Inbetween Days
a gen-x alternities serial
'Vigilantibus Et Non Dormientibus Jura Subveniunt'
a-t d.m. lasher
chapter I: "For Those Left Standing..."
Omniday Personal Journal
[toggle]
UserName?
[Dominic]
Password?
[Bogomil]
Acknowledged…
Accessing Omniday Personal Journal Protocols...
Running...
Journal Entry Dated: 991128
"My mind is reeling; literally spinning like a Dervish.
I wish I could say I saw this coming...but I did not.
To the last I thought I could talk her down. Right.
Down. To. The. Moment. When. I. Pulled. The.
Trigger.
I never had the chance to say I was sorry. I didn't have
the time to think of the consequences. My God, what else
could I have done? What other actions could I have taken?
Could I have--should I have--risked it all by trying to
subdue her when she was that close to killing Moshe?
Should I have winged her instead? Would that have made
a difference at all? Would I have had the time--had that not
stopped her--to reaim?
I'll be asking and reasking those questions over and over in
my mind for the rest of my life, no matter what happens
next.
I don't know what to do now. All I know is that I want it all
to stop. Everything. But most of all, I want the screaming to cease.
My screams."
Saving 991128 to the hard drive...
Encryption?
[MIT PGP v2.7.4]
Saved.
[Exit Application]
34th Precinct Headquarters,
4295 Broadway
New York, New York
991128
12:11 hours…
"I woke on impact, under surveillance
from the camera eye. Searching high
and low.
A criminal mind found at the scene
of the crime. Handcuffed and blind.
'I didn't do it!'"
queensryche, 'i don't believe in love'
I don't remember when my hands stopped shaking.
My eyes poured over them. Clean. Prestine. Not a scratch on them. Old scars long since wiped away by my mutation titillated my sight, though. Did I catch a glimpse of them? Or was it just another phantom? I flexed my fingers, long and thin. Fingers that could read, on my better days, the patterns of yesteryear. Fingers that could, on my lesser days, kill.
I closed my eyes. All I see, splattered over the inside of my eyelids, was her blood.
PHUT!
My mind would replay the scene over and over again.
PHUT!
One of the things they taught you in sniper school: never, ever identify with the victim.
PHUT!
Too late.
Clang! Clang! "Hey fella! Ya leeches is here!"
I lifted my head from my hands, not even bothering to push my bangs out of my eyes. Between the strands of hair and beyond the metal bars of my cell I could see--besides Officer Congeniality--two people...one of whom I recognised immediately.
The block door slid open on well-oiled hinges and the first one, a red-headed male in his late thirties or early forties, walked in, a blind man's tap-cane leading the way. But it was the woman who followed him who garnered my immediate attention. I recognised her the moment she stepped in. Truth to tell, she wasn't hard to miss... "She-Hulk?" I whispered, half to myself.
"Well, at one time," she smiled wearily, brushing a bang of dark green hair out of her eyes. "But that was a long time ago..."
"Matt Murdock," the gentleman said, extending his arm in a fair approximation of where my voice came from. I stood and met him half-way, taking the proffered hand. Firm grip. Steely. "Ms. Walters, before her, ah, career in heroing, was a noted defense attorney back in LA. Quite coincidentally, she's also on the New York bar...which is good for us."
"Why's th-th-that?" I stammered.
Murdock arched a brow. "Because I'm going to need all the help I can get. This isn't your usual case, Dominic. Not at all. Heroes of one sort or another have been with us since the First World War. In all this time I've only read of a handful of cases involving prosecuting them and, even then, it eventually led to dismissals. But never have I seen a case trumped up on someone attempting to save a comrade like this. You gave ample warning and used, in my opinion, appropriate measures to alleviate the situation. Good God Dominic, if this same standard were held during the Seventies and Eighties...half to three quarters of the hero teams would've been out of business or in Riker's Island a long time ago."
Crestfallen, I ground my jaw.
PHUT! went the shot in my mind.
"That buh-buh-bad, eh?"
"Worse," he said, grimly. "But we'll get to that when we get back to my apartment. I've just posted your bail. I won't even bother to tell you how much the State asked for--and got. You'd have a heart attack. And even though you're out on bail, you've been remanded to the custody of your counsel...which happens to be the two of us. You can't go anywhere absent us without looking at an immediate bench warrant. So no funny business, got it? Okay?"
I felt something drop in my stomach. "Yeah. I guh-get it."
He approached me and awkwardly placed an arm on my shoulder. "Come on, son," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "We'll get you out of this. This isn't the most difficult defense I've taken. Not by a long shot. The only thing that makes it different is your status and what's happening at the Institute--"
My brows collapsed in the centre of my forehead. "What? Wuh-what happened--?!"
Murdock stopped for a second. "You mean, you don't know?"
I shook my head. The, realising he couldn't see me, I said: "Nuh-no. I don't know. What the hell's g-g-g-guh-going on here?"
The hand on my shoulder squeezed hard. "Later. In a more private environment, okay? Where we can talk freely?" Without giving me a chance to respond he pushed me ahead. "Now let's go. We've a lot to cover and I'm eager--as I'm sure you are as well--to start."
Numbly, more confused now than I ever was, I followed Walters and Murdock out of the cell.
The door slamming shut sounded like the recurring clamor in my mind.
PHUT!
Our Lady of Peace, St. Mary's the Divine Hospital
Autopsy Suite
12:30 hours...
Mason Feinmann was a fine ME; in my opinion, one of the best in the city. I've worked with him on more homicides than either of us would've preferred seeing. His solid insights and willingness to occasionally bend the rules in order to follow up on leads for me has lead to more breaks in a case than my Aunt Ruth has had husbands.
"Well, Detective Pipes, looks like you've brought me a juicy one to start out the day," the old man said, snapping on his latex gloves. "What's this one? Gun?"
I nodded. "Partly, but you ain't seen nothing like this, I'll guarantee you."
"Humph," he growled, unimpressed. "In my business, you learn not to be surprised. I've seen every type of gunshot wound known to man. From crude Saturday Nite Specials to Chinese-made AK's and everything inbetween. It's the city, eh?" he shrugged. "Brings out the worst in the nut-case fringe."
"I'm tellin' ya, doc," I shook my head, placing the proffered mask over my mouth and nose. The smell of menthol--imbedded in the lining--filled my nostrils. Geez, I remember the old days, when you just put Vicks underneath your sniffer. Messed up the moustache more often than not but God Almighty sometimes it was well worth it... "A bottle of Scotch says you're just as flummoxed as us mere mortals when we picked her up. This ain't no regular case."
Feinmann reached for the body bag. "I gathered that, old friend. Probably having something to do with the reason why they chose not to remove the body from the bag, eh? By the by, you're on. I hope your salary can pay my choice. I've got expensive tastes in liquor."
I nodded. "Don't worry 'bout it. I'm gonna win this one. As for the bag...they wanted to keep everything...everything together, ya know?"
He gave me a look, hand poised above the zipper. "Is that so? Well. Let's see what he have here."
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzziiiiiiiiiiiipppp!
Gingerly he and James Marko, his assistant, spread the bag, their eyes widening once they'd gotten a clear look at the stiff. Marko took a step back and crossed himself. "Mother of God," he whispered.
"Well, well, well," Feinmann chuckled humorlessly. "You've stumped me, Rodney. Thirty-four years at the ME's office in one capacity or another and I've never seen anything like this. Glenlevit sound okay?"
"Glen anything sounds good t' me, doc," I said, shaking my head. But first thing's first: let's have at it with this one. There's a whole lotta suits who've taken an interest in her."
Mason looked over his Motorola mini-recorder, making sure a fresh cassette had been placed inside. "Like?"
"The usual suspects. County, City, State. Plus the US DA's Office, US Justice Department, and the Srivijayan Embassy," I said, watching as the doc and Marko gingerly pulled the stiff out of the bag. 'Gingerly' being the effective word here. Most of her body was covered, and I mean covered in wires, tubes and God knows what else, protruding from all orifices and places known to man. She looked like a lab rat. Or, actually, in this state, worse.
Feinmann whistled, gripping the recorder. "Okay, I get the impression this isn't your usual medical-legal autopsy. Impression noted and logged. Ready everyone?" Mako, by the instrument table and adjusting the light suspended above the corpse, nodded quickly. "Right-o." click "Case Number--" he glanced at the toe tag "--99-8722, Savijinia Mirabaivarma. The body appears to be that of a well-fed Caucasian girl of Hindi ancestry approximately nineteen to twenty-two years of age. She has black hair and..." he lifted the corpses' eyelids and stopped. "The corpse has no eyes. No ocular tissue remains. All indications point to there having been removed at some time in the recent past." He glanced up at me, but I refused to allow him to look into my eyes. My attention focused on the corpse.
"The body is...sixty-six point five inches long and weighs a little over a hundred pounds. Weight measurements ostensibly include a fair amount of what appears to be intravenous tubing, metal and synthetic wires and/or cables protruding from various portions of her anatomy. All of which no information has been provided." He looked between me and Mako. "And I can assume the paramedics didn't leave them there, correct?"
"Yeah," I nodded.
"Humph." He adjusted the overhead and lifted the corpse's left arm. Then he moved to her head, turning it back and forth. "Body displays limited rigor mortis, unusually low this far post-expiration. No apparent physical reason for it. Make a note to check and recheck the metabolics. I'd like to see what her body chemistry was like." Feinmann's eyes drifted over her body. "Skin appears unbroken save in those areas where pierced by aforementioned monitoring apparatus...or whatever the hell it is. Normal levidity for a corpse of this level of post-mortum."
Feinmann turned the body's head to the left and produced a metal ruler, which he placed near the entrance wound. Gently, he pulled at the surrounding skin, making certain his measurements. "There's an approximately two centimeter in radius entrance wound along the lower left temporal-occipital area of the cranium. Star-burst splitting of the epidermal layers surrounding the entrance indicate a contact or very-near contact wound. Wound is otherwise clean. No apparent evidence for a comminuted or depressed fracture." Grasping the chin and forehead, he turned the head to the right and frowned. "No apparent exit wound." He looked up at me. "It's gotta be higher than a .38--my guess a .40 or a .45, right? If so...there was more than enough power to leave a sizable exit wound. No bullet was found at the scene?"
I shook my head. "None. Your guess is as good as mine, doc."
Mason looked down at her lifeless eyesockets. "Then you're still in there, you bastard. You ran into something; that something, I'd wager, being whatever it is that's sticking out of the back of your occipital. You bounced around like a marble and there you remain. God help us, it's going to be a mess in there..."
Like I needed to hear this.
"I'm ready if you are, Pipes," Mason said, a scalpel suddenly appearing in his right hand. The metal glimmered in the light. My mouth watered for a moment. The first few minutes of an autopsy were always the worst. If I could get past this, I was home free.
"Go for it," I shrugged, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.
With the ease of experience, he quickly made the traditional 'Y' incision, starting from the front of each shoulder, underneath her breasts, meeting at the xyphoid process and extending down the abdomen to the black thatch of her pubis area. For the next minute or so--God though it seemed like an hour--additional small cuts were made to make certain the incision had been deep enough. "Okay," Feinmann said, looking up at James. "Ready?" His diener--pathologist slang for assistant--nodded quickly. "Lift!"
In one wrenching motion, the upper crux of the 'Y'--breasts and all--was lifted up and over the stiff's face, the tearing, ripping sound of flesh separating echoed in the cramped room. The smell of uncooked veal filled the air. At least, that's what my nose interpreted it as. Even through the menthol, I'd never miss that first blast.
"My GOD!" Mako shouted, being the first to actually get a glimpse of the scene underneath. Mason peered over the peeled body and moved quickly over to the side.
"Subject's abdominal cavity is now exposed. Immediate anomalies present in bone structure. Inbetween recognizable ribs is a cartilage-like resin." He poked between them, immediately meeting some resistance. "Structure is solid, non-giving and appears to be non-porous as well. In short, her internal organs are well protected." VRRRRINNNG! VRRRRRINNG!
I glanced over at Marko, who'd appeared behind the girl's head and was testing the Stryker saw. "You two gonna work concurrently?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. I needed something to keep my mind off the gyro I had for lunch...
"Well, it's easier--uh!--that way," Mason grunted, lifting the massive bone cutter into place underneath the rib cage. The beast looked menacing, a set of pruning shears gone mad. "Besides, I doubt I'm going to find much underneath here and I'm eager to take a look as what, exactly, that metal trunk is doing to her brain back there. While I finish with this mess, James can prep for the real excitement."
I blinked. "You don't get out much, do ya, doc?"
He chuckled. SHHHHNNNAAAAP! went the cutter, slicing through the ribs and the cartilage like a hot knife through butter. I worked my mouth. Christ... SHHHHHNNNAAAP!
Briefly, I glanced at the ceiling. For a moment, my world started spinning. Just for a moment, but it was enough to forewarn me. Jeez, you must be gettin' old, Rodney old boy. If the boys on Yancy could see ya now.
"Huh."
"What?" I looked down, immediately wishing I hadn't.
"Well," Mason said, his hands deep in the chest cavity. We have a minor problem here."
"What's that?" Aside from the fact that I'm about to bathe you in partly digested Greek food...
His eyes found mine. "I've found a pericardial sac, a heart--rudimentary though it appears--but as for the rest..."
"What?! Come on, don't leave me in any kind of suspense here. I've got enough problems as it is!"
"There isn't much left to say, Detective," Feinmann said. "No lungs. No kidneys. No digestive tract or, if that's what I'm looking at right now, it's awfully vestigial. In short, three-quarters to five-sixths of what we expect to find in a normal human body is missing in this one." Behind the head, where he'd just now starting cutting through the scalp to the skull, Mako stopped.
I worked my jaw again, my salivary glands kicking into overdrive. "You're gonna owe me a helluva lot of Scotch by time this is over, Feinmann."
Five Hours Later...
Feinmann snapped off his two pairs of latex gloves, sloughing blood and God knows what else over the metal tub he leaned over. "Half of that is far, far over my head, Rodney," he admitted, turning the hot water on. "I'm going to send off sampled to Cellmark in Maryland and see what we can find out. I just cannot accept that this girl was a walking hollow her entire life. I mean, there was almost nothing I could recognize in there!"
I rubbed my knobby chin. "You sure she couldn't've been born like that? I mean, how many mutants have you chopped up there, doc?"
He stopped for a moment, grey eyes glazing over. "None, that I can remember. But that's irrelevant, actually. You've still got to breath, to eat for God's sake!"
I shrugged, shaking my head. "Maybe she didn't do it quite the way we did."
"Humph. Well, Cellmark will be able to tell us what her genome is like. From there we can determine whether or not she ever had internal organs--normal ones--at all."
"What about all the machines and stuff? That...that thing in her skull?"
He snapped the water off. "Rodney, I've never seen anything like it. We were lucky to get the brain out in one piece. There were enough of that fiber stuff riddling her that I swear I could've lifted it out by the trunk, alone. Between that and the damage the bullet caused, I was surprised we weren't dealing with stew. It's going to be about two weeks, though, before I can make a detailed examination. We'll have to wait until the formalin 'fixes' it, thus allowing us to manipulate it easier."
I held out my hands. "So...homicide? I mean, that's pretty clear and apparent, right? The bullet either killed or contributed to her death, right?"
Mason nodded vigorously. "No doubt about it. At least, not in my mind. That was an armor-piercing bullet, Rodney. I doubt Kevlar would've stopped that and, to make matters worse, it was perfectly aimed."
"Whaddya mean?"
"Well, it's not that easy to kill someone with a head shot, Rodney," he explained, crossing his arms. "You can live for days, weeks or even months with a direct hit to the brain, depending on where you hit. This one, though, it was positioned at precisely, and I mean precisely where it was needed to kill her instantly." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that. The bullet struck the base of that trunk machinery and shattered it into half a million shards of glass, fiber and Lord knows what else. But the bullet also bounced around there, making mince meat out of the Medulla. Instant death. She didn't even know what hit her."
"Damn lucky," I mumbled.
"Luck?" Mason said, incredulous. "Bullshit! That shot wasn't lucky. That was an experienced shooter. One centimeter either way and it would've missed the trunk, might've even missed the Medulla. The lady might've lived, perhaps even partly recovered. No, Rodney, that wasn't a lucky shot. No one is that lucky."
"Murder," I nodded.
He held up his hands. "Not my department. Cause of death is officially 'homicide'. It's your problem now, Detective. You make it stick. I just scoop 'em out and sew 'em back up."
I shook my head. "Sick, sick, sick, you know that?"
"Yeah, but for all the Scotch I'm giving you, you really shouldn't complain," he grumbled.
I smiled.
Xavier's Institute for Higher Learning
1407 Greymalkin Lane
Salem Centre, New York
17:45 hours...
"All of it?" Charles said, exasperated. "You're taking all of my records? But...but you can't possibly--!"
"State's evidence," the US Attorney said, watching the two of us with only scarcely concealed suspicion. "You saw the warrant, Professor Xavier. It's pretty inclusive."
"Yes, that it is," Xavier observed bitterly, lips downturned. "And very specific as well. You knew precisely where to go, didn't you?"
She smiled and shrugged. "I'm not saying...but it does appear that way, doesn't it?"
I gazed about the room. Two SWAT officers were tracking my every move. One of them manned a neutraliser and the other a diagnostic device, ostensibly one that would indicate whether or not I was using my parabilities. Inwardly I cursed. "So," I said, turning to face the attorney, "it seems you've all the bases covered. You'd better hope so."
"Is that a threat, Magneto?" she asked, arching a brow.
"No...of course not. Just a promise. If this case goes anywhere near as far as you are apparently hoping, and we're acquitted, then you'll have much, much more trouble on your hands than you can possibly deal with." Ignoring a stern look from Charles, I took a step closer. "I fail to see why, at this time, we've been singled out for prosecution. I don't see screaming sirens nor SWAT teams raiding the headquarters of Fantastic Four, Inc., hmm? Interesting...wouldn't you say?" I was within a foot of her now. "You'd better be damned certain of your case before you shot yourself in the foot, counsellor."
She smiled. "You flim-flammed the World Court, Magneto...but you're in New York now, baby. It's a whole different ball game. And in case you hadn't heard, this Mayor doesn't coddle criminals and doesn't give a beggar's damn what made you into the man you are. You're culpable for your own actions, buddy, and you'll sink or swim based based on behavior you've exhibited. Comprende?"
I squeezed my hands together, tension welling up within me.
Breep! Breep! Everyone glanced at the officer handling the scanner who clucked his tongue and looked up. "Now now," he said. "Let's just keep our heads, everyone. No one wants this to turn into another Waco, okay? Everyone just calm down."
Behind me, Charles moaned. "Easy for you to say, son. You're on the other side of the barrel."
The officer looked nonplussed, unimpressed. "Should've thought of that before you took the law into your own hands, pal."
"Professor!" came Scott's unmistakable voice from behind me. I would not tear my eyes away from Ms. Hammonds, though. Half of me wanted to rend this whole house asunder, leaving only debris to comb through. For a moment, the temptation almost swayed me... Then, reality reasserted itself. "Professor, they're in the War Room!"
"Wha--?!" I began, spinning around to face Summers.
"No see here, Hammonds!" Charles said, lifting a finger into the air. "The equipment in there is far too dangerous for neophytes to go plodding through--!"
"Don't worry about it," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. "They're only making digital recordings. They won't touch a thing. Not that they need to, anyway. We've more than enough remote footage and engineer-work to give us a good idea how your operation ran down here." I closed my eyes, noting the emphasis--unnoticed by the others--on the word 'ran'.
Now is hardly the time to let melancholy get the best of you, Magnus.
My heart skipped a beat. Emma?! But I thought you were--?
Missing? Why, of course I was. Momentarily. More disorientated than anything else. Sorry I'm a bit late. And don't worry about our privacy. I've scanned yon bohunk's mind and plucked the frequency band he's plundering through with that cheap sensor of his. We're safely outside of it. Now, for the most important part: getting all of you out of here.
Mentally, I shook my head. Thus far, none of us are under arrest. This is a search warrant they're executing. The apprehension, I suppose, comes later. However, such is not the case for Dominic. He's being incarcerated and, I assume, will stand trial.
A wave of mental nausea swept over me, forcing a sheen of sweat to break out on my forehead in sympathy. Good Lord, she said. Savijinia?
Yes. We don't know the details yet but from what the media tell us--and Lord knows it's a frenzied situation in the making--we think they'll press for murder of some type.
Pause. One person will do me no good...and do you lesser good. No, I think it's best to free at least some of you--
Absolutely not, I emphasized. I've a very strong hunch that they will, at some time, link us with Dominic. Any attempt to escape on our behalf will only lump more charges on him. No. Gather up those that have not been corralled and follow any leads. For example: why the selective prosecution? Why now? There's something very fishy about all of this. I've a source which told me that the groundrules had suddenly changed...and I want to know why.
And in the interim? she queried.
I ground my teeth together. We wait.
The Apartment of Matthew Murdock
Upper West Side
New York City
14:29 hours...
He handed me a double shot of Jim Beam, closing my shaking hands around it. "Drink it, son. My old man used to tell me it made hair grow on your chest," he said, his voice only half into the attempted stab at humour. I tipped my head back and slung it down, liquid fire coursing towards my stomach. "I guess I should've added 'slowly' to that prescription, huh? You're no use to yourself drunk, Dominic."
I steadied my fingers, placing the shot glass on the marble table before me. It was made to look like a chess board. Functional, too, by the look of the pieces. Wonder who played him? Wonder how he played?! "I cuh-can't get too far gone, counselor," I admitted, glumly. "One of my mutancies is a self-rejuvenating metabolism. Wuh-works wonders, let me tell you."
"I'll bet," Jennifer smiled from the side, gently swirling her cognac glass. "Well," she sighed, placing the drink aside, "I suppose now's as good a time as ever."
Matt, by the drawn curtains, quickly closed them. "Hmm? Oh. Yes. Yes, we should start this up. If I know Leonard, he's doing his fair share of homework and flogging about six or seven other Assistant DA's in the office to pick up the pace, too."
Walters produced a yellow legal pad and a mechanical pencil. "Okay, first thing's first. Relationship to the deceased."
I blinked. "Teammate."
She peered over her wire-rimmed glasses--similar in style to my own as a matter of fact--and cocked her head. "Anything...else? Competitor? Or...?"
"Oh," was all I said, momentarily taken aback. "I...wuh-well. She and I were...cuh-close."
"Lovers?" Matt asked, stroking his greying beard.
I shook my head then, mid-way, cursed myself. "Nuh-no. But we were getting cuh-closer."
"Mmmhmm," he responded. "Works good. Jury sees a potential Romeo and Juliet in the making..."
"Wait until you hear the rest of it before you go casting, Matt," Jennifer chuckled. Then, turning to me: "Why did you shoot her?"
My face flushed immediately.
PHUT!
The spray of something warm...something wet...
"Dominic?"
I shook my head. "Suh-suh-sorry. She...she'd just killed Haroun--Jetstream--another teammate of ours. And she was in the p-p-process of strangling Muh-Moshe."
Matt stopped mid-drink. "Could you say that again? About killing Jetstream? The forensics team found only one body: Savijinia's."
My muscles rippled in an unconscious shiver. I recalled the flash. The look in his brown, liquid eyes. Gone. "You haven't s-s-suh-seen how her power wuh-works, Mr. Murdock. There wasn't anything luh-left."
Jennifer frowned. "That doesn't help us much, Dom."
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. SNAP! "The school ruh-ruh-ruh-records!" I exclaimed. "They'll have nuh-noted her powers!"
Matt turned to Jennifer ever so slightly. She frowned, then looked down at me. "I'm afraid here is where the other shoe drops, Dom. The Institute is under investigation.They issued a search warrant almost simultaneously with your arrest. We can try to subpoena the records but..."
My vision began to tunnel. Under investigation? By whom? Why?
"Is there anything else you can give us, Dominic?" Matt said, interrupting my reverie. He placed his glace down and took a careful step foreward. "Anything at all? Is there any other threatening action she took? We'll get corroborating statements from this Moshe fellow and probably anybody else who was there but I want to make Leonard look silly on this one."
I shook my head. "Nuh-no, none that I can--wait a minute. I ruh-remember her saying something about she being a duh-decoy--her word, not mine--and, in a moment of clarity, when I'd already duh-drawn my gun and she'd already killed Haroun, she asked me to kuh-kill her...before she killed me, too."
The room went unearthly silent. I could hear a pin drop. Matt looked away. Jennifer placed a warm hand on mine. "I'm...sorry, Dominic. I know going through all of this isn't making it any easier for you..."
"I'm gonna fry that sonovabitch, Hertzog!" Murdock spat venomously. "This is rediculous! We've got a handful of witnesses that'll testify that she was in the process of wiping the floor with everyone, we've got physical evidence to prove it and now this?! What the hell is he up to, running for Attorney General?! I'll haul his ass up to the Disciplinary Committee when this is all over!"
I ran my fingers through my hair. "Wuh-what comes next, huh?"
"The DA's office calls us to set up a meeting," Jennifer said, crossing her legs. "Ostensibly so that the State can see if we can all come to some kind of 'accomodation'."
"Read: plea bargain," Matt interjected.
"Correct. But, the session's also a good place to feel each other out, see what kind of evidence each holds. Eventually, the State will have to give us a list of witnesses and evidence they wish to use for the trial. So will we. This, however, give us a head's up."
I looked between the two of them. Matt, back at the windows again--what's with that guy, anyway? I thought he was blind? And Jennifer keeping a level gaze at me. "So...we puh-plea?"
"You betchersweetass we don't," Murdock snapped. "We give them some balloney plea they're bound to turn down and they hand us a load of crapola. There. We've tipped out hands just a little and we can get on to the next stage."
"Which is?"
Matt lifted his brows. "Pretrial motions. Based on what Lenny tells me, I'll be able to get a bit more ammunition to use during that stage after the meeting. Standard, of course, is the motion to dismiss. It never, ever works." He shrugged. "But I'll make it look good."
I placed my head in my hands. It's all a game to them. Just a game. One win for their side, one loss for the other. They went to the same law schools, belong to the same country clubs, go to the same gyms, support the same causes...and here I am. I've to trust my livelihood to these...these sharks. I'm totally out of my element here. Here, a gun is not only a liability, it's State's evidence. I can't wait to see what they'll make of my time spent as a sniper in the 'Boz...
Something squeezed my shoulder. Firm. Comforting. I didn't need to look up to see whom it was. I could see bottom of Matt's Armani-tailored pantlegs from my vantage point.
Well, perhaps not all alone...