it, someone bumped into him from behind, knocking him forward against the table. "Like that, for example." He and Ishiko both laughed.
The lunchroom was packed and noisy; it seemed as if all two hundred spectators had decided to have lunch at once. The whole place smelled like the day's special, kolbassi and sauerkraut--not that anyone was likely to complain. Tucker County and its people were known for their Eastern European heritage.
As for Simon, he wasn't about to let the crowd, the smell, or anything else wreck his introduction to lovely Ishiko.
Ishiko tipped her head to one side and gazed at him appraisingly. "You're a man of many talents, aren't you? Not only can you sketch, but that's quite a case you have going on in the courtroom today. I've sat through a lot of trials, but never one like that."
"I'll take that as a compliment," said Simon.
"Do you think you'll win?"
"That depends on if you say 'yes,'" said Simon. "To dinner, I mean."
Ishiko's pale cheeks flushed, and she smiled. "Do you think you'll win the lawsuit?"
"Oh, sorry." Simon added more lines to the sketch with an extra flourish, as if he were an accomplished artist and the drawing were actually a masterpiece instead of a scribbled mess. "I thought we were talking about me asking you out! My mistake."
Ishiko narrowed her dark brown eyes at him. "Are you sure you're an artist? Let me see that sketch a minute."
"Not yet." Simon continued to scribble on the legal pad. "I'm afraid it won't measure up to an original by Ishiko...what's your last name?"
"Yoshida." Ishiko craned her neck, trying for a peek at the sketch. "Ishiko Yoshida."
Simon angled the pad toward him, blocking her view. "What a beautiful name." He smiled at her. "It has a nice rhythm."
Ishiko blushed again and looked at her half-eaten salad, then met his gaze. "Call me Ishi."
Simon's smile widened. "I like that, too."
Ishi cleared her throat. "Your name is interesting, also. 'Bellerophon.' What's the origin?"
"Greek mythology," said Simon. "A great hero and monster slayer."
"Cool." Ishi nodded. "So you're Greek then? Your parents are Greek?"
"Not at all." Simon added more scribbles to the sketch. "It's not my birth name. I picked it years ago, when I changed my name."
"I see." Ishi's voice softened, and she frowned.
A little mystery wasn't a bad thing, but Simon decided to lighten the tone again. "I needed a new start, what with my artistic career and all."
Ishi grinned. "And here you are, sketching me...and fighting monsters. Or should I say dicks?"
The more Simon listened to Ishi's chiming voice, the more he loved it. It was music to his ears, even through the clamor of the two hundred or so voices in the basement lunchroom. "Don't know if I'll slay that monster, though. Horne Shaw seems to be making more points with the judge."
"You never know, Simon," said Ishi. "I've been a courtroom sketch artist for three years, and I've seen lots of strange things happen."
"Ishi," said Simon. "Will you be my 'either way?'"
Ishi gave him a funny look. "What's an 'either way?'"
"Go out with me whatever happens in court," said Simon. "Either help me celebrate a win or feel better after a loss. Either way."
Ishi narrowed her eyes in a measuring gaze. As she stared at him, Simon focused all his willpower on guiding her answer, wishing up a 'yes.'
She was even prettier sitting across the table from him than sitting all the way across the courtroom. He had to see her again...but the heat was on. If Judge Bartlebaugh resolved the case today, Simon might never have another chance to win her over.
"Well?" said Simon.
"Okay." Ishi grinned and shrugged. "I'll be your 'either way.' But remember, I don't sketch on a first date."
"Phone number, please," said Simon. She told him, and he wrote it at the bottom of the scribbled page.
"Now let's see that sketch of me!" Ishi got up and grabbed for the legal pad, barely missing.
"Seriously, it needs work." Simon clutched the pad, hiding the scribbled top sheet against his chest. "Lots of work."
Ishi came after him, grinning and reaching for the pad. Simon backed up a few steps, then stopped dead when he ran into someone.
Turning, he saw it was Quinn.
"Judge Bartlebaugh's back." Quinn's expression was unreadable. "It might be time for a verdict."
"Okay," said Simon.
"Whatever happens, we tried our best," said Quinn. "Remember that. You'll be all right."
"Absolutely." Simon winked at Ishi. "I'll be fine either way."
*****
Chapter 14
In Court
"To dick or not
to dick," said Judge Bartlebaugh. "That is the question."
Laughter rippled through the crowd of spectators packing the overheated courtroom. There were more people spectating than before, though Simon was too nervous to sit and count them. He guessed between fifty and a hundred more had joined the first two hundred.
Simon wasn't one of the ones who were laughing, and neither was Quinn. Cool sweat trickled down Simon's sides as he sat beside Quinn and listened to the judge. He had no idea what to expect; Bartlebaugh's face gave away nothing except amusement at his own quips.
At least Ishi was in the courtroom. Stealing glances at her was the only thing keeping Simon from having a nervous breakdown as he waited to hear the verdict.
"On the one hand," said Judge Bartlebaugh, "this court cannot and should not provide a forum for every citizen with a personal ax to grind."
Simon suddenly had a sinking feeling. He looked at Quinn, but Quinn kept staring at Bartlebaugh and offered no support. He looked at Horne, but Horne was just sneering in delight that made him feel worse.
"However," said Judge Bartlebaugh, "I do believe there is merit to the idea of extending the public nuisance statute to include individuals. I, for one, can think of a long list of individuals to whom a warning label of some sort should be applied."
Just like that, the tone of Bartlebaugh's remarks changed gear. Just like that, the certainty of utter defeat became something else.
Something so unexpected, it was almost frightening.
Quinn dropped his pen on the floor and didn't move to pick it up. Simon gaped with a glazed expression at the judge, afraid to move a muscle lest he break the spell.
"That said, I also believe this sets a dangerous precedent," said Judge Bartlebaugh. "A potentially disastrous one."
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