Principles of Evil - Act 1
Vaguely like a wolf. That was the impression Logan got when the case was slapped down on his desk. One nasty looking demon. And it was only a head shot.
The defense attorney drew in a breath and drew his hand slowly down the side of his tired cheek. Should have been a poet.
Wehx. The demon allegedly responsible for the slaughter of over seventy people. Logan knew by now that if Wolfram and Hart had accepted the case, then it was because they knew he was guilty. Logan didn’t want to think about how Wehx was going to appear for arraignment, or how the police had managed to take him into custody in the first place – looking like a wolf as he did. There was undoubtedly an explanation. The explanation undoubtedly involved Tawnie, someone she knew or someone she had extorted and a great deal of the sort of magic Logan couldn’t yet touch.
Logan examined the file closer and sighed. Wehx had been charged early last year for a similar crime, but this very firm had got him acquitted. The demon’s lawyer for that case had been Gregory Rhoyle. Now deceased.
Logan knew he’d be going over the transcript of that case, considering how similar they were, but obviously the prosecution felt they had more on Wehx this time or they wouldn’t have bothered wasting taxpayers’ money.
Logan examined the police report. The city’s investigation had been short. Depressingly short. Damningly short. Someone had reported screams coming from Wehx’s residence. Police had arrived and found a human finger in the overgrown weeds outside his door. They had broken in and found twenty seven people bound in the basement. There were dozens of other bodies in various stages of decomposition apparently having died to satisfy Wehx’s peculiar taste for human marrow.
As Logan turned the page, a small 8 ½ by 11 inch blue sheaf slid out from among the legal paper. On it was stamped his firm’s crest and the W&H symbol. Logan knew the format. This was privileged information which the prosecution would never get their hands on and was for the eyes of this firm only. There was an entire shift of people, working day and night somewhere in this very building, whose job it was to shred these blue documents. Then incinerate the shreddings.
Logan Kilpatrick closed his eyes and massaged his eyelids. He was beginning to get the distinct impression that this evil law firm bight just be corrupt. He had to hand it to them, though. The efficiency of their corruption shamed the legitimate productivity of most other firms. They were good at what they did. Even if what they did wasn’t good at all.
But Logan wasn’t like that. He couldn’t in good conscience, something he was sure he had, continue to participate in this sort of blatant circumvention of justice. Logan had felt he was committed to justice, even if the line between justice and personal vengeance was often a blurry one. But he was certain there was a line. There was a limit between questionably good and simply evil.
Logan let the file fall from his fingers onto the desk and stood. He marched towards the office now occupied by the liaison to the Senior Partners. Tawnie had hired someone to take care of reception for her and had moved up here to the prestigious floor. She had even hired someone to take care of her office up here in the prestigious floor.
“Excuse me, you can’t just go in there–” the secretary cautioned as Logan made his way for the door to Tawnie’s inner office. “Ms. Fischer is in with someone.”
“I’ll wait,” Logan said shortly, sitting impatiently on one of the chairs laid out in the outer office.
After several moments, the door opened and a young man with sandy brown hair and a mullet stepped from the office, his face unreadable.
“Thank you for coming to me first,” Tawnie said from behind him. “It’ll be dealt with very soon.” She looked around the reception office and saw Logan standing there. She sighed impatiently.
Logan stood and opened his mouth to speak when a voice cut him off. “I’m here for my one twenty seven.” The voice was cool and soft. Logan turned and saw a young black man with tight black pants and a white shirt which flowed about as if it were made of silk. There was a blue silk tie holding it to his neck at the collar but otherwise it moved about like a sail in a calm wind. “Name’s Micheal.”
The secretary checked her schedule. One twenty seven. Micheal. She nodded and the man stepped forward but Logan stepped in front of him. “I’ll just be a minute.” And with that he stepped past Tawnie into her office. She rolled her eyes and closed the door behind them.
“Look, Logan, I’m a busy woman. I don’t have time for a little tryst today.”
“I want another case,” he said, folding his arms and turning back to face her.
“Don’t you have enough work as it is?” She came around to sit down at her desk.
“No, I mean I want a different case. Not this mass murdering Wehx demon.” He stepped forward and took a seat across from her.
Tawnie raised an eyebrow and replied with a wry grin. “Too hard for you?”
He sneered. “Hardly. I got that creepy shaman off and he was as guilty as Manson.”
The liaison held up a cautionary finger. “Be careful,” she said with stern eyes. “Guilt or innocence is determined by twelve jurors. Not by you.”
“Bullshit,” he spat. “You’ve been feeding me nothing but this faith in the system bullshit since your firm came in here and ate my firm for lunch. Not one of my clients hasn’t actually committed the crime for which I’ve gotten them an acquittal. Is that a coincidence?” She was silent for a moment. “Is it a coincidence?” he demanded louder, leaning forward and planting his hands on her desk.
“How’s Rachel?”
The question was like a cold hand brushing up against him. He slowly took his hands from the table. “What are you saying?”
“I’m asking a question,” she shrugged. “I’m wondering about the well-being of your wife. I understand you recently had a bit of an argument.”
“We’re fine,” he said coldly.
“You said we’re fine,” Tawnie noticed with a nod. “You and your wife are like one, aren’t you?” Logan said nothing. “You know what Shakespear would have called Rachel? A hostage to fortune. You’re in this —whatever this is— and so is she. If you cross me, so does she.”
Logan took her meaning as clear as could be. He said nothing. If they could get to Rachel, they could get to Hanna. He was very quiet. Very quietly working against the urge to strangle this woman. Maybe turn her to ice. Maybe set her on fire. It would only put them at risk. He had only one option.
“Do you know what Friedrich Nietzsche said?” Tawnie interrupted his thoughts. “He said ‘He who lives by fighting with an enemy has an interest in the preservation of the enemy's life.’ Don’t think everyone here is evil just because we represent evil. There are some good people within these walls. In the end, corruption is a choice each of us has to make.”
“I quit,” Logan said simply. After a moment, he stood from the desk and turned away. “I’ll have my office cleaned out by the end of the day.”
“You don’t quit,” she said as he reached for the doorknob. This made him turn back, but his hand still held the door. “You have one more case to handle.”
“I don’t think so,” Logan turned and opened the door. Michael was waiting patiently on the other side. He looked up as Logan appeared at the open door.
“Believe me, you’ll want this case.” Tawnie swivelled in her chair and lifted the file from her desk. She came to the door and handed it to Logan.
The attorney gave her a resentful glance before opening the folder. Then the color drained from his face. His eyes never left the page. “You’re giving this case to me?” Tawnie nodded, and though he didn’t see her, he knew it. “Is this a coincidence too?”
“There’s no such thing as coincidences,” she answered with satisfaction. “Finish Wehx’s case, then you’ll find this on your desk. After that, you can quit to your heart’s content.”
Logan, his eyes glued to the page before him —the privileged blue sheet on top— swallowed. What would Nietzsche say about this? “Fuck me,” he whispered.
Tawnie grinned. “I knew you’d come around.” She snatched the file from Logan’s hands and nodded towards Michael who wandered in with a sideward glance toward the stunned attorney. “Oh, and by the way,” she said with a grin, as Logan turned to go, “Wehx’s former lawyer —the late Gregory Rhoyle...” She cocked her head slightly, “Wehx drank his bone marrow before ripping his throat out.” She blinked. “And that was after the verdict of not guilty.”
The door closed in Logan’s face.
Richard Addison dropped his suitcase but kept his steel briefcase, looking about the apartment suspiciously. Niki made a grab for the briefcase but he held onto it, absently examining every detail about the kitchen as if something was dreadfully wrong.
“Want me to take that?” Niki looked with poorly concealed interest at the metal case the old Watcher still held. He hadn’t had it when he left for England.
“They’re just some confidential files,” he said distantly, his eyes finally finding the whiteboard on the fridge. “Are you seeing Logan again?”
She followed his gaze to the fridge and cursed in her mind. Got to go - see you tonite, said the whiteboard, and not in the Slayer’s handwriting. She had made a mental note to erase that. Obviously mental notes weren’t as prominent as physical ones. She sighed.
“No, I’m not seeing Logan. His name’s Jesse. I’ve been seeing him for a month now. Don’t worry – he doesn’t know anything.”
“Hmm,” the Watcher grumbled, dragging one of his many suitcases into the room reserved for him and wandering out of sight of the door in order to place his steel case somewhere Niki couldn’t see. “I suppose there’s no harm,” he said. “Assuming he’s not married or psychotic or anything like that?”
Niki frowned a little. “Logan wasn’t psychotic.”
The Watcher emerged from his room with raised eyebrow. “There’s still time.”
Niki laughed. “How was your trip, pops?”
“Relaxing,” he said with a sigh. “It was good to be back where people know what a lorry is.” He plunked down in the sofa. “So how is the Goth situation progressing?”
“It’s been resolved,” the Slayer answered, rubbing off the message on the whiteboard. “We won’t be hearing from them again.”
The man with the white hair nodded appreciatively. “Good, good. Any other news?” He had been looking distractedly at the softy reporting television news man, but now glanced to her back as she began to doodle on the fridge with the black marker.
“News?” She answered, sketching stars and stripes and bolding GOD BLESS — “What kinda news?”
“Oh, any kinds,” Addison dismissed. “Never mind.”
Niki turned on him and capped the marker with a frown. “You have news, don’t you?”
Addison raised his eyebrows and let out a deep breath. “I met Whistler at the airport,” he said at last. “He wants you to go see Jessica. I don’t know who Jessica is, but I expect this isn’t good.”
Niki studied his face. No, it wasn’t good. But then, when had it ever been— scratch that. She wouldn’t lie to herself. It had been good. When everything was clear and simple. It was good then. When she and Logan and a man in a KISS shirt had spent nights at the Nail Biter. It was good then.
“It’ll be fine,” she said with a convincing smile. “Everything will be fine.”
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