Actions and Consequences: Part I - Act 1
Arraignment - December 3rd, 1987
The judge squinted at the defense and then at the prosecution. All new faces today.
“Case number one seven six three — The State of New York versus Niki Valtaine: One count of murder in the first degree, one count of attempted murder.”
Niki stood within the surreal haze of the past few days. It seems people were always talking about her, but never to her. Her attorney hadn’t said three words to her after looking at her file.
“The State requests remand, Your Honor,” Eric Quinlan looked very smart behind the bench of the prosecution, staring confidently ahead without even blinking.
“On what grounds?” the judge frowned and glanced back down at the case file.
“The defendant in unemployed, has no ties to the community and should be considered a flight risk, Your Honor.” Quinlan didn’t need to look over to see the defense counsel sag.
The judge waited for a moment before looking expectantly to the other bench. “Does the defense have anything to say?”
The young lawyer, even more recently acquired for legal aid than Eric Quinlan, and much less experienced, swallowed and glanced down at his notes. “Uh– Defense submits that the nature of the crime does not indicate the defendant would be a flight risk. As for her unemployment...her only income is from a foreign sponsor and she couldn’t support herself even if she did flee. That sponsor has agreed to post bail upwards of fifty thousand dollars, Your Honor.”
Addison sat in the front row, a deep furrow on his brow. Niki turned slowly and examined him, but he was not making eye contact with her.
The judge frowned, then after a moment shook his head. “I’m reading here that the charge of attempted murder involves the shooting of an F.B.I. agent.” He glanced up with a cold look in his eyes. “No. Bail is denied. Bailiff...” The uniformed officers came and led Niki from the courtroom. “Next case—”
Addison snatched his coat from beside him on the bench and with a deep frown shuffled out of the courtroom.
The paper floated down onto Ms. Fischer’s desk. She slowly lifted her eyes to see Mr. Kilpatrick. Black suit, black shirt and burgundy tie. Very unhappy. “Yes?”
“You promised me this case,” he said rationally. “You said once I was finished with Wehx, I could have this case.”
“I meant,” she said calmly, returning her eyes to her report, “once you had acquitted Wehx, not once you had eviscerated him. You’re on probation.”
“If I don’t get this case, then you can take your probation and shove it up your ass.” He stood perfectly still, his tall dark form like an imposing pillar before her mahogany desk. She slowly drew in a breath.
“Don’t forget who we are,” she glanced up at him momentarily. “Don’t forget what we can do.”
“Never have,” he raised one eyebrow. There was a long moment. “You kept me from jury selection,” he said with bitterness. “You got my client remanded...”
“For her own protection,” Tawnie muttered, quickly drawing her signature across the page. “And she’s not your client unless I say she is.”
Logan leaned forward, his hands on her desk, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t forget who I am. What I can do.”
She leaned back slightly, out of the heat of his glare. She looked at his intensity for several moments, testing his resolve. His determination was unquestionable. “Alright, she’s yours.” Before he could straighten up, she pulled a sheaf of typed legal paper from under the various cases and forms. “But there’s one condition.”
Logan folded his hands and cocked his head. He wasn’t altogether sure he liked the sounds of this. Tawnie had begun writing in details – dates and names on the legal paper. He recognized his own and that of his new client.
“Condition?”
Tawnie didn’t reply for several minutes as she completed the impromptu contract. Finally she scratched her practiced signature over one of the blank lines and spun the page around to face the attorney.
“Wolfram and Hart will take over her case: she’ll be lucky if she can recover from that incompetent...” Sigh. “You can represent her on one condition.” She shrugged slightly. “You lose.”
CIFW - 15-15 Hazel Street, East Elmhurst, N.Y., December 4th, 1987
Niki couldn’t shake the haze of unreality as she carried her change of clothes into the small cell. Her handcuffs were removed and the door gave a little squeal before it closed with a dull clunk. There was another woman in the cell, laying on one of the bunks, ignoring her.
Niki sat down on the lower bunk and sagged back against the wall. She blinked rapidly, the events from her arrest back at the apartment up until now suddenly solidifying. It was really real. Really happening. The whimsical land of vampires and demons seemed so... irrelevant. Trial. Indictment. Incarceration. These words were her life now.
She slowly looked down at the plain white shirt and grey pants. At least her wardrobe didn’t change much. Her beloved jacket had been confiscated and no doubt her apartment had been ransacked. Charges of... what? Murder?
Niki’s eyes shifted quickly around as the reality sank it. Megan Brandon. That woman she had... the Deceivers had made her kill.
How had they found out? Harrison. He was awake. Jessica had told her that she would be betrayed. Harrison would – but he didn’t know anything. He couldn’t. There was nothing to trace her to his shooting. Was there?
She slowly closed her eyes. It was real. Somehow. It was all real.
Slayer. The word felt small and inadequate. Not an excuse the Supreme Court would accept. Obviously not something that Addison or the Council could fix. She lifted herself from the wall and stretched out on the bunk, letting sleep take her away.
Addison sat in his hotel room fuming, his fingers drumming uncharacteristically on the metal case he had brought. He had secured fifty six thousand dollars American to get Niki out on bail. Out of prison. Back here in private. He slid the briefcase off his lap and onto the bed.
The Council had seen this coming for weeks. Throughout the centuries, they had managed to make charges like these disappear, but ever since Potentials had begun being chosen in America, the collection of influential European elders had found itself without power. But obviously the darker powers had planned ahead. Addison now knew without a doubt that Wolfram and Hart were behind this. The most clever scheme he had ever seen. And it could not be allowed to be fulfilled. As much as it pained him, Addison had to agree with the Council. Niki was like a daughter to him... but she was the Slayer first and foremost. The only Slayer.
“Your minifridge is criminally understocked.”
Addison’s head snapped around to see Whistler crouching on the far side of the room, peering into the small refrigerator unit. “What are you doing here?”
The demon looked up with a mask of innocence. “Who, me?”
The old Watcher stood, his briefcase clutched in a white knuckled fist. “What are you doing here?” he demanded fiercely.
Whistler shrugged and returned to his investigation of the minifridge. “Think what you like, you and the Council aren’t the last word on authority when it comes to the well-being of the Slayer.”
Addison pointed a rigid finger at the crouching demon. “You stay out of this,” he hissed. “You’re not permitted to get involved in human affairs.”
“There’s very little going on here in accord with the human order,” the demon answered, squinting to see into the back of the small unit. Finally he let the door swing closed and he stood, tugging on his plum jacket to straighten it. “I suggest you back off – let these human games play out. Keep your nose clean.”
Addison’s frown deepened. “Don’t you understand what’s at stake here? The entire line of Slayers—”
“I understand perfectly,” Whistler said with a sly shrug. “But you’ve miscalculated the Slayer’s assets. She’s got more going for her than you know. Have faith.”
The Watcher’s grip tightened on the metal briefcase. His glare narrowed at the demon in the jacket and fedora. “I’m sorry, Whistler. Faith is something I simply cannot afford. And faith in Niki has historically been a disaster.”
Whistler raised one eyebrow in exasperation and he drew in a breath. “You’ll regret it.”
Addison’s glare softened. “I know.”
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