Perfect Justice bk-4

by William Bernhardt

  After they left, Banner helped Ben to his feet. “I’m sorry that had to happen.”

  “Not your fault. Appreciate the assist. Lucky you happened by.”

  “It wasn’t luck. We’ve been assigned to protect you.”

  “Assigned?”

  “By Grand Dragon Dunagan. He knew they’d try something like this. And if not them, someone else. Unfortunately, Mr. Kincaid, you made many enemies when you took Donny’s case.

  So he was learning. “Well, anyway, thanks. See you later.”

  “Oh, no,” Banner explained. “I don’t think you understand. We’re supposed to stick to you like glue. We’re your bodyguards.”

  “My—” Ben tried not to react visibly. “Look, I’m grateful, but I need to conduct some interviews this morning. I don’t think anyone’s going to talk to me if I’m surrounded by three huge ASP men.”

  “Oh, you might be surprised,” Banner said, pounding a fist into his palm. “We can be very persuasive.”

  “That kind of persuasion I don’t need. Uh—because it could get my evidence tossed out by the judge,” he added quickly. “Look, why don’t you gentlemen relax in that bar across the street. The Bluebell. Stretch out, have a drink or two. If I need help, I’ll know where to find you.”

  “Well …” Ben could almost see the gears turning in Banner’s brain. “I suppose that would be all right. If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

  “I’m sure. And hey, thanks again.”

  Ben watched as his bodyguards crossed the street. Good God, he told himself. I voted for Clinton. I’m a member of the ACLU. And now I have bodyguards assigned by the Anglo-Saxon Patrol.

  It was then that the full irony of his situation hit Ben like a thunderbolt. As a result of this case, his entire world had turned topsy-turvy. The people he found reprehensible were his friends. The people he sympathized with were his enemies. Correction: they were the opposition.

  He was the enemy.

  8.

  BEN THOUGHT IT MIGHT be prudent to get off the streets for a while, just to make sure Garth and company had cooled off. Following the hint his ASP bodyguard had provided, he decided to pay a visit to the “Vietcong-loving lawyers down the street.” He sprinted to the corner and turned into their streetfront office.

  The office was small and barely decorated at all—just a few desks and card tables. The walls displayed posters and the tables were topped with brochures. Boldface print demanded AN END TO HATE and STOP ORGANIZED EVIL. It looked more like a lobbyist’s office than a lawyer’s. Ben expected someone to shove a petition in his face and ask for a dollar.

  “May I help you please?”

  Ben saw a brunette head rise over one of the desks in the back. He approached; the woman met him halfway.

  She was on the tall side—taller than Ben actually, as he noticed almost immediately. Her hair was cropped at the shoulders; her trim figure indicated that she didn’t spend her entire life behind a desk. And she was extremely attractive.

  “I’m Ben Kincaid,” he said, extending his hand. “Is this the Hatewatch office?”

  “Can there be any doubt?” She grinned, gesturing toward the propaganda on the walls and tables. Her sweet southern accent told Ben she was not an Arkansas native. “I’m Belinda Hamilton. I’m in charge here. I don’t do the decorating, however. My two assistants get overzealous at times.”

  She shook his hand firmly. “You don’t look like a Silver Springs native.”

  “I’m not,” Ben answered. “I live in Tulsa—I’m on vacation. I’m a lawyer, and when I heard about what was going on—”

  “You decided to drop by and check us out. Great. I can use all the help I can get.”

  She hadn’t understood at all, but Ben decided to leave it alone for the moment. “Are you assisting the prosecution with the Vick case?”

  “I’m planning to conduct my own independent investigation. The prosecution has not requested our assistance. They seem to think they have the case under control.”

  “Really,” Ben said, trying not to sound too interested. “They have strong evidence against this kid?”

  “So I’ve been told. Vick’s hatred of the Vietnamese is a matter of public record. He’s been at that ASP paramilitary camp for months running combat maneuvers. He was seen the afternoon before the murder picking a fight with the murder victim. Just before he was thrown out of the bar, he shouted, ‘I’m gonna kill you, you perverted Vietcong bastard.’ Plus I’ve been told trace evidence found at the scene of the crime links him to the killing.”

  “If the prosecutor has the case under control, why is Hatewatch here?”

  “The murder trial didn’t bring us. We came because ASP is here. We try to provide support for victims of racially motivated crimes, and to file civil suits to prevent or punish the terrorist tactics ASP uses to intimidate the Vietnamese and their supporters.”

  “Sounds like dangerous work. Aren’t you concerned they might come after you?”

  “I’ve been threatened often enough.” She tried to make light of it, but Ben sensed she wasn’t quite as nonchalant as she sounded. “Once a few years ago they—well, never mind. So far no one’s hit the office with a bucket of napalm. I’m not going to let them scare me.”

  Ben suspected they would scare him whether he let them or not. He realized he was talking to one seriously courageous woman. “How’d you get assigned to this trouble spot?”

  “To tell you the truth … I assigned myself. See, I run Hatewatch, from our Montgomery headquarters. In fact, I founded the organization.”

  “You—” Ben’s embarrassment was palpable. “I’m sorry. I—”

  She laughed. “Don’t worry about it. Everyone makes the same mistake.”

  “Well—” Ben floundered, trying to save himself. “You don’t seem old enough to be in charge of an organization like Hatewatch.”

  “Or male enough, eh?”

  “No, no, I didn’t mean that—”

  “I know you didn’t. At least not consciously. Don’t worry about it.” She touched him lightly on the shoulder.

  Ben brightened immediately. He fleetingly fantasized that she was as interested in him as he was in her. Was it possible …? No, he told himself—climb back down to earth. A world-class woman like this would never give you the time of day.

  “I just remembered.” She snapped her fingers. “Ben Kincaid. In Tulsa. You were involved in the investigation and capture of a serial killer several months ago. Right?”

  “Well … yes.” He forced his tongue into action. This was not the time for false modesty. “You heard about that?”

  “Heard about it? I monitored the situation very closely. Anytime some wacko—or a group of them—starts systematically slaughtering women, alarms go off in my head. Hatewatch confronts organized hatred in all its shapes and permutations. I was planning to send a task force to Tulsa to assist. But that turned out to be unnecessary.” She took a step closer to him. “Since you resolved the whole case before I had a chance.”

  Ben stared at the floor and shuffled his feet. Her hazel eyes were dazzling. “I had first-rate help. …”

  “Don’t try to bamboozle me, Ben. I’ve read the files. You were instrumental in solving that case. And you put your own life on the line to do it. If it hadn’t been for you, more people would have died.” She glanced back at her desk. “You know, I have several reports and letters I need to finish. But I’d welcome the opportunity to talk with you in more detail.”

  Ben took a deep breath and swallowed. “And I’d enjoy learning more about Hatewatch. …”

  “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. You’d be a magnificent addition to our organization.” She tilted her head to one side, causing her bobbed hair to sway enticingly. “But more than that, I’d like the opportunity to find out more about you.”

  Ben’s heart felt as if it might palpitate out of his chest. “We could probably arrange that …”

  “Will you be in town for a
while?”

  “Definitely.” His head was reeling. This never happened. Anytime he was attracted to a woman, she was inevitably married, diseased, or not remotely connected to this solar system. But this time the attraction appeared to be mutual. And possible. “I could stop by later. That is, if you’re free tonight.”

  “Splendid. I usually don’t leave until nine or ten, but I can make an exception. Could you pick me up around seven?”

  “I could do that,” Ben said, perhaps a little too quickly. “That would be fine. Belinda.”

  “I’ll look forward to it. Till then—”

  Ben was distracted by a noise from the back of the office. Someone was coming in the back door. “That must be one of your—”

  Ben glanced over Belinda’s shoulder. A man was crouched behind the rearmost desk. To his astonishment, Ben saw that the man was holding a gun. And the gun was trained on Ben’s face.

  “Freeze!”

  9.

  “WHAT IN THE—!” BEN ducked behind a card table. Belinda didn’t budge an inch. “Frank, what in God’s name are you doing?”

  “Protecting you!” the man shouted from the back of the office.

  Ben peered out between the legs of the card table. Who the hell was Frank? Another Silver Springs hothead?

  “Put that gun away right now!” Belinda commanded.

  Frank emerged from behind the desk. “But you said we weren’t letting those bastards anywhere near our office.”

  “Frank, get a grip! This man has come to help us!”

  Frank stared back at her. “That man is trying to get that ASP murderer off the hook!”

  Belinda’s eyes crinkled. “What?”

  “The word is all around town. He’s been hired to represent Vick.”

  Belinda walked back to where Ben had ducked for cover. Ben brushed himself off and rose to his full, not very formidable, stature. He kept a wary eye on Frank. “Is that true?” she asked.

  There was no future in lying, Ben realized. Especially with trigger-happy Frank hovering in the background. “It’s true. I’m representing Vick on the murder charge.”

  Belinda was stunned. “The man who brought down the Kindergarten Killer is helping … them?”

  “I was appointed by the court.”

  “They wouldn’t appoint an out-of-town lawyer without his consent.”

  Ben nodded regretfully. “True.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I—I thought—”

  “You thought I might feed you inside information if I mistook you—as I did—for a halfway decent guy instead of a—a—”

  “Hatemongering bastard,” Frank offered.

  Thank you so much, Frank. “I never meant to mislead you,” Ben said.

  “Right. You just accidentally forgot to level with me about why you’re here. And we were going to dinner together!”

  Another man entered through the front door. He had wavy dark hair and a build somewhat less imposing than Frank’s. He quickly surveyed the scene. “What’s going on, Belinda? Trouble?”

  “I’m not sure.” Belinda frowned. “Ben, this is John Pfeiffer. John, Ben Kincaid.”

  John tentatively offered his hand. “You’re the man they brought in to represent Vick.”

  “Does everyone in town know about this? Is it in the morning paper or something?”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, yes,” John replied. “The Silver Spring Herald. This rag only comes out twice a week, Monday and Thursday, but almost everyone in town reads it. You got front-page coverage. I guess no one could believe someone would really represent that despicable punk.”

  “How did the Herald find out so soon?”

  “Can’t say for sure. But I know the editor, Harold McGuiness, makes a point of stopping by the sheriff’s office and the courthouse before he puts an edition to bed. It’s not easy to find news in a small town like this.”

  “Great,” Ben muttered. “Just great.”

  “To complete the intros,” Belinda said, “the man with the gun is Frank Carroll.”

  Ben extended his hand, but received nothing in return.

  “We can’t take any chances,” Frank offered by way of explanation. “Not after what happened in Birmingham.”

  “What happened?”

  “Some of Dunagan’s goons grabbed Belinda one night outside her office,” John explained. “They—”

  “I don’t think we need to go into the details,” Belinda said, cutting him off.

  “If Frank hadn’t saved her,” John said, “there’s no telling what might’ve happened to her.”

  “Dunagan,” Ben murmured. “He came in from Birmingham, then?”

  “As if you didn’t know,” Frank grunted. “He’s the man signing your paycheck.”

  “The man signing my paycheck is Uncle Sam. No one else.”

  “That doesn’t make it okay. You’re still—”

  “I’m still an attorney handling a case no one else had the guts to take!”

  Frank gritted his teeth. “You’re a sleazebag shyster trying to put scum back on the streets.”

  “I resent that! You don’t know anything about me!”

  Frank grabbed him by the lapels. “I know someone ought to rub you and your kind off the face of the earth!”

  “Frank! Stop it!” Belinda tried to edge in between them. She broke Frank’s grip and pushed Ben away. “You’ll have to excuse Frank. He has … personal feelings about ASP. And a very volatile temper.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Ben, this would be a smart time for you to go.”

  “I don’t see why—”

  “Really. It’s for the best.”

  “But what about—”

  “Ben, just leave!” Belinda pulled back suddenly, as if startled by the strength of her own voice. “It’s best for everyone.”

  Ben held his breath. “What about tonight?”

  “Tonight? You have the audacity to think—Forget it.”

  “But—”

  “I’m sorry. You may have all your rationalizations down pat. But I can’t condone what you’re doing. And I can’t socialize with someone who’s helping those people.”

  “Oh.” Ben shoved his hands in his pockets. “Then I’ll go.”

  “And Ben.” Belinda walked to the door with him. “Don’t come back.”

  “If you do,” Frank added, “I’ll be waiting. You’ve been warned.”

  Ben clamped his jaw shut and pushed himself out the door.

  10.

  ABOUT AN HOUR LATER Ben arrived at the Sleepy Hollow Inn. From polite inquiries directed at people who hadn’t read the morning Herald yet, he had learned that the Sleepy Hollow was the best, the finest, and incidentally, the only hotel in town. It was an oversized house basically, a bright yellow Victorian A-frame. It couldn’t possibly have more than ten rooms, but then, unless the Virgin Mary was spotted at the Bluebell Bar, Ben doubted it would ever need more than ten rooms.

  A bell rang as Ben passed through the front door and approached the registration desk. The man sitting on a stool behind the counter appeared to be in his late sixties. He wore gold-rimmed bifocals that threatened to drop off the edge of his nose at any moment. Ben saw to his dismay that the man was reading The Silver Springs Herald.

  “Excuse me,” Ben said. “I’d like a room for—”

  “You’re the one!” the elderly man said. He slid off the stool, then flipped back to check the front-page photo. “You’re that young lawyer fella on the front page.”

  “Lucky me.”

  The man made a snorting noise and tossed the paper down on the counter. “I’ve lived in Silver Springs for sixty-seven years, and I ain’t never had my picture in the paper. Much less on page one.”

  “Go to law school,” Ben suggested. “It happens to me all the time.” He glanced at the Herald. “They must’ve gotten my photo out of the bar directory. I never liked that picture.”

  “Too late to complain,” the man pr
onounced, hooking his thumbs under his suspenders. “Everyone in town’s seen it by now.

  “Swell. Look, I’d like a room for the night. In fact, I may need it for a week or two.”

  The clerk made a tsking noise with his tongue and teeth. “Sorry, son. Can’t do that.”

  “You’re full up?”

  “Oh, no. Haven’t been full since that Bigfoot sighting in seventy-two. But I can’t let a room to you. Everyone in town would take my head off.”

  “I’m not asking you to help me overthrow the government. I just want a place to spend the night.”

  “No can do. Maybe you should set up at a campsite in the hills.”

  “I already have a campsite. I need in-town accommodations.”

  “Sorry. If I put you up, I’ll start getting the Silver Springs brush-off. No one will stay with me, and no one will trade with me. Can’t run a hotel without supplies.”

  “I can’t believe an entire town would be so narrow-minded—”

  Ben saw the man’s face scrunch together; his shoulders rose half a foot. “Lookee here, son. This is a good town, and don’t you be sayin’ otherwise. We never asked for all this trouble. We never asked your people to come in with their big guns and bombs and—”

  “They’re not my people,” Ben said adamantly. “I’m just a lawyer who made the mistake of taking a case in this two-bit town.”

  “This—!” The clerk’s wheezing became more rapid. “Until your people came here, we all lived quiet, peaceful little lives. Nothin’ too excitin’, mebbe, but we liked it. Even after they showed up, we tried to be friendly; Mary Sue took some of them into her boardinghouse on Maple. Pretty soon we got graffiti, and fires, and brawls. And now murder.” The clerk licked his lips. “We just don’t like all this trouble, see? So you ain’t going to be very popular in this town.”

  “But—I didn’t kill Vuong!”

  “Maybe not, but you’re sure as tarnation going to try every trick in the book to set the killer free.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Oh?” The clerk grabbed the paper and spread it across the counter. He pointed to the page-one article below Ben’s picture and read. “ ‘District Attorney Swain said he would make every effort to circumvent the courtroom antics and big-city maneuvers of lawyer Benjamin Kincaid, who was quoted as saying that he would try every trick in the book to put Donald Vick back on the streets.’ ”